Miss Daisy-Mae--a Memoir

So, this is a memoir I had to write recently for English class...Actually, I'm handing it in tomorrow...I'll try to remember to let you know what grade I get...

Squish, smush, snort. These sounds met my ears as she cantered around me in the mud and snow. It was blustery cold that day, April 17, 2007, the day my dream came true. You could find me standing in a small corral at Storie Stables, a private horse farm a little out of the town I lived in. This place, the place my 12 year old eyes first laid eyes on her, was windy, bitterly cold, as it was the last winter storm of the year. The weather seemed to have decided to work really hard at freezing everything solid and turning the world all white for the last time before spring hit. In the midst of this storm my mother brought me here to take a look at a horse whose “For Sale” ad I’d seen on the internet. She was a cute little horse, still fuzzy with her winter coat and chestnut brown, with a crooked, penguin-shaped white stripe down her face. She was a stubborn, feisty little mare, but I was a stubborn kid, and wouldn’t admit that she was a tad bit more to handle then I was used to. Anyway, here we were, the horse and I, her cantering in a circle around me, driven along by my repeated snaps of the whip. My eyes and body circled around and around watching her nimble legs navigate the slick, muddy footing.

My horse-back riding Aunt Daniela rode the dark-colored horse and had quite a ride, as the mare refused to do half of the things asked of her. Soon, I mounted her, expecting an equally challenging ride, but instead the little horse calmed right down and listened to me, as if she knew it was important.

The world was quiet, white, and cold until Jean, the owner of the Quarter Horse I rode, asked “Would you like to try her outside?”

“Sure,” I responded, nodding bravely. Tears welled up in my eyes as my mother’s voice broke the stillness:

“Should I write a check?”

I’d taken riding lessons since I was a little four year old riding a welsh pony. Did I want to have my own horse? Well, that’s like asking a man about to die of hunger if he’d like some bread! Ok, so maybe not that dramatic, but it was close. Of course I wanted a horse!

Sitting astride the little mare, I grinned, hot tears running down my chilled cheeks, and nodded. All those years of wishing for a pony over the candles on my birthday cake had paid off. My dream had come true: Daisy was mine.