It was the summer of 1960, I was six years old and visiting my Grandparents in Sugar City, Colorado. I was finally old enough to have my very own pony and his name was Ned. Ned had warts on his nose and one bright blue eye. My Grandmother made up trips for me so I could ride to the field to deliver water and snacks to my Grandfather. On one of those trips the canteen tied to my saddle horn spooked Ned and he bucked me off. I was not hurt and my Dad made me get right back on and I have been riding ever since.
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