My grandpa and I shared a love of horses, and at age 12, he supported himself through work in a livery stable. After Grandpa married, he raised Shetland ponies, once he could afford to do so. I have a favorite photo of my dad as a young boy astride his spotted pony, Jimmie. Years later, no longer spotted but white with age, Jimmie became the pony on which I learned to ride.
One Friday night when I was 10, Gramp took me with him to the local horse auction, which was held in a long barn. The spectators and buyers sat on bleachers along the length of one long wall—drinking, smoking, laughing, and cussing like I’d never heard before. Along the entire length of this barn, opposite the bleachers, was…
