Cleaning out my mother's house, since her passing, my husband opened yet another old suitcase, to find the horse-loving girl's equivalent to a Hot Wheels collection. At least that's how I explained it to him. I was delighted, and transported back, to see my old Breyer horses. Most have names taped to their belly mid-lines, gleaned from books both fiction and real. There was even a baggie of handmade bridles and halters.
Last week a pickup with a large goose-neck pulled into our yard.I knew I'd never seen it before, and just for an instant I was that horse-crazy little girl again, and it was the Christmas morning that never came. Until the pickup door opened and Scott's racehorse breeding buddy from Gainesville stepped out. I knew how crazy an idea it was, even as I was unable to completely squash it.
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