by Terry DukesNo more shimmying up a rope tied to the saddle horn. No more trying to lead a wary and wise horse next to a fence so I could get on. She was just my size and Fancy was her name. Love at first sight? Yes, ma’am. She was fuzzy and sweet natured and would be my playmate for many years.

One of my best friends growing up was just here with her husband for the Stampede golf tournament. One evening, over cocktails, our conversation turned to our little ponies, the Shetlands, and the many miles we had traveled with those diminutive horses and how we treated them as loved pets. I recalled my mother being extremely upset when Fancy pooped in the porch swing, which was only about five feet from the front door. After scrubbing the swing, I gave Fancy a bath, hugged her neck and told her she hadn’t done anything wrong. She was merely heeding the call of nature in the wrong place

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