I have a friend with whom I have shared secrets, stories, philosophy, and plenty of tears.

We both love dogs. But she is also an accomplished horsewoman, a professional colt-starter and level 4 Parelli rider, while I have never in my life sat in a saddle except on the carousel at the San Diego Zoo or Disneyland. 

The beach stables in Imperial Beach closed by the time I had enough baby sitting money to spend on a two-hour ride.  My brother and I used to dream of riding our horses on the sand.  Our grandfather bought race horses, but they weren't for child's play.  Grandfather also refused our names for his horses:  Sayonara and Moonlight.

When the opportunity arose in late years, something always went wrong:  it started to rain on my "horse" day at Camp Fire Girls' Camp (Camp Wolahi sure to shine / All of the time.")

The day we took the kids to the stables in Mammoth, California, the handlers said our son was too young to ride.  So I led him on a docile mare on the walking path while my daughter and husband rode off on the trail ride.

So I have an earnest desire to one day ride a horse.  I believe as well that horse therapy could be of some use for my grandson and his autism.  We'll never know until we try.  And I don't care if I'm sixty. . . I'm ready to try.