Dory Fleshman

Today I got to thinking about my horse named Cricket.

I didn’t give her that name, for she came that way, already 25 years old and said to be a former racehorse.

There were also the days when I thought I would be an artist and I drew on drawing paper, school pencil tablets, napkins, and scrap paper.

Actually, I became pretty good at it. You could actually recognize that it was a horse that I was drawing.

Along with my observation of how to draw a horse, I begged my parents to get me my own horse once we no longer had a workhorse out in our field.

You know how a pleading young girl can beg her parents into almost anything, so eventually they gave in and started looking around for just the right one. Our home was at 507 Fourth St. and F in La Grande where F Avenue failed to cut through to Sixth Street from Fourth Street. The barren land between was ours, so my Dad fenced it in and built a little shed to house my horse, should they find one. I was supplied with bridle, saddle, horse blanket and rope just as soon as we heard about Cricket being sold by a man who lived in a house just under the Second or Fourth Street bridge.

We hurried down to see this racehorse, my parents concerned that she might be too active for a 12-year-old child.

Well, of course, I fell in love at first sight and just had to have her and the begging began all over again.

Finally my parents gave in for the $25 price with delivery promised to our house.

This was accomplished and my horsemanship training began. I learned to catch Cricket in the field, bridle her, smooth on the blanket, set the saddle, and fasten the cinch under her belly and up to the saddle. It didn’t take long for me to learn that she would take a deep breath as the cinch became tightened, but I felt smarter to stand and wait until she breathed out again and then I would pull the cinch tight again. No way did I want the saddle to go upside down with me aboard.

Once back home again from being out riding I would remove her trappings, give her a good currying with a brush, water and feed her, and then put away the gear before going in the house to a family meal.

One of the special times on my horse was entering a downtown parade or maybe it was a 4-H affair. We met at Triangle Park at Fourth and Depot streets. … no longer there as such. It now houses Old West Federal Credit Union. At the time, though, it was a lovely park of trees for shade and graveled paths for walking with benches for resting. Then there was a Dutch Mill where Lloyd and Lois Purdy sold bread and ice cream cones. A stone pool of water in front of the store was home for a while to live fish. Even later Dairy Queen was there. It all seemed such a loss to our town when Triangle Park became commercialized.

Cricket and I had wonderful days together, a few years too, riding the hills alone or with my cousin or friends until I grew older and favored playing in the school band and gave my time to that.

We heard of a young girl who was just crazy about horses and badly wanted one of her own. So, I lovingly wrapped my arms about Cricket’s neck and told her how happy she would be with her new owner. The young girl was as ecstatic as I had been so, with tears in my eyes, I let my childhood 27-year-old horse be led away as a gift.

I still like horses and other animals, having had many of them as pets in my growing-up days, but time and other interests led me on. Still, today I often look back on my time with Cricket as very special. I don’t know why she came to mind this day, but it warms my heart to think of the tie between myself and my horse Cricket of 83 years ago.