I had the very good fortune to be raised in a family that spent summers in Estes Park, Colorado. Every year in the spring, we would pack our blue jeans and cowboy boots and head to the mountains where my family operated livery stables that rented horses to the tourists. My sister and I had ponies that we rode around like a couple of wild Indians. Hers was Golden Glow, mine was Whiskers. We rode our ponies wearing ball caps with their names emblazoned upon them. Of course I had a speech impediment because my sister taught me to speak and passed hers along to me. We could not pronounce our R's. The sound came out like a W. Much like Elmer Fudd. People would approach us and ask us our ponies names. I would say "Whiskas" to which they would respond "Whiskas?". I would get indignant and say "Noooo, WHISKAS", stick my chin out, point to my ball cap and then ride away. Charming.
Every day we would wake up in our little cabin "Timberline". It was nestled up against the side of the mountain and had a high deck on the front of it. We had a tiny little bedroom off the back of the cabin. It was a little sloped ceiling addition lined in knotty pine with a set of bunk beds against the tallest part of the room. The ceiling was so low that I, as a 5 year old, could not sit up in bed. No biggie, because we didn't spend much time in there anyway, especially after the ant invasion that I experienced one night in my bunk. Summer was about swimming, climbing the mountain to our secret cave, throwing horse manure at gross boys, ghost stories and, of course, riding our ponies.
After our daily chores of washing dishes and vacuuming, my sister and I would decide what to do for the day. Every day she would suggest that we ride. Every day I would protest that I really didn't feel like riding (this was a lie, I did want to ride). So I would feign disinterest as she would try to convince me to go with her on the ponies. It always ended in a pact of some sort. Usually the pact went like this; I sat in the cabin and read and book while she caught the ponies, brushed them, saddled them and lead them over to the deck of the cabin. From there I jumped down off the deck, my feet never touching the ground, onto my ponies back. This little "deal" happened once or twice a week. Yet she never caught on, or maybe she did and she just didn't mind. Anyway, I totally manipulated her and she completely allowed it. Ha Ha!
I told my husband this story. He immediately informs me that because of my actions, she allows people to treat her like a slave. He also adds a "nice going" to the end of his accusation. Crazy talk. I choose to believe that it is because of me that she has such a strong work ethic and is a very tolerant boss. Yes, my glasses may be rose colored, but it sure is purty in my world. Now, where is my Unicorn?