Uncle Don used to board horses. He loved horses all his life; even the ornery ones. I remember jealously watching my older cousins as Uncle Don led them around the paddock on a snow white pony. But I was too little. I'd lean into the fence, staring longingly at that beautiful horse, and my father would scold me for climbing up the slats.

"Be careful, you're going to fall."

Finally, the day came when Uncle Don came over to me. I tried to stifle my excitement when he leaned over, "Jessie, do you want to ride Obbey today?" He didn't need to ask for an answer, but took my hand in his and led me down to the paddock.

It must have been an omen. All my dreams of that beautiful snow white pony came crashing down when she decided she'd had enough. Obbey, old and cranky, had suffered long as a beast of burden, carrying children around in mechanical circles for most of her life. She was lame most of the time, but with no physical explanation. She just had a bad attitude.

I've grown weary of struggling,
And I long to run in green sweet pastures.
Cast off the ties that bind me here,
And at last let me run free.

One moment, I was perched atop a snow white pony. The next moment, I was perched atop a fresh pile of manure. I don't remember how it happened. I do remember loud snickers as my family-cousins, father, grandmother-tried to stifle their laughter, Uncle Don booming, "Maybe next time she'll hang on longer."