Everyday, when I rock Tiny Dancer to sleep, I sit in the window looking out into our empty horse corral.  Since we moved to our little house in the big woods, I have spent too much time, I am sure, day dreaming about my own horse living in that corral. 

It needs some work, the corral.  There are two sections of fence that need repairs, and a wind shelter needs to be built.  But a horse could be quite comfortable in there.  Space to roam, some grass to eat, trees to scratch against.   I envision me working the horse, on a lunge line, with a Perelli stick (is that what you call the thing you use to play the Perelli games?), Perhaps leading my children around the corral while they sit upon the horse, and we have quiet conversation as we walk along, enjoying our beloved horse together. 

 I have much to learn, but after 5 1/2 yrs. volunteering a local ranch, gleening every thing I can about care, and training, and riding, and perhaps above all relating to the horse, I think I could give it a go! Plus I have a few contacts who may be willing to help out.

But back to reality, there is no horse in my corral.

Then one day, I am offered the dream. There is a horse in need of a new home.  And I am in line for the taking.  The horse is one of a herd that is trained and ridable, needing some work, and needing someone with more time to devote to her.

Like a giddy child, I want to know What does she look like?  When can I meet her?  Can we really bring her home?  Is this true?

The answers come slowly, and I must wait.

But the giddy child in me can’t help but day dream again. What would I name her?

At the ranch where I volunteer, the horses that come are always renamed.  The owner of the ranch says that a name is important, it is the horses title, it is what the horse will hear everytime you approach.  The name should say ‘I am fond of you, I am happy to see you’.

I remember a time in my life, I was only 6 or 7 years old. And these dear neighbors of ours, The Hopkins, would come by the house in the evening, a bag of carrots in hand, sometimes sugar cubes too, and ask if we wanted to walk with them and feed the horses on a near by ranch.  I could find my shoes, tie them, and spring out the door faster than I could say ‘yes’.

There were a few horses at the ranch, but my favorite was Freckles. The big white mare.  What a doll! I would give her all my treats and gently pet her velvet soft nose.  I enjoyed every moment at the fence, and dreaded hearing the Hopkins say  ‘time to head back’.

From the time I met Freckles, I have never stopped wanting my own horse.  And it has always been the impossible dream.  So can I name my imaginary horse (because my corral is thus far still empty) Freckles? I could, and I did so love that horse at the rail.  But kids in school tease kids who have Freckles and I would never want my horse to think I was teasing her.

But MISS HOPKINS, now that is a good name for a horse I would love dearly!

As I sat this morning, rocking Tiny Dancer to sleep, I could almost see MISS HOPKINS in the corral, waiting for me…

But perhaps it is still the impossible dream.

 

 

 

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