The memory of a nameless horse fair as a young girl was the memory with which all others were measured. Ivy had no idea how old she had been, or why her mother had taken her there in the first place. She remembered a chaotic blend of smells – horse manure and cotton candy and fried food and the acrid smell of the city. And, oh, the horses! Tall hunters stood calm and sturdy amidst the chaos, shaggy ponies fidgeted at the end of lead ropes, draft horses looked down their long Roman noses at the commotion with a slightly bemused air, hot-blooded breeds spun and pawed in the scant room afforded them. Anna had kept a grip on her hand that bordered on painful, but Ivy forgave her because Anna was not a horse person and seemed quite terrified that Ivy might get hurt.

Ivy insisted on looking at them all. Anna asked her favorite, but the child was speechless with wonder and longing. She loved them all, from the shiniest show jumper to the shaggiest pony. And then, just when the fair began to peter out into a small park, she spotted the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

The pony was maybe 13.2, taller than the one she had at home, but still small. He was muddy and underfed, impossible to tell his true coat color, but his eyes transfixed her. They were deep brown and soft, with long pale lashes. She felt as if he saw into her, a kindred soul in a world that always seemed arbitrary and a bit incomprehensible. Ivy felt as if she knew him, had always known him. It made her brain swim.

Of course her mother didn’t want to go look, but Ivy insisted with a vehemence that must have shocked Mrs. Allerton, because they made their way back to the little horse. Ivy begged and begged to bring him home, but her mother was not having it. A dirty little mongrel had no place in their stable. Ivy remembered sobbing, which she rarely did, even when she was injured. In the end, Anna had to bring her back to the car and ply her with a stick of cotton candy. The adults wanted quiet and composure, so that’s what she gave them once she had calmed down. But she couldn’t understand why some horses were “good” and some “bad.” They were, and still are, all wonderful to her.