Morningstar — Part 1

Morningstar, feeling feisty, on a fridgid winter morning with me holding on for dear life. Photo by John.

All my life — since about 3 years old — I wanted a horse.

I was born in a tiny village, called Shiplake, near Henley-on-Thames, in England.

Our house was right beside a farm, owned by Farmer Green. Farmer Green had a couple of big old plow horses. These horses grazed in the field right beside our garden, and when my Mum took me out for little strolls, I would see these gentle giants.

Farmer Greens’ grazing in a field beside our garden. Pen and ink sketch by Louise Peacock

As I got older, my Mum would take me over to the fence, so I could pat the velvet soft noses of these horses. From that time on, I wanted one of my own.

One of Farmer Greens’ plow horses. Pen and Ink sketch by Louise Peacock

After the war was over, my father deemed it safe for the family to travel with him as he followed his career of newspaper correspondent. We went to Belgium, South Africa, France, Spain and finally Portugal where we put down roots.

Anywhere we went, I would lobby for a pony.

In Portugal, they relented finally. After we found a house with a large garden, I got a donkey. For my growing years, this little buddy served as a stand-in for the much sought after horse.

Manjorico, my stand-in for a horse. Photo by M.P. Russell

I grew up, left home, went to England, and after a series of misadventures, ended up in Canada.

After another series of misadventures, I met a friend, who after learning about my lifelong wish for a horse, decided to buy one for me. (Did not help our friendship …another tale.)

That was Morningstar, the Prince Edward Island Albino stallion.

To be continued …