When we were little, we lived in the country.
There were horses in our little barn, cows and farm animals across the road at my friend Brent’s house. I knew which electric fences were on at what time of day and how hay is loaded into the lofts of old fashioned barns. I knew that when my hands got cold I could find my dad’s horse and put my hands under his chest, that he would drop his huge head down and hug me into him, making me even warmer. He would steal the toque off my head by its pom-pom, trotting away from me as I laughed and shouted – he would wave it just out of my reach as I jumped and grabbed for it while he shook his head proudly until he was finished playing and would drop it as I finally reached it.
