What an innocent thing it is to be a child. We have simple wants and complex needs that, as children, are completely unaware of. Our eyes are always wide as we devour information to fuel our bright and exciting worlds. Unfortunately, as a child I didn't have much of an opportunity to have innocence. Oh, but when I had wishes and hopes at that age I poured my heart and soul into it. Ever since I was a little girl, I was passionate about animals. I looked at them with a motherly like instinct to care for them. I had witnessed animal abuse many times as a child and perhaps that’s why my instinct to take care of them runs through my veins like a lioness’s motherly instinct runs through hers. Horses in particular I was very fond of. I rode them when my parents first got divorced and from then on having one of my own was all I could think about. Even at the age of 5 I remember being in awe of these gentle, giant, and beautiful creatures. The concept of trusting another animal so much that you jump up on its back and ride it was absolutely amazing to me. I wanted so much to be able to feel that trust filled bond with another being. It was such an innocent, but whole-hearted thing for me to experience. I wished for a horse at every opportunity I had. As I blew out the candles on each birthday cake I wished for a horse. Anytime I walked I scanned the ground for pennies; and for each one I found I shut my wide young eyes and wish for a horse. When I was young, I only saw one shooting star. I was on top of a playground tower at night, which at the time was the tower of my castle overlooking my kingdom, when I looked up and saw it. “Oh!” I thought with child-like excitement, “this is my chance!” and I double crossed my fingers and wished for, you guessed it, a horse. It was likely a coincidence, but around the time that I was 8 my father met my stepmom and I came to find out she had a horse. At that point I did not care who she was or what she was like. She had a horse, she was in, no questions asked I approved.
To my delight she agreed to marry my father and they bought a house together. One weekend, when I was ordered to help move some things out of my stepmother’s old house, I saw him. It was cold and rainy out. There was mud and junk everywhere and when I got out of the car I looked over into the yard and saw a scruffy, dirty, chestnut horse. His fuzzy winter fur was crusted in mud and dirt. He was shy and looked at me with an expression that said “Who’s this human breathing heavily and staring at….Ugh, quit smiling like that!” But I didn’t care; in a cloud of youthful exhilaration that scruffy old boy looked like he was straight out of an Anna Sewell novel. His name was Chamie and he was mine and at that