How many of us began our ridding careers from the back of a shaggy mount much like Jessie?

I asked Linda Paul if she wouldn’t mind writing for our blog from time to time. She graciously agreed to submit a piece of her work that she felt would make a good fit in our “Around the Campfire” category.  

Sit back, grab a box of Kleenex, (and I promise, you will need Kleenex) and enjoy Linda’s “Jessie.”

JESSIE

By: Linda Paul

Jessie was my babysitter. She was my best friend. She was my grandmother. She was my grandfather. She was my sister, my cousin, and my aunt. At times I wished she were my mother.

Jessie, like me, was a mongrel: half Welsh pony, half nondescript horse. She was tall for a pony, around 12 hands high, if I remember correctly. This compares to the Shetland that measures from 7 – 11 hands high. She was a black and white pinto who looked more like a horse than the roly-poly image of the standard kid’s Shetland monster. Jessie was ancient when she came to us—beyond reliable dental aging. She had a wise old look about her too. I, on the other hand was young—five or six years old. We spent many hours together, usually just the two of us. I was safe with her, there was no need for a baby sitter. Even in the company of my mother and sister, her short legs had difficulty keeping up with the horses so we lagged behind—me lost in my daydreams, Jessie patiently watching for gopher holes. I learned most of what I ever knew about horses from Jessie. Click here for the rest of “Jessie” by Linda Paul