Enter our PARTNERSHIP and COURAGE Contest Today!!

[Barnmice Admin]

From now until June 30, everyone is invited to submit a photo, story or poem on the themes of Partnership or Courage for the chance to win one of three amazing prizes. We wish to thank William Micklem for his kind generosity in donating:

*The Micklem Multi Bridle
*The new Micklem Competition Bridle
and
*William's international best-seller, The Complete Horse Riding Manual

William is renowned as the consummate horseman. His revolutionary design is changing the way we think about bridles and his training philosophy is followed by some of the world's most accomplished riders. To learn more about William, visit his website at: www.williammicklem.com

Your entry can be long or short and you can add a photo with a story or on its own! Post your entries in the comment box below. Good Luck!!

[Coree]

My Dad was outvoted two to one. As cliché as it sounds, it was love at first sight when I met Premoe for the first time. He was a gangly two year old whose head was too big for his body, which was a mismatch of his origins. Percheron in his feet and bones, Appaloosa in coloring and attitude, and a splash of Pinto just to make things interesting, Premoe wasn’t necessarily the horse of my dreams, but through the years, he became a horse that everyone hopes to have.

I first met Premoe when a call to the Humane Society forced his owner to place Premoe and his half-sister at my neighbor’s house. Half-starved and untrained, it should have been a disaster in the making since I had only been riding for a handful of years. But the price was cheap. My neighbor said to offer $500 for him, but his owner beat us to the punch, practically begging for us to take him for $300. The deal was done, cash was exchanged, and Premoe became a cornerstone in my life.

It wasn’t an easy road by any means. I had a draft horse in my field who didn’t understand the concept of personal space, his size, or that he wasn’t going to starve. After being dragged across the yard numerous times by the beast, we decided he was too much for me to handle, so off to the trainer he went. He happily jumped onto the trailer and traveled down the road just fine, but the hour and a half it took to get him off, then the dragging down the driveway and into the arena, didn’t bode well for Premoe’s schooling.

However, he ended up being a quick learner, and willing to please, and three months later, I brought him home, a much more amiable horse, and my new favorite partner in crime. I learned an important lesson during those three months, for the trainer didn’t believe in him. When I told her my aspirations to use him for jumping, she laughed in my face, and told me that he would never be a jumper. It is safe to say that it was the first time I understood how it felt to have your hopes and dreams shot down, and it was the last time I would let someone make me feel that way. Premoe went to his first horse show only a few months after his training ended. While we probably didn’t win anything, it felt wonderful to be able to step into the ring and proudly present my horse. I knew he was special, even if the judges didn’t, and that was all that was important.

As the years went on, Premoe and I continued to prove people wrong. I did everything with that horse. We rode all over Washington and Oregon, including a five day overnight trip where we went swimming in a reservoir, did numerous open horse shows where we remained successful, played in gaming days and ran our hearts out (we might not have been the fastest, but you can bet we had the most fun!) and we tackled the dreams I’d carried since the early stages of my riding: to compete in jumping and Eventing. Premoe was one of those horses who never said no. He was game to try anything I threw at him, and although he might not have been the best at what I asked, he always put his heart into it, and never gave me less than everything he had, all of the time.

Towards the end of my 4-H career, I became a little cocky about winning. Premoe and I had been travelling to numerous jumping shows and had been racking up the ribbons and championships. So, when I came to Fair that year, I expected to be handed the Grand Championship. When I walked out of the ring with a simple blue, I was bitter. I whined and complained, and even questioned the judge afterwards. Frankly, my attitude smelled worse than rotting garbage, and as President of my 4-H group, I was an awful example. In the weeks that followed that Fair, I really sat back and questioned my reasons for riding. I apologized to my club at our first meeting of the year for my attitude, and I haven’t looked back since. I realized then that at the end of the day, the ribbons aren’t important. It’s about having the opportunity to own a horse, and to show a horse, and to be privileged enough to experience the joy that these amazing animals give us every day. Not everyone gets the chance to do what we do, and we should never lose sight of that. I did once, and I sincerely hope that I never will again.

