When I was a little girl, I always wanted a pony and as I grew older, a horse.  I remember wishing on any star as hard as I could and pleading with God to send me a pony to love.   I would feed it, ride it and love it.

I romanticized things then just as I have a tendency to do now.  When I thought about owning a pony, I thought about the wind in my hair as I rode down fields and across streams.  I thought about my pony as a special friend who would always be there for me.  I would be the envy of all of my little girl friends.  I could brush the pony’s hair and put pretty ribbons in it.  I could give her (it was always a “her” in my mind) a cute name like buttercup.  I would spend hours choosing from a multitude of saddles and horse shoes.

Of course, the reality of the situation was that we lived in the city (so the field and stream vision was just a dream).  Ponys (and horses in general) require much more work than a 5-year old version of me was willing to give.

Needless to say, I did not get my pony but I always chuckle when I think about how badly I wanted one.  It makes me wonder if S will ever ask for one.