Memories of Rocking Horses

I blame Jasia over at Creative Gene, for prodding my memory that I once desperately wanted to be a cowgirl. Then Terry at Hill Country of Monroe County Mississippi, got all maudlin about his “Old Paint.”

That was it.  I cracked.  I went in search of a photograph of myself on my pony. I found it! A black and white snapshot.  I was straddling my rocking horse, dressed in various western clothing accessories and enjoying my traveling music.  I needed nothing more to experience pure bliss.

My “pony” was a blue wooden steed with spots and a red braid.  I'd put a record on the phonograph and would rock for hours.  I rode so long that my “horsie” made grooves in the linoleum floor.  This photograph above shows my sister Kathi playing the DJ while I rode my pony, grinning like a lunatic.

That photo was during my “everything western infatuation” stage.  The Lone Ranger was my favorite television show. I enjoyed wearing anything fringed, feathered or furred.  I knew the lyrics to “Davey Crockett.”

Those were the days when it was believed that playing with toy rifles, pistols, and other weapons would not result in your becoming an axe-murderer or deviant. (My brother Peter is pictured with me above. Thats either a coon-skin cap I'm wearing, or a piece of an old rug).

We often played “Cowboys and Indians.”  Sometimes the cowboys won.  Sometimes the Indians did.  No one told us we were being politically incorrect. (In the photo below my sister Kathi is on the left, and I'm on the right).

If anyone else would like to join in and post a photograph of themselves on any sort of horse (rocking, bouncy, carousel, real), join in!  Send me the link and I'll post it here.


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