A year later, we stepped into that ring for the last time, though I didn’t know it then. The next year, I would miss my last Clark County Fair due to college. I didn’t care about what ribbon I would get that day. The jumps were set, I had a smile on my face, and I was happy. Before we started, I gave Premoe a big pat on the neck, sank my heels down, set my shoulders back, took a deep breath, and asked for Premoe to pick up his wonderful rocking canter. We met each fence with the ease of longtime partners and when the class was announced, we had won the championship at last. That day meant so much to me, because we had reached the top of that mountain. We’d been doubted, laughed at, looked down upon, but at the end, we rose above it together.

When the time came for me to go to college, I had the tough decision of what to do with Premoe. I couldn’t afford to take him with me to New Jersey, but I wasn’t ready to let him go. I ended up leasing him that year, and the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college, I came home and we accomplished another one of my dreams: to event. I will never forget the first time I crossed through the finish flags of cross country. We did not have a clear round, but I didn’t care. I wanted to pump my fist in the air like I had just double-cleaned at the Olympics. Chills ran down my spine, the smile on my face practically split my cheeks, and the tears in my eyes were of joy. The dream I had for so long was finally a reality, all because of one special horse, Premoe. I hugged him as we walked back to the barn, laughing and crying.

For the next three years I remained in New Jersey during the summer in order to work with a professional rider. While I had a blast and learned a lot, I never forgot about Premoe. After I graduated, I ended up moving home for a while and Premoe joined me. I never thought that he would be in my backyard again, but I had always longed for it. Whenever I was home for holidays, I would look out at his field and wish he were there to greet me with his silly whinny. To have him there again, even for a short time, was a joy. I relished waking up every morning to feed him and clean his stall, spent hours grooming and riding him in the afternoons, feeling like a girl again when we galloped around and around the field just because. I didn’t realize that home wasn’t the same without Premoe until he was home with me again. The opportunity came to take him to an event, and I was ecstatic. I hadn’t shown my boy in three years, so I had no idea what to expect. At the end of the day, after a clear round in both cross country and stadium, there was a blue ribbon attached to his bridle. It was the first time I had won an event, and it was ironically appropriate, since he was the horse to help me get my start in the sport I love.

Unfortunately, reality hit soon after the show. I was moving to Virginia in less than three months, and again, Premoe couldn’t come with me to the East Coast. A family from Seattle area came to check him out, and when the girl rode him, I just knew.

I never thought that Premoe’s chapter in my life would end and I continue to hold onto the hope that he will revisit the book of my life someday. As much as I understand that it is not fair to either of us to hold onto him right now, selling him was like tearing a piece of my heart out. I never understood how special he was until he came back into my life. I never realized what an amazing soul and heart he carried inside of him until I rode many other horses.

Premoe taught me more than just how to ride. He taught me lessons that only a horse can. He never made excuses for what he was and if he didn’t get it right, he tried harder. He threw his heart into everything I asked him to and never said no. He taught me that what you look like doesn’t matter, if you believe in yourself then you can do anything. Premoe showed me how to stomp down on the people who doubt you and to make dreams a reality, even in the face of adversity.

If I could have had a different horse as a youth, and won belt buckles and championships and lots of blue ribbons, I wouldn’t. I look around my room today and can tell you the story of every ribbon that hangs on my wall. I remember each day as if it were yesterday, some more vivid than others, but each piece of silk carries a special moment in my life. I may not be rich with winnings, but I am far wealthier with the lessons I learned and the joy I found within owning Premoe.

He has a new home, now, with a girl who reminds me a lot of myself. Young and full of dreams, promise, and hope that she will rise up above those people who would try and bring her down. I am confident that Premoe will do for her what he did for me. He will be her confidant when times get tough, her best friend through thick and thin, and above all, her instructor on the road of life. As hard as it was to let him go, there was joy mixed in with the sadness, for I am more than blessed to be able to share the incredible gift that Premoe is.

Someday, when I own a barn of my own, I hope that Premoe will come home to me again. There will always be a place for him, no matter where I am, for he was my first love and the first thing in my life that made me feel beautiful. All I had to do was get on and ride.

[Coree]

[Cassidy Sitton]

As riders, there are moments when things really become clear, where suddenly things click in that magical moment, or it becomes plain-as-day that things will never be right.

For Prophet and I, the road has been a bit rocky - Grand Canyon-kind-of-rocky. I always had faith that he would someday be special, but that faith has been tested and tested and tested. He draws a crowd while bolting and rearing in order to avoid going in his first water jump, but when the ground person walked in himself, suddenly we were jumping in the training level drop... and I loved him. Some of my mentors said he wasn't worth my time, but then, as I sobbed in his stall, he nuzzled and comforted me in that way that no human ever could.

