Recently, someone declared their love of horses, and how much they wished to own a horse, and be in an equine business like my husband and I are. It brought back memories of my youth, where horses and ponies were what I dreamed of awake and asleep. I read every book I could get my hands on, begged rides from anyone I happened across with a horse, and routinely begged every birthday and Christmas for a pony. My parents gave in eventually, and for my tenth birthday, I got my wish. A wonderful silver dapple Shetland pony mare named Blossom became my very own. Blossom and I rode for hours, exploring the trails all around us. She was a sturdy, strong little mare, with a white mane and tail and a chocolate colored, dapple filled body. That pony tolerated endless grooming sessions, mane braiding, and my clumsy attempts to put into action all I had tried to learn from the endless supply of books. That little mare was pretty near a saint to have put up with so much from me. I looked at the teen aged girl who had so passionately stated how she wished to ride and have a horse of her own. She was dropping hints to ride my current horse, who while he is a sweet boy, is very young and quite a handful even for me. I asked her if she had ever had a riding lesson. She replied no, but that the girls on some television show made it look pretty easy, and she figured she could do the same thing. She couldn’t wait to get on a big horse, and go galloping across the field, hair flying in the wind, jumping anything that was in their path. Listening to her, it became apparent that she was in love with the idea of a horse, and all a horse represented. But she had no genuine interest to learn. I offered the chance to learn, with lessons on my big horse, and she refused, stating that she was sure she was a natural and didn’t need any lessons. I made a tough decision, and politely told her to come back when she was ready to learn the proper way, and not the Hollywood way. Haven’t seen or heard from her since. I don’t expect we will, either.