My cousin had a rocking horse.
Not one of the small ones like in the picture above but one of those closer to the size of the real thing when you're four.
You know the ones. It was so big it was supported by a heavy wooden base and had strong metal struts through to a wooden brace from one end to the other - and real stirrups! It was made of wood and had a leather saddle and a rope mane and tail.
Hey, it was kinda like this one
|Photo from Instructibles in the U.K.|
I remember climbing up onto it after curiosity took over my fear.
I can still imagine embracing it's neck and the endless rhythm and sound of metal grinding as I urged that thing on and on.
I remember that after a while I pushed that pony to it's limit and it was heading for the door.
Of course all too quickly I grew up and rode real horses, live ones that bolted for home when it was time.
Now I think it must be terribly frustrating to be a rocking horse, standing in one spot and going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and to imagine a real horse behaving in such a manner is downright silly.