So I kept trying with him....

His layed-back attitude has made me think that his calling may in other fields then this crazy world of eventing, but then he would gallop across a finish line and I'd feel higher than a kite, and I knew I couldn't ever give up on him.

He's opinionated, stubborn, a bully and I love every minute I'm around him and every naughty look he gives me, if not meerily because he lays his head in my lap when he doesn't feel well and hides behind me when he's scared. He wears his heart on his sleeve and holds no emotion back... which is why I always kind of wanted to think that he had more in there than what he's ever shown me... that his too-cool attitude was all just a big cover-up.

There have been flashes of brilliance and he's been such a different horse since coming back into work after his two year vacation. He's grown up a bit, thinks about things better, and understands, but there's always those thoughts of doubt that make me think that maybe flashes of brilliance are all that is in there... Yes, he's been great at the levels that I've asked of him, which most people would be satisfied with, but I want more for not just him, but us.

And then during one ride, however subtle - unnoticable really - it may have been, I felt a magic in that pony that I've never really felt.

All our homework led us to where we were, but it was our first lesson with Holly Hepp which means I'm tight, which means crabby pony. The rain had forced a couple of days off, which means crabby pony. Holly didn't do much warm-up, which means crabby pony. We were on WET footing, which means crabby pony. Yet Holly said "get him here, here, here and his mind here" and suddenly -- we were there.

We jumped a course of size and by the last fence, I was sure the jumps could have been 6" higher, and we would have been fine. I could shorten to the fence, lengthen to the fence, sit and do nothing to the fence, and he still pinged off the ground, straight in the air and landed looking....

But it wasn't how nice the course was or that we stayed in a rhythm or that his jump TOOK me there... it was something else. It was that he was still Prophet as he swaggered back to the trailer - the same P-man that I remember Sinead saying "does he even go IN the bridle?" about. He's my P-man that chases Ted away from the gate, hates being kissed too much, and drives other people crazy!

This Prophet has something that I find special and amazing, and if he keeps taking my breath away, then he will ALWAYS be my man.

[Catherine]

Who Said a Horse Can't Be Your Best Friend?
Just one look into those soft, brown eyes,
and everthing else melts away.
It's just me and Chance, partners and friends.
We can ride and play everyday.

Sure dressage can be hard work for us,
but it's the goal at the end that counts.
As long as I have him by my side,
I am ready for it when I mount.

We both love to show, just Chance and I.
In the ring it's alwyas so much fun!
Doesn't matter if we win or lose,
as we move up the levels one by one.

Whenever I'm sad or feel alone,
I go to him and I'm on the mend.
He's always there for me, like a rock.
Who said a horse can't be your best friend?

I wrote this poem about my horse Chance, a seven year old Dutch Warmblood gelding. I got him two years ago when he was five and I was twelve. He's taught me so much and I'm so grateful to have him. He feels more like a best friend to me than a horse. It seems like I've had him my whole life, not just two years! I hope to have a long partnership with him because I know I can always count on him to be there for me, either in the ring or just sitting in his stall telling him my worries as he munches on his hay.
~Catherine~

[Theresa]

The courage I took up to say good-bye to you, Misty. Last summer, I got a chestnut Arabian mare named, Misty for the appaloosa spot on her hindquaters. We started training that same week and we rocked the group. The 8th month of training was our practice show for all 3 groups, Dressage, Cross-Country and Show Jumping. Misty and I rode as one in the dressage ring with only 10 sec. pennalty. We raced through the Show jumping ring by 20 sec. average and the last group in our practice, Misty broke her leg. The next night, I got a call from the vet saying, " She isn't going to walk anymore and we believe she is pregnant." WHAT?!? Misy was in a paddock with a stallion the night she got there. "How long will she be in pain?" I asked. I know the vet wouldn't put down a mare that would be giving birth at any moment. "Misty will be giving birth in 24 hours. Then she would be put down. I'm sorry." Then I hanged up. Misty would be out of my life forever but wouldn't leave me without saying goodbye. The next day, I didn't fall asleep and my eyes were red from cring all night. Mom drived me tho the veterinarian clinic to see the new foal Misty wouldn't get to meet. Mom hold the door open for me as I walked in and Misty looked as fine as daylight. I knew she was in pain but wouldn't show it. Just as the vet came in, I just noticed a foal walking right beside her. "It's time to say good-bye to Misty." I took up all of my courage to run up to her and say, "Good-b-b-bye,girl.I-I-I'll mi-mi-miss you s-s-s-sooo much." I was cring so much that she didn't know what was happening. Even now, I hope she is happy for all I do now is cry for you to return to me, Misty. The foal(which was a filly), I took up to raise her because Misty would have wanted that. I named the filly Memory because of her mother's coat. Misty if you can hear me, please don't forget I miss you ald that I will always love you.Bye Misty.

