•March 20, 2019•

By Evelyn Burtcheard
NP Guest Columnist

On our small farm horses were a big part of our livelihood. We always dreamed of riding each one that came to us. As we grew old enough to have our own horses we were in seventh heaven. The horse that I claimed was the black Morgan named Billy, a most intelligent little gentleman. Uncle Frank knew of some people who had a horse for sale; maybe he was trying to be redeemed from the goat fiasco.
Lady was the horse that Donny fell in love with. She had been broken to work double and to ride but she had some habits of which Mom did not approve. She was a long-legged blaze faced sorrel that was reputed to have been of racehorse heritage, and that suited Donny just fine.
The fact that she could run like the wind fit his lifestyle very well. Donny and I had numerous races in and out of the pasture. I don’t think I ever won even one race. Donny would give me a head start, and as he and Lady passed me, Billy would invariably bite at her as she ran past, much to the glee of Donny.
Lady had a bad habit. When she was ready to quit playing, she would head for the barn and try to rub the rider against the side of the barn. This did not bother Donny. As they headed for the barn, he would get on his hands and knees on her bare back until she had gotten past the barn. Then he was careful not to go near the barn again. Mom did not approve of this and started work to break the habit which she accomplished quickly.     Login or Subscribe to read the rest of this story.