The Horse That Got Away, Christmas, 1940, by Vernon Wishart

Date: Christmas 1940

As a boy, my favourite toy was plasticine. From lumps of modelling clay I was able, in my imagination, to breathe life into the tiny figures I moulded. My favourite creations were cowboys and Indians riding on horseback in hot pursuit of one another.


My little sister Shirley was fascinated, not so much by the drama I was causing to transpire on our living room floor, as by the horses that bore the combatants. She became fascinated with horses. So much so, that when she was six years old, she made it known that all she wanted for Christmas was a live horse.


This presented some problems for our family. Living in Carstairs, a small prairie town meant that we had neither the resources nor the facilities for the care of a horse. I thought I might solve the problem in a manner that would take my parents off the hook and leave my sister reasonably satisfied that she had a horse, at least temporarily.


This was about nineteen-forty when farmers still used horses for farm work and, on occasion, for transportation to town. Near the Post Office was a hitching rail where horses were tied while rural folk picked up their mail and did their shopping.


As we had no sanitation department, horse droppings usually remained where they had fallen. In the winter, frozen horse buns provided us with ready-made pucks for road hockey games.


It occurred to me that these winterized horse buns might solve the problem revolving around my sister's wish for a pony.


On Christmas Eve it was our custom to hang our stockings from the mantle in the front room of our home. The room had a coal-burning stove, which was stoked with a large clump of coal before we went to bed. This prevented the house from cooling down too much during the night. Even at that, the house became quite chilly especially on a cold winter's morning.


As in most families, Christmas Eve was a time of great anticipation as to what the morning might bring. To carry out my plan I had to lay awake until I was certain Santa had placed the presents under our tree. There was a hot air register in our upstairs' bedroom through which I could listen for activity below. When I was confident the coast was clear, I made my way quietly down the stairs. Under the light of the moon's rays shining through the window, it was tempting not to stop and examine what Santa had placed under the tree. I restrained myself for I had an important mission to accomplish. Having completed my task without being discovered, I snuck back upstairs and to bed. I slipped off to sleep with a feeling of satisfaction at having put things right.


Christmas morning we arose, while it was still dark, and made our way downstairs. Our father, anticipating our early rising, had gotten up, put the Christmas tree lights on, and added fresh coal to the fire. We descended to the comfort of a warm room, sparkling tree lights and decorations, and most important of all, an inviting array of presents.


I noticed, of course, that despite the lovely presents that lay before my sister's eyes, she was not able to hide her disappointment. There was no horse. Her unfulfilled expectation quickly turned to alarm when she reached into her stocking! My cheerful announcement, "Shirley had a horse but it got away!" did not have the affect on her I had anticipated.


What didn't help matters was the fact that the warm fire had taken its toll. The touch and smell of soggy horse bun in the foot of her stocking caused my sister great displeasure, not to mention my parents frame of mind. I don't recall all that was said to me on that particular Christmas morning, but I do recall it being a not so memorable Christmas. Thereafter, I confined my efforts to creating horses, but only for cowboys and Indians.