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  • Writer's pictureClarke Wallace


There are times when looking back at old photos, a smile

spreads across my face. Though taken years ago, they feel

like yesterday.

One of them is me as a kid riding my Welsh pony. She

was black with great patches of white.

We kept her in a field next to what was our cottage in


Catching Bubbles when I wanted to go riding would mean

cornering her in the pasture before she’d sigh and give up.

Once when riding her bareback and galloping down a

dusty road, she tripped and down she went. I flew over her head

and hit the ground.

I was getting up knowing Bubbles as was her nature being free,

would be long gone.

It was then I realized she was bending over me to see if I was okay.

Once on my feet I wrapped both arms around her neck and

squeezed Bubbles tight. I climbed back on. We headed home.

I’d been riding all my life, one or two summers spent on a ranch

south of Calgary. On horseback. Rounding up cattle.


Writer’s comment: I haven’t been riding for the past few years,

when Rosanne took me one recent weekend for an unexpected


We ended up at a small ranch not far from home where a

couple of horses were saddled and ready to take us for a ride.

I couldn’t believe it!

Back in the saddle again.

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