Sometimes the horses would get loose. That's the thing with horses: Fencing. Keeping up a fence in those days meant almost weekly repairs. If you forgot, the horses reminded you. Most often by galloping away down Atlantic Avenue headed to who knows where. Ancient instinct telling them, RUN, FIND THE REST OF THE HERD! Only thing is, the herd was now station wagons and trucks. But they didn't care.
I was five and no one believed me when I'd tell them the horses were loose. I was at the kitchen table one day, the only one who looked up in time to see three horses trotting past the picture window.
"MOM! The horses are loose!"
It stinks being ignored as a kid. I saw the looks, "she's trying to get our attention again."
Okay fine. Don't believe me.
Four minutes later the phone would ring--"OH, OH DEAR, we'll be right there!"
And off my sister and parents would go after the loose horses, leaving me in the kitchen at the window waiting for the rest of the action.
