My pony, Prince Robin

I didn’t realize it, but many little girls want their own horse.  I must have been rather verbal about wanting one.  The perfect advantage came when one of my Dad’s business connections was selling his teenage sons’ pony.  He even came with a red saddle and bridle. I couldn’t wait.  We had the perfect place for my pony to live, my grandparents’ farm. He got to live in the chicken yard with the chickens and the sheep.  I was thrilled.

My cousin taught me how to groom, bridle and saddle Prince Robin.  Since I could only be with my pony if someone drove me out to the farm, I didn’t really take good care of him.  I left it up to my grandparents most of the time.

Prince Robin had a lot of spunk.  I think growing up with 2 young boys might have had a little or a lot to do with that.  He probably thought having a little blond headed imp for an owner was a piece of cake.  He was mischievous.  He quickly figured out how to open the chicken yard gate and move right into my Grandmother’s garden.  I don’t remember, but I’m sure that my Dad had to put a different latch on the gate for his parents.

Robin occasionally wouldn’t go where I was trying to guide him with the bridle, he really liked the flower garden, taking me right under the clothesline.  I think I had a couple of nosebleeds from not planning in advance to duck.

Robin and I had great romps across the field over to the pond and back again.  Until the time I really wanted him to gallop and the saddle started to slip.  Very quickly I was riding sideways and knocked off onto the ground.  He was known to inflate his belly when I tightened the girth for the saddle.  I usually poked him enough to let the air out and could tighten the saddle. I think this time though; he let out just a little air. The saddle wasn’t tight and slipped right around.  I’m not sure, but that could have been my last ride.

My Dad kept the pony for a while longer, but found him another home just outside of town.  As we drove out to my Grandparents I could see him grazing in the field next to the road.

“When I Fly” blogger 2013

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