These guys have a special place in my heart. Flash, the feisty Shetland pony I learned to ride on, and Patches, the gentle, calm, lemonade-loving Welsh pony my mother bought my sister and me for Christmas one year. There was a point in time when Patches had a fabulous mohawk. It’s entirely possible that one of us accidentally got gum in his mane. Either that, or he had a mane full of burs. I’ll have to ask my mother.
Flash had a habit of returning to the barn when he decided it was time, no matter where we were. One day, we were out on a trail ride, my mother, sister, me, when Flash decided it was time to go. Off he went! Knocking me off with a low-lying tree branch along the way. I had quite the goose egg on my forehead but was otherwise uninjured. My mother picked me up and put me on the back of her horse to take me back to the barn. Apparently, I marched right up to Flash and gave him quite the talking to! I was about 5, wearing the little rubber cowboy boots I have on in these pictures. I distinctly remember one of them flying off when I fell.
When I got too big to ride Flash, I graduated to Patches. He had a much less feisty temperament and spent many winter afternoons pulling my sister and me around the coral in a red plastic sleigh.