[Nora Robinson]

I'm so sorry for your loss.....thanks for sharing

[Jennifer Knapp]

I bought my first horse at the age of 26, Firle Place, a 12 year old Dutch Warmblood/tb. She was my dream come true. We immediately bonded and became best of friends. She taught me a lot about being a first time owner and was extremely patient with me and in return, I spoiled her with love and Carrots! About 6 months after I purchased her, Firle recieved a devastating injury. She was, what I can only think, was attacked by another horse in her pasture and came in 3 legged, puncture wounds covering her back legs, etc.

We immediately called the Vet and after extensive x-rays, we found out she had a bad fracture in her stifle on her right rear leg. My only concern was for her to recover at least to the point of being able to live the rest of her life pain free. I could not even think of having to have her put down.

That day began our journey toward real companionship, friendship and team work. With clear instructions from the vet, I quickly learned as a first time owner of only 7 months, how to give injections, (and these needles were huge!), and the worst part, learn to ignore Firle's constant pleads to come out of her stall. She would be stall bound for what seemed like forever. Two a day injections of antibiotics lasted for several weeks along with bute and the wrapping and re-wrapping of all four legs twice daily.

A few of the punture wounds along with her fracture.

I prayed everyday that the fracture would not lead to a bone chip breaking off as the vet said was very possible due to where and how the fracture was. We made it through the rest of the winter and into spring. More x-rays about 4 months later showed the fracture was in fact healing, YEAH! We still had a long road ahead of us though.

Toward the end of June early July, we were on the road to recovery. Firle was cleared for light hand walking out of her stall. Everyone warned me how crazy she would be from being on stall rest for almost 6 months and to my surprise, she was the complete angel she had always been. She did not spook, want to run or anything. She listened to my every command so we worked toward her rehab.

Walking our way to recovery!

By August, she was allowed to go out in the round pen by herself. The first day I put her in there, I held my breath! She walked in the gate, turned back to look at me, neighed and immediately rolled! I knew then, that she was going to be ok.

To my delight, the next few months came with increased rehabbing, including walking with a rider. This was slowed due only to the fact that Firle ended up with 7 stitches near her withers after rolling on a sharp rock.

By December/January, we were trotting under saddle, building up the time each day. Soon we moved to cantering around the year anniversary of her injury and after the vet watched her at the trot and said, "Go for it!" Every day, Firle improved more and more, and I am happy to say, not only is my Firle living the rest of her life pain free, she is back to jumping and loving it!

I thank the vets for all their advice and all the people at the barn for their patience in helping this first time owner deal with a horrible injury. I never could have done it without them and Firle is sure to thank them every day as she greets everyone at her gate with a whinny and a rub of her head on your shoulder.

My now 15 year old Firle is happy as can be and living the princess life with her lifelong companion, ME!

Enjoying our life together!

[Carey Sages Mackin]

My poem is "My Last Ride" and because it is so long I thought the best way was to give you my blog site and the title so as to enter it in the contest. When you see how long it is,hopefully you will thank me for not taking up all your space. So, I'd like to enter "MY LAST RIDE" which is the 6th poem back from the beginning of my site. My site is www.MindSpirit908.blogspot.com I hope you will read it. It truly was my last ride but me and Cliff my 18H Hanoverian are still together but retired now. He lives at our small farm with a pony buddy I got him. He is healthy & happy and we are growing old together sharing arthritis and sore joints. :)

[Margaret H. Ostrowski]

