Spot

At the end of the 1930’s, my Grandpa had a horse they called old “Spot”, and he was as smart as a whip. His horse pen was on the far side of the house closer to the barnyard. Spot was so clever; he could open his gate and come into the yard. Sometimes it would just take a push. Other times, he would lift the gate closer with his muzzle (mouth) and push with his shoulder and enter the yard. Grandma would have freshly laundered clothes pinned on the clothesline once a week. If it happened to be one of those days, he would eat grass casually while he made his way towards the clothesline. Then he’d tug the clothes off one-by-one dropping or tossing whichever amused him the most. My Grandma would never utter a swear word, but when she spotted her clean pillowcases in Spots mouth, she’d huff and exclaim, “bless-ed animal!” with enough indignation to make the cousins chuckle (and share the story).Washing clothes in the 1930’s was an all-day, tiresome task with their washboards, tubs and hand wringing, and it would be considered a hardship to have to rewash those items.

Sometimes, Grandma wouldn’t see him right away, and she would find clothing here and there and even draped over the fence. Spot wouldn’t be far away, blinking innocently, ears perked up. He only got into trouble a couple of times before his gate was secured and he could no longer enter the yard (unless the children left the gate open of course or unless the clever fellow figured it out). Spot was a good worker (lucky for him); regardless of his mischievous nature, his good points outweighed the bad and were therefore allowed to be part of this farm family for many years. His gentle spirit and loyalty made him a favourite.

For one reason or another, Alice (my mom) had to ride him to school one day. She normally walked or caught a ride with her older siblings but this day, she was on her own. She did not like riding horses. Her dread of horses was only slightly outweighed by the consequences of her missing school. Spot was the perfect candidate. Other horses could have dashed by him on the road, but he wouldn’t have cared even if they were racing towards a bucket of oats. Unfazed, he continued his steady pace, calmly disregarding the noisy children and the quicker horses nearby, while Alice clung on and shivered with anxiety.

On the way to school this day, he stopped at a mud puddle. Alice urged him to go around but he walked into it and started pawing, water and mud flying in every direction. When she got to school, she looked like a swamp creature; there were mud spots on her clothes and streaks on her long braids and there were more freckles on her face than usual. The teacher squinted at her, trying to decide whether to hand her books or a towel, and the kids spent the day teasing her about her and her horse and their matching spots.Alice never rode horses if she could help it after her childhood. In fact, this may have been the last time she rode a horse. Nevertheless, Spot was a memorable horse not just for my Mom’s generation, but for mine as well; a few of my cousins and I still get a chuckle recalling the stories told by our Mothers.