"Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible.
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men.
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword.
The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting." - Job 39:19-26
What girl has not, at some point in her life, dreamed of owning a horse? Most girls around the age of 10 seem to go through a horse-crazy stage.
There was once a little girl who owned 40 model horses of all sizes, all named and given personalities, and spent hours playing with them. There was the appaloosa Trotter, the king of the horses, his albino wife, Maria, and their son, Aphalie. (It had to be spelled that way, you see, but it was actually pronounced "Applie."). There was Hollywood, the wicked palomino whose one goal in life was to usurp Trotter and turn the other horses against him. There was Rainbow, the giant plush horse with a mane and tail of every color, and his wife, Pintie, the fiesty little Pinto. Wildfire, the black stallion, was not entirely trustworthy, but ended up becoming a faithful subject of the king - and his wife was Evening Star, the palomino with jointed legs and batteries that were always dead. And there were a host of lesser characters of all shapes, colors and sizes - but I must not forget to mention Joey, who was a little plastic Confederate soldier who had lost his way from the rest of the other plastic soldiers and was kindly allowed to live with the horses. She and her brothers had wonderful times playing downstairs with those horses, acting out all kinds of dramas, from comic to tragic. When she wasn't playing with the model horses, the little girl pretended to be one - usually Trotter, or else a shining black horse like Black Beauty - and she did not just pretend, but was nearly convinced that she actually
became a horse. She watched "National Velvet" and an old British TV series based on "Black Beauty," and loved the theme music to that show so much that her Daddy recorded it onto a tape for her so she could play it downstairs while she galloped through fields and leaped over fences and splashed across rivers.
As she grew a bit older, she stopped playing with her horses, and they were all packed away in Xerox boxes, worn and faded from their years of service. The little girl isn't a little girl anymore, but she still loves horses. In her neighborhood their is a farm with a beautiful black horse like Wildfire, and a stunning dapple like Meriweather, who married Hollywood. There is a fat little Shetland pony like Thunder, and two shining bays. They all stay in a white-fenced meadow with a little blue pond and yellow wildflowers, and a big red barn in the background, and the girl likes to slow down as she drives past them, and remembers how much she used to long to have one. And she is still convinced that there isn't an animal in the world as beautiful, graceful, or majestic as a fearless, giant horse, with a long mane, shimmering coat, thundering hooves, and deep, searching eyes.
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