Trudy Andrew | Canadian Author

Pony Tails

Ponytail Dreams

When I was a little girl, my every wish, every dream was of ponies. Come to think of it, horses should probably have been more likely, as I loved to watch any show with horses. Fury was a huge favourite, but all of the spaghetti westerns and their amazing horses, were favourites, too. Still, when I dreamed, it was of ponies. A black pony with four white legs, mane and tail, along with a perfect blaze down its pretty face was the most common dream, but there certainly were others. As I aged, the pony dreams became more fanciful. They went from simply getting a pony that was just like the one from my childhood puzzle, to any pony at all. Colour and build were often directly related to whatever show I saw that day, or which book I read. After we moved to the country from the city, the dream gradually developed and grew. A pony standing in a little pasture that somehow miraculously appeared on our property, suddenly wore a beautiful saddle and bridle. Then the saddle and bridle would become fancier, the pony a little bigger. With each passing night, the dream pony would be so much more, until it came with all the ‘fixings’, saddles, bridles, blankets, barn and even a horse trailer. The horse trailer was pretty hilarious, as I was too young to drive. Funny thing was, I never added a tow vehicle to the package. Even in dreaming, I must’ve realized that all the fancy trappings didn’t matter. The pony dream would reach ridiculous heights, then suddenly go back to just a pony, only to begin all over again.
With the eventual arrival of the teen years, my dream pony, finally changed into a horse. Not some fire-breathing, winged mythical creature that was incredibly tall, an incredible mane and tail flowing in the wind, or any such thing. Nope, the horses I dreamed of, were absolutely anything and everything under the sun. All I wanted was anything with four legs, a mane and tail. Since the minute I could be smitten with anything, I had wanted a horse of my own. I was simply desperate for one. I drew horses, wrote about horses, haunted anyone I knew with one.
It wasn’t as if childhood was devoid of equines, as it was anything but. I rode anything I was allowed to. Every bratty horse in the neighbourhood, knew who I was, and became better because of it. When a stubborn, little kid continues to ride a spoiled, bratty horse or pony, no matter how badly it behaves, it eventually becomes a better horse. I suppose I wore them down until they gave up on the bad behaviour. I did get to ride a few wonderful horses as well. There was the incredible Satan, a lovely bay gelding that would’ve filled anyone’s dream. Dinah and Marigold, two great mares that I was privileged to ride, one glorious summer, and Flicka the Shetland, my first experience with riding.
I had the horse bug so bad that if I was travelling in a vehicle, I would gaze out the window at the passing ground, and easily imagined myself on a horse. That ground would be flying by under the hooves of a fleet horse, instead of tires. I suppose it could be said that I had it bad, this need to have a horse.
From the time I was old enough to do so, I worked to earn pony money. By the time I was a ten, I was doing odd jobs for neighbours and older folk in town. From yardwork to picking cucumbers and delivering newspapers, I did it all. Anything to earn money, to buy a horse. When I hit the age where I could babysit, I added that to my list of money earning jobs. I should’ve quit that job, way before I finally did. You see, the couple I babysat for, rarely paid me. They would promise to pay next time, or would give me a fraction of what they owed, and say they would add the rest later. He was a jockey, and when he would win, they would party for days. I, a thirteen year old kid, would be left to take care of two small kids, sometimes for days. I bet that by the time I learned to say no, they owed me a thousand bucks or so. I was a glutton for punishment.
Getting a job, at Manitoba’s largest Thoroughbred farm was my ticket to finally earning enough to buy, a horse of my own. Never mind all the people who interpret dreams to mean this or that. I bought my first horse, the amazing Thow-ra, and never dreamed of getting a horse again. You see, I didn’t have to any longer. My dream had come true.

  1. I didn’t realise that other girls looked out the car window seeing a horse keeping pace with the car! Mane and tail fying,jumping fences or field driveways as they came. Sometimes riderless, sometimes I rode with the wind in my face and hair from the open window!
    Thanks for the memory!

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About Trudy Andrew

Trudy Andrew lives on a small farm just east of Winnipeg, Manitoba, where she enjoys her Morgan horses. A dreamer since she was a child, its no surprise to those who know her well that her imagination would find an outlet in writing, as it has in the past through artwork.
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 Oakbank, MB