Growing up with horses, seeing my mom lift bails of hay and ride around for hours just seemed natural, but I love the story of how it all began for her on the family farm in Findlay, Ohio.

The year was 1965. Christmastime.

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Here is her story:

I had always loved horses as far back as I could remember.  I hounded my father for a horse or pony, any kind, any size, any color.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted one to call my own.  And, living on a farm, my father had no reason to deny my request.

Christmas was coming, but it didn’t make any difference to a little girl. Each day was an eternity to live through and I had not changed my mind yet.

My brothers were well known for their antics. So when I was awakened in the early dawn of Christmas morning to a clatter of hooves, I expected to see Santa and his eight reindeer from the story I had heard the night before.

As I blinked open my eyes to my brothers yelling “Surprise and Merry Christmas!”  I realized that the clatter of hooves was coming from a tiny pony colt, shocked at seeing me with eyes as big as saucers – right in my bedroom on the wooden floor.

It was the biggest surprise for Christmas I have ever had!

I bounded out of bed and hugged him for all I was worth.  My brothers had a terrible time getting him down the stairs and out to the barn.

It was the only time that I was secretly delighted by my brothers’ antics with their idea to sneak Trigger, the little colt, into the house and up in my bedroom.

My father never forgot the difference between his idea of a surprise and my brothers. They were supposed to lead me to the barn to show me the new Christmas gift – not bring him in the house to my bedroom upstairs!  That also might explain Trigger’s aversion to my brothers while growing up.

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December 24, 2016