My friend and I decided to go out for a leisurely Sunday evening dinner. It was nothing elaborate, just the freedom from cooking and washing up the dishes. We went to Theo's.

We decided to have a glass of white wine before we ordered and were leisurely sipping it when someone was ushered in to the table across from us. We paid no attention and went on talking.

Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder, and I looked up into the smiling face of a person who had grown up a couple of doors from the old store at Mitchell Square. She had been a friend of my own children. Their interest in common had been horses. She had married a chap who was also an avid horseman. I looked up and there he was also smiling, and pleased to surprise me.

When I say they had horses, do not picture those you see at the races or beautiful animals that cost a mint. Owning horses for my son came about this way:

He worked for a mink farmer after school and in the holidays. Horses past their usefulness were auctioned off for mink food. It sounds so cruel, doesn't it? He often went with the farmer to the auctions.

One day he came home with a horse! She was 16 years old. One would never guess her age from her appearance. Her coat had a healthy shine, her eyes were bright and intelligent. It was hard to imagine her being put down.

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