My Christmas Pony

Yes, you read that correctly.
And yes, I was that girl...
Very, very lucky.

Every girl wants a pony.
Okay, maybe not every girl, but most.
I grew up with stories of my mom going to her family farm and riding her pony King.
She would ride out into the fields.
Just her and her pony.
Endless summer days wandering around with a four-legged best friend.
Perfection.

Every piece of those moments sounded dreamy to me
and I wanted those memories to be mine.
But we lived in town.
No room for a dog to run freely, let alone a horse.
So I just dreamed of horses, collected horses,
rode fake horses, and talked about horses.

Yes, I was that little girl.
Horse obsessed.
It worked well for me.

Thankfully, my parents didn't like living in the city,
so that found us a house with a barn.
Empty stalls...open to possibilities.
Horse dreaming...

During our first Fall in the house,
my parents took my brother and me to different barns looking at ponies.
I was in Heaven.
Lori Heaven.

While looking at ponies, my parents kept emphasizing that we were JUST LOOKING.
Of course, to me,
I figured that any day a pony would show up on my doorstop.
When November came around,
I hoped and prayed that Christmas morning
would make my dream a reality.

Fast forward....Christmas Morning 1982.
A bright-eyed Lori woke up, expecting to see a pony under the tree.
Nope.
No pony.
But there was hope!
Under the tree was a large box...labelled "To Jeff and Lori."
"Oh boy! Oh boy! It had to be a pony!" I thought.

Throughout the morning, I could hardly wait...
All I thought about was my pony.
But, nope.
No pony.
I tried to hide the disappointment,
but it wasn't easy to hide a girls' heart breaking.
(dramatic, I know...I'm a bit dramatic.)

The morning went on...we played with our new toys.
And yes, they were amazing,
but I couldn't believe that my parents would torture me
by looking at ponies for the last month.
They weren't the torturing type!

Then, a miracle happened.
My mom called us up from the basement,
and there in the tree was a note.
The note was a little scavenger hunt,
leading us eventually to the barn.
And there...YES, THERE!
He. Was.
Spunky.
My pony.

It had snowed that morning,
so the horse trailer wasn't able to get up the hill.
That's why the delivery was late.
I think that the wait made the surprise even better.

Of course Spunky was for "both" of us, but we knew he was really for me.
My brother didn't care about ponies, I did.
Spunky was my pony.
My beautiful Christmas pony.
A little dream come true.

Yes, I know that I was a very lucky little girl.
I really know that.
And I am extremely thankful for all of their sacrifice to make our dreams a reality.
My parents made our childhood memorable,
and filled with nuggets of joy, love, and generosity.
And a pony.
My pony.

So for the 27 Christmases that we spent together,
I would make Spunky a special
Christmas mixture of grain, molasses, carrots, and apples.
A little gift, to the BEST gift of my life.
Now that he's gone, his memory lives on through me,
making treats with molasses,
and sharing a story of a little girls' Christmas dream come true.

Merry Christmas Spunky!

____________________________________________________________
Tidbit-

I have had a gripe with my mom each Christmas for as long as I can remember.
You see, every year she displays a Christmas picture.
Or as I think of it, THE Christmas Picture.
It's the Christmas picture that shows my brother as the appreciative child,
thrilled with their Christmas present, while I am the ungrateful child.
Sigh.
At least that's what you would think looking at it.

But seriously, what little girl would want a ATARI Gaming System?
Ok, some might, but not this little girl!
Does my mom display the picture of me overjoyed at getting my pony?
Nope.
Just the one of me, the ungrateful child,
pouting over video games.
Oh well, it is kind of funny.
So mom, can we at least put out one picture of me with Spunky?
Just one?
Thanks. ;)