In the late 1980's, my parents built a log cabin in the southeastern Adirondack Mountains of New York State.  I was about nine then, an "outdoorsy" sort of kid who loved our ten acres on the side of the mountain, surrounded by forest. 

Since we finally lived in the country, we slowly accumulated a collection of the animals that I'd always wanted as pets.  Soon the house and backyard were filled with a dog, a puppy, a cat, gerbil, parakeet, rabbit, goats, mallard ducks…yet still, something was missing.

Ever since I'd known what they were, I had always wanted my own horse.  All young girls do at some point, I guess, but to me it was more than just a whim.  I drew horses, wrote stories about them, read every horse book that I could get my hands on, and daydreamed constantly.  I thought that a horse was the ultimate pet.

My daydreaming happily ended when my Dad bought me my first horse the winter that I was eleven years old.  Dad said she was a retired racehorse from the Saratoga Harness Track, whose racing name was "Sally de Baron."  After we made just a few painfully short Sunday visits to the farm where she stayed, she finally came home four months later on a rainy Easter weekend.

But, those winter visits were not the first time that we'd met.  I first saw Sally one summer day the year before.  Dad and I went to his co-worker's old farm to buy the two pet mallard ducklings, and that's when I first spotted Sally in the back field. 

I still think of that as one of the happiest days of my life, when Sally's owner asked if I'd like to ride…of course, yes!…and she rummaged around the big rickety barn for a saddle and bridle.  She couldn't find the saddle and I'd never ridden bareback, just had some English riding lessons and occasional trail rides at the local dude ranch, but I didn't care.  Sally, who hadn't been ridden in awhile, took off trotting over the dusty field as I clung onto her tangled mane, but soon settled down and walked calmly under the hot sun.  At that point I somehow knew that we'd be together.

Almost a year later as I stood with Sally in our damp backyard corral, I was so happy that my dream had come true that I didn't notice that she looked rather…ordinary.  Her shaggy bay fur was a dull brown, her long tail tangled and matted with burrs.  Her slightly Roman nose bore a scarred bump from an old paddock injury.  But after a few days with my shedding blade, her plain-looking coat changed to a rich, glossy red when the spring sun shown on it.  I shortened her mane and picked the burrs from her tail, and she once again resembled the sleek racehorse of her younger days.

Sally, a Standardbred, could pace faster than most horses could canter.  She was middle-aged, lean, long-legged and gentle.  As the months passed I rode everywhere, often on the dirt roads and sugarbush trail a mile away.  The sugarbush trail led to a pond bordered by a narrow dirt road and summer cabins.  It was a ways to travel by road, but over this woodland trail it was only a mile or two.  Since the hazy summer day when we discovered the pond, it became my favorite place to ride.

For nearly two years, Sally was my constant companion.  I would ride to the ruins of long-abandoned cabins and tumbledown houses, where she'd wait patiently outside while I explored the musty old rooms.  I learned how to jump her over the low rocks and fallen trees on our property's old logging roads…which gave me plenty of practice at falling off!  I often cantered bareback down those narrow trails without holding the reins or her mane, my arms outstretched, the leafy saplings brushing my hands.  I trusted her, and she never failed me.

I did other dangerous stunts that would've made my Mom faint, but it was as if Sally knew that her reckless rider hadn't a thought towards injury.  She always took care of me and brought me home safely.

Sally was never aggressive, but she did have her quirks.  Her favorite game was to spin around and head for home at a full pace.  I think she knew that it was hard for me to stop her at that gait.  Other times she would spook at something silly, like a boulder or the neighbor's cows, but not even blink as a noisy logging truck rumbled past on the winding mountain road.  It was a time that I thought would always last.

For me, it ended one bitter cold day in late December.  Snow flurries sprinkled on us as we hurried down the road toward home, since it was too cold to be outside for very long.  Christmas was coming up, but even the thought of it couldn't make me happy.  My parents were divorcing and selling the log cabin, and Mom and I were soon moving to an apartment in the village.  Sally was going to be boarded, but somehow, deep inside me I knew that it was our last ride.

The weekend that she was transported to her new boarding stable, I stayed at my Dad's new place.  The next morning, my tough, taciturn father hugged me, in tears, and told me that she'd had a heart attack the night before and was "put to sleep."  I didn't have a chance to say goodbye.

It took several years before I realized that Sally was more than just a horse.  Instead, she had been one of my few friends, a larger-than-life companion who was sent by God to be there for me through my parents' divorce and my difficult middle-school years.  I now believe that guardian angels don't always come in human form.

Sally didn't win any horse shows.  She couldn't gallop like a barrel racer or jump like a hunter, but she helped make my few years living in the woods a magical time.  I'm 32 years old now, and Sally's been gone for over 20.  Although all that's left are memories and a few blurry photographs, I'll never forget the times that we spent together.