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  • Writer's pictureJessica Klarholm

Childhood Ponies

“I grew up on the back of a black pony.

He wasn’t big and he wasn’t small but 2 little girls on his back gave him no trouble at all.

He was what he was and he wasn’t what he wasn’t.

He wasn’t fancy and he wasn’t expensive but he was everything my sisters and I needed.

He was fun, he was smart, he was tolerant.

He didn’t mind when we hugged him, when we laughed or when we cried.

He didn’t care what we were wearing or what time of day we showed up.

He had no agenda, and neither did we.

Hours upon hours that pony carted us around, with no where in particular to go, and yet we went anyway.”

Fond memories of that childhood pony crop up often for me. Even more so on the day I was driving home with a new black pony in my trailer; same color, same breed even. This new pony was meant to be for my son to learn from and for the horse assisted learning program I was running. But, as I sit here today (months after Katrina arrived home) I am reflecting on how quickly and steadily she has been teaching me. She became ‘Trina’ at our place right away, my 3 year old son didn’t see the need for the k and a I guess.

Trina has been leaving her mark on everyone she has crossed paths with since she joined our herd. My toddler thinks she is just the most fabulous horse, often saying “I’m so happy she likes me” as she follows us through her pen. My hunny has remarked from day one how nice she is to handle. Trina is often referred to as “sweetheart” by people who have just met her. I see Trina as strong, capable, and tolerant of people working through new experiences (she sees many people who are not well versed in horsemanship). She is also comfortable in her own abilities: she will plow through a snowbank and a bush without hesitation minutes after standing as still as a saint for her grooming.

I wish I could go back to the days with Nikki, that first Welsh pony, and revisit all the memories made with my sisters. I also hope my son creates just as impactful memories with Trina and that I may be privileged to be a part of a few. When I ask him, twenty years from now, what he remembers of his black pony, I hope he is filled with happy memories and an appreciation of how special she was.

Do you have a “black pony” in your childhood memories? I’d love to hear about them.

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