Tragedy struck in my life recently year combined with overwhelming joy. At this juncture in my life I am strategically and furiously juggling the money to be able to hang on to my friend “Harvey”. Since age five I somehow sensed that owning a horse would complete me. Then, at the age of 53, God answered my prayers, and I finally fulfilled that dream of that five year old girl by purchasing a fifteen year old Thoroughbred who has made me “horse poor/memory rich” throughout this first year of our time together. This relationship began with leasing for six months; soon I jumped into the proverbial water with both feet, signed a Bill of Sale and located a boarding place. I recall the day I stood at the gate waiting for his arrival at his new home. As the horse van came over the hill, and slowed to make the turn into the driveway my joy overwhelmed me and I began crying as the reality of a 50 year dream hit home---I was now the proud owner of this magnificent responsibility/friend. This year has been a whirlwind of ups----training, showing---and downs--- Fretting over his hocks, deciding to have his hocks injected (he was an angel!); realizing it was a good call even for his neophyte owner/Mom. Then unforeseen tragedy struck. My husband was let go at his job due to no fault of his own. Myself employed in the very stressful field of mental health therapy combined with this major financial blow from those my husband trusted has really strained us financially and emotionally. With this tragedy we decided to keep Harvey as long as we could, as my husband gratefully realized my relationship with Harvey was getting me through the this life-changing upheaval. We probably never would have purchased Harvey if we knew at the time that my husband was going to soon lose his job due to lack of vision by others. Therefore, I felt it was Divine Intervention at that particular moment that brought Harvey into our life prior to the loss of my husband’s job. My husband looked continuously for employment; we both aged. Eight months, and the emptying of two Retirement CD’s later, my husband was able to secure employment. Even so, we will probably not recover the money spent and we are still continually fearful of expenditures and hoping this nightmare year is over for us. Owning Harvey is like having a child although the financial sacrifices have been worth it to us. Harvey has given back so much more than our financial output. Harvey has been my “mental health therapist” throughout this past year, distracting me from the financial and emotional pain and listening to my tales of woe so I can support my husband who struggled grievously this year. This year we have not been able to ride due to a back problem and a large abscess - about the size of a quarter per the farrier. Between Bill, the farrier, Kim, our trainer, Dr. Denise, our Veterinarian, Jim and Nancy, the barn owners --- I am forever grateful -- due to me working in Ohio and living in Michigan --- they are all working with myself and Harvey to get him well and back to active riding and showing. The cost has been a sacrifice --- Harvey is worth it -- I am becoming creaky at my age -- and soon will no longer be able to ride. When I am sitting in a rocking chair at the nursing home (hopefully far in the future) I will thank God and Harvey for the wonderful memories I have of riding, showing and spending my last dime for a new saddle for him (that cost almost as much has he did). I will have known a wonderful friend who gave me experiences that I will always treasure and have met wonderful people in the equine world along the way. I continue to take each day as it comes and hope to hang onto this wonderful friend as long as I can in this terrible economy. I pray daily that I have enough money to keep him and return the love he has shared with me as we both go into our golden years --- he at age 16, and me at age 55. We all are truly blessed to have been 'bitten by the bug'. Love this site!!!!

[Kiki Newton]

This is my girl Dana. Technically she dosnt belong to me but she might as well as I do everything else for her. We met in "05 when her owner asked my freind to ride a green horse for him. Both Dana and her feild buddy Delta were really emaciated and it took a long while before I could ride Dana. As she was green, my freind rode her first as I had only just started riding. In short it didnt end well as my freind and Dana have never got on well together, why I can decide but my freind is constanlty telling me to buy stronger bits, martingales and other things which I have never needed and Dana plays up no end around Sam.
But Dana is like my other half. I think I would be hard pressed to find a husband as co-oprative, sweet and with that uncanny ability to read my mind than Dana does. Sure we have or moments like any relationship but she's always there and I try my best. People say that horses are aloof creatures just because they dont come running up to you like dogs do but they are so wrong. A good horse is better than all the gold, silver and jewels in the world. Once you gain their trust, that invisble cord like bond between person and horse it takes a lot to be broken.
My ultimate dream is to buy Dana but that dosnt look likely. Yes she has impeccable, Olympic breeding but her owner has skewed ideas when it comes to value. Maybe thats a good thing, stops him selling her to the steady trickle of people who pull up outside of her paddock and ask if she's for sale. No duhhh do you see a for sale sign for you partner?

[Barnmice Admin]

Sniff...sniff...going through lots of Kleenex, but addicted to reading these incredible stories!

