When I was a little girl, I had a rocking horse. I loved my rocking horse, and that was putting it mildly. I was a wild little rider. I wanted to gallup, and there was simply no other way to ride a horse, as far as I was concerned anyway. We had hardwood floors in our house, and the place where my horse sat…well, it had permanent ruts. I’m sure it must have had to be replaced after we moved out…unless there was a historian there who liked the Oregon Trail Ruts and decided that maybe I had my own version. I didn’t think there was anyone who loved riding a rocking horse more than me or even as much…until now.
My nephew, Barry had a rocking horse too, and I think he was practicing bronc busting skills. When I came across this picture of him on his horse, I thought, “That boy is a lot like his aunt.” Of course, I am his aunt by marriage, and not blood, so that can’t really be the case, but he did remind me of me, nevertheless. Barry and I are among the few kids who just can’t take a nice little ride on a rocking horse. That is just a little bit too tame for us. I don’t think either of us feel that way about just everything, but there was a time when we felt that way about our rocking horse. Kids have so much energy when they are little. They just explode into with it. Nothing holds them back.
To us, that ricking horse was alive!! We could feel the power under us, just like the cowboys did in the old west. We were going places…I don’t know where, but we were going places and no one was going to be able to keep up with us. I still have my rocking horse, and he has been put out to pasture, because after all, he is about 55 years old or more. He has served me well, and I still love him. Barry and I are both grown now, and neither of us rides horses. If we did though, I suppose that we would have to gallup.