A fairy tale for children of all ages
Not that long ago, and not that far away, lived a beautiful black horse named Gypsy. She was as sweet as sugar and had lived a long and good life, taking many a girl on swift canters through the sun-dappled woods as well as on high-stepped prances in colourful pageants.
The years had passed by, as years do, and Gypsy grew old. No longer did she yearn to gallop through the meadows or trot in the arenas as she had in the days of her youth.
Her owners had no more use for her, so they took her to auction. Not many people want an old horse. And so Gypsy stood, head a bit low, back a bit drooping, awaiting her fate.
Little did Gypsy suspect that a princess would fall in love with her and lead her home. The eight-year-old child, who lives in the foothills of BC’s wild Monashee Mountains, was looking for a gentle, sweet horse. And Gypsy was just that. And, as the princess weighed a mere 50 pounds, Gypsy would hardly notice the extra weight on her old back.
Gypsy’s new home was a small slice of paradise. The black mare had her own little barn, her own paddock, and a princess who fed, watered and brushed her. And she soon came to discover that every day she was allowed to roam wherever she pleased. No fences stopped her. The grass in the wild meadows was hers, the grass in the open fields was hers, the grass along the shaded pathways was hers -- as was the grass of the broad and wide castle lawn. (Okay, a little exaggeration here. It’s not actually a castle -- it’s a gorgeous 5-star health spa. But when you stay there you are treated like royalty -- so it must be a castle. But back to the story . . . )
Now and then Princess Brittany and her sister Princess Kelsi took Gypsy on rides -- small rides that were perfect for a young girl and an old horse.
And so it was, that every morning during the hot summer and warm fall, Gypsy would walk up the long hill from her barn to the castle lawn. There she would graze for an hour or two, taking naps on the shady castle porch and standing at the kitchen door, hoping for a carrot or apple to come her way.
And every day she would lower herself down onto the soft grass, lie quietly or roll. And often she would share the lawn with the castle’s resident hound Sir Chancelot, commonly known as Chance.
And when the princess and her harpist friend Countessa Lori Pappajohn dressed Gypsy in colourful attire, she stood quietly and respectfully. After all, she too, was a princess -- a horse princess who was fortunate to find a paradise kingdom to call her own.
The moral of this tale is simple: sometimes when you feel as if you are at the end of your road, hold on to hope. The next bend may take you to a hidden paradise.
For more information on Gypsy’s home, visit http://www.silverhills.ca/