[Ann Murray Livingstone]

MAE DILLON

"The Wonder Horse of Tatamagouche"
In Memory

Ann Murray Livingstone

Mae was dead. Mae Dillon, the Wonder Horse of Tatamagouche was dead - dreadfully, irrevocably dead.

I could barely grasp the cold hard facts in the terse newspaper article that accompanied my grandmother's newsy letter. "Owner Owner Will MacQueen had to shoot the 10 year old mare after she was injured in a car accident on Main Street. Mr MacQueen said the mare reared when she confronted the car, struck the windsheild with her feet and threw her rider...who was not badly injured. Ten months ago. Mae had a colt. Prince William, that Mr. MacQueen is training"

At fourteen, I had only experienced the death of one beloved pet, so death at best was still a very difficult and remote abstraction. Mae was so far away. tucked in a tiny village nestled between the French and Waugh riveers in Colchester County, Nova Scotia. I, on the other hand, resided in Vernon, in the lush blossom bedecked Okanagan Valley of British Columbia.

However, that did nothing to ease the heartache as the tears slid down my cheeks and dripped heedlessly onto my shaking hands. "Mae a trick horse, was well-known throughout Nova Scotia as that alone, but her chief claim to fame lay in her attraction for children. She and her owner had looked after the children of Tatamagouche for several years. She had hauled a cart containing three or four children and a dog and usually two children on her back. She was a familiar sight on the village's main street. She once carried her master to Charlottetown and back- a distance of more than 200 miles."

I had never had my own horse, so Mae was my surrogate and my beloved friend. However, I could only see her on summer vacations. Those particular vacations did not occur often as my family had to cross a continent to see friends and relatives.

My first recollection of Mae was during the summer of my sixth year. I was lifted onto a broad warm back. I sat there in ecstacy, as this very large creature posed obediently as the camera clicked. My young legs even then fell naturally into the curve of the mare's sides. Holding the reins in both hands I felt completely in control as Mae stood patiently. This was part of Mae's everyday routine. She was the popular subject in a multitude of photographs.

Mae's entourage was an ever-changing small swarm of children. They trotted by her side or sat in a coveted space in the two-wheeled cart. The luckiest of all were the previleged two that perched on her back amidst the harness as she proceeded sedately down the village street. She was a large comfortable Standardbred mare with a kind eye and a calm disposition.. She was chestnut, a lovely warm reddish-gold. She had two white socks and a white stripe on her face.

Mae was adored absolutely by all of her small charges. She was the perfect mare to introduce a child to the world of soft inquiring lips slipping across a tiny palm, as it was held up bearing the expected treat. Her kind eyes would look down into the small upturned face. Then she would delicately take the proferred sugar cube and crunch, crunch, it would be gone.

The feathery touch of her soft whiskers flicking across my small hand sent a delicious shiver of longing and love through me for the great kind mare looming above. I would stand in front of her and fling my arms as wide as they would go in a huge hug. My face would be pressed to her chest for, after all at six; one does not have an extended reach. The warm horse scent that seems to permeate lanquid, hazy summer days would fill my nostrils. Sheer bliss. Heady with love, scent, touch and sight, when night fell I would fall asleep with lovely chestnut mares cantering through my dreams.

That summer when I was nine will be etched in my memory as a halcyon time in my young life. I had returned to Tatamagouche after three years. My expectations for those two weeks in August were boundless. Indeed, Mae still lived in the barn next door to my grandparent's home. Bright and early the next morning I went to hang on the fence between the two properties. I hoped for a glimpse of my dream horse. Will MacQueen was there pottering about the yard. Friendly and patient with all young people he noticed me hovering. I was invited into the barnyard. For the next two glorious weeks I belonged to the "share Mae club."

The anticipation of each day had me up at sunrise. Impatiently I would bolt toast and slip out the back door before anyone was stirring. The dew would be wet and heavy on the grass. I would drift quietly through the mist-shrouded dawn to the fence and duck between the rails. Mae's voice would lift in an inquiring nicker. Her head, surrouned by a nimbus of light would appear from the gloom of the box stall. I would offer my gifts of carrots and apples. She would dispose of them with quick efficiency. We would spend the next hour or so in companionable silence, drowsing in the morning sun.

