Her name was Dolly, and she looked nothing like Mr. Ed. She was Papaw's plow horse. She was, in my memory anyway, a gargantuan white-and-brown draft horse. She was the gentlest horse on Earth, and she was partly responsible for my conviction that horses want to kill you and stomp your body into the dirt.
Papaw was Earl Leon Luke, my mother's father. He owned about a hundred acres of Mississippi farmland and woods in Coy, Mississippi – right outside of Philadelphia. I loved spending time on his farm because I was a suburban kid from what I thought was the big city, and it was awesome to do “farm things.”
Whenever Cathy and I showed up, Papaw would drag the bridle and saddle out and get Dolly ready for us to ride her. I loved riding Dolly. She always walked slowly and smoothly. Because of her, I thought that all horses were gentle and safe.
One day when I was about four, I walked up to pet Dolly on the nose. When she saw me coming, she walked up to meet me. Unfortunately, my bare foot ended up underneath her enormous, ironclad hoof. My foot was cut in a pretty spectacular fashion. I ran into the house screaming and bleeding. When the adults in the house asked how I'd gotten hurt, I told them I hurt it on barbed wire because I was afraid Dolly would get in trouble, and I didn't want to tell on my good friend.
You'd be surprised how loyal four-year-olds can be.
Jack
“Not A Stool Pigeon” Parker
