More Than A Hobby Horse

They meet, blue eyes to brown, blonde hair to roan.  Wispy bangs straggle both foreheads.

He clicks forward, nudging for a tender carrot he ferociously wants but can barely handle anymore.

She understands his challenge after two visits from the tooth fairy herself.

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, the tall lady behind is providing both a safe snack. She palms

the golden nuggets out, surprised by the tender lips surrounding his tired, old teeth. He doesn’t bite.

Rapport is established between mouthfuls of shared munchies and they lean into each other.

“How old are you?” the lady asks, lifting her into a mini- princess sized saddle.

She holds up a free hand, the other entwined in his dark mane.

Her father nods and makes adjustments.

“When I was five I got sick,”  the lady explained. “He did, too, so we were a good fit.”

“He was never just a hobby horse.”

“Soon I will have to go away, so….

    

The roan steered the blonde in wide circles ’til both were spent.

“We’re a good fit, daddy,” she sang, reaching for familiar arms.

The foursome walked in the afternoon haze until all was settled.

He would never be just a hobby horse.

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