When I was a kid, the only thing I wanted for Christmas was a pony. I knew that it was unrealistic. After all, we lived in Manhattan so there wasn’t exactly a place to put a pony.
The Christmas I was five or six, my dream came close to coming true. That was the year I got Goldie. While she wasn’t a living breathing pony, she was the size of a real pony and I could ride her.
She came in a huge wooden box from India in six solid pieces of wood which my father assembled into a pony, held together by wooden pegs. My grandmother helped monks import hand-carved Creche scenes through her church and she had them carve Goldie for me. My father bought me a pony sized western saddle for her and with that and my imagination we were off on many adventures.
Once I grew older, I realized that the monks who had carved Goldie had probably never seen a horse before and had probably carved her after looking at a picture of a pony. She looks pretty good from the side, but from the front, her legs look suspiciously human, especially the knees. However, in my eyes, she was perfect.
For many years I had no place to keep her. It wasn’t until my husband and I bought our first house that she was able to come and live with me again. She’s always been a conversation piece. Not that many people have a life-sized pony in their living room and Goldie is certainly unique.