I remember standing in my crib and looking out the window and seeing the horses. My dad and uncle Paul owned them. Socks was my dad’s horse. They were beautiful and very  entertaining for a one year old girl. “Horse” was naturally my first word. That was a little disappointing for my mother, but none the less it was my father who had to have been proud that his curly blond little dolly loved horses. My dad has always liked fast things such as horse and motorcycles and me being a daddy’s girl, I did too. I remember climbing up the big barrow pit on my dad’s motorcycle and squealing with delight. Then he traded his motorcycle for a saddle and a young filly named, “Smokey.” It was the perfect name for this young 2 year old horse. She was dark smokey gray and when my dad kicked her in gear all you could see is smoke! I would ride behind him in the saddle and he would run like the wind and she could jump culverts and ditches in one stride. I wasn’t big enough, experienced enough or strong enough to ride her by myself so  I always had