Finally, Will would emerge from the house and amble down to the barn. Then came the enjoyable time of grooming and harnessing Mae for the day's pleasue. By that time various young people would have arrived axious to join in the day's activities. The group formation changed every day as well. On the days that the train came through the village we would all go for a ride down to the station. The train would come chugging along the track puffing smoke and whistling spasmodically. Under Will's firm hand, Mae stood steadfast as a rock amidst all the noise and confusion.

On other days we would drive out for a jaunt in the country. We moved slowly along the gravel roads leading into the rolling hills above the village. Daisies, buttercups and Queen Anne's lace grew in wild abandon in the ditches and along the roadside. Bushes luxuriant with wild roses dipped and swayed in the warm wind. The rich heavy scents of ripening grains and and fruit mingled with the lighter perfumes of the wild flowers.

Then, home again. Mae was unharnessed, rubbed down and fed her grain. As twilight fell, she would bury her nose in a pile of fragrant hay. When she settled for the night, I would wander slowly home to supper. Then to dreams of chestnut mares chasing one another through sweet scented meadows.

One day Mae cast a shoe, so she was led up the hill to the blacksmith's forge. In those days small villages had their own forges as many horses had to be shod. As I walked by Mae's side I peered ahead into the forge's dim interior. The fire was banked to a bed of glowing coals. The heat lifted in shimmering waves and enfolded me in tight sweltering bands. Mae stood quietly and patiently as her hoof was measured and trimmed. The new shoe, shaped and altered while red hot, was dunked in the water. Steam rose, obscuring the sweating smith from my view. With quick deft strokes he fastened the shoe securely.

Wil lifted me onto Mae's bare back and I twined my fingers in her reddish-gold mane. Taking the halter rope he strode down the hilll. He stopped occasionally to let Mae forage for delectable grasses at the roadside. The sun gilded Mae's red coat and caressed my bare legs. I leaned forward along her neck and hugged her tightly. As I clung in somnolent comfort, she walked quietly with her head touching Will's shoulder. Will sang softly and Mae's head nodded in time to the music. At the barn I slipped reluctantly from her back. Another day with Mae was gone.

During that summer I was able to record some of these memories for all time. My mother took photographs of my beloved Mae and me. When I look at them, I am immediately returned to a simpler, gentler ime. Mae was also well known throughout the region as a trick horse. She could count, add and subtract by tapping her hoof on the ground. She would take Will's hat off. She would answer yes or no by nodding her head. On command Mae would rear high into the air standing straight and steady on her hind legs. I sometimes sat burrowed into her her neck as she rose to intoxicating heights. She could also sit down on her rump. Not a very dignified position but, even so, Mae always had an aura of dignity. At nine, I thought that she was the best horse in the world. Now all these years later, she still has that special place in my heart.

However, even the most perfect times must end. My vacation drew to a close. Amidst many tears I bade my dear one goodbye knowing that I would not see her for another three years. My anticipation was at a fever pitch as the summer of my twelfth year approached. I had ridden in the ensuing three years in both Saskatchewan and in B.C. Still, Mae was always in the back of my mind.

When we arrived in the village, I slipped away as quickly as I could. I was through the fence, into the stable yard, hoping against hope that she would be snug in her stall. She was not there. As I disconsolately kicked a pebble around the yard the back door opened.. Will stood there, much older than I remembered him. I asked for Mae. He had allowed a village girl to take her for the summer. My hopes were dashed. Heartbroken, I turned to go. I saw Mae once that summer. The girl brought her by the barn one day and Will called me over. Mae was there for half an hour and I could take pictures. That was the last time I ever saw my beloved friend.

Years later. hospitalized for a couple of days in that village in Nova Scotia, a friendly nurse told me more of Mae's death. Sleepless, I chatted with her. She remembered me from that idyllic summer so long ago. She was Will's great-neice. She told me the village girl was riding Mae the day of the accident. The girl was cantering Mae down Main Street when a car pulled too quickly out of a side street. In that spilt second Mae made the decision that would end her life. She tried to leap the car in a vain but valiant attempt to avoid crashing headlong. As her forelegs shattered the windshield, the rider was flung clear. Bleeding profusely from her wounds Mae fled to the haven of her stall. They found Mae there, with blood soaking the straw beneath her. The R.C.M.P. constable shot Mae as she lay dying.

Even after all these years and riding several favourite horses, Mae still remains in my heart. In the watches of the night, I still can see, hear and ride my beloved Mae. I can still dream of lovely chestnut mares chasing one another through sweet scented meadows.