When I was a young girl, I wished for a horse more than anything in the world. Dad surprised me on my 13th birthday with a wonderful companion, Pat, my Quarter/Thoroughbred mix. She was dark brown with white socks and a white star on her forehead. Her real name was Shadow Star but we all just called her Pat. (A few years later, Dad bought a ranch outside Waco, Texas and called it Star Shadow Ranch in her honor.) She got to live in our backyard corral in Reno, Nevada, and my teenage years revolved around horse activities in 4-H, parades, and fun rides with my friends. She was a darn good barrel racer and could run like the wind. In the summertime, I was always barefoot and bareback, riding Pat all over Virginia Foothills. I taught her a magic word which would make her run as fast as she could go. I would ride to a long, straight dirt road, whisper “Chiggerbite” into her ear, then hang onto her mane and feel the wind whip through my hair as she bolted and raced down the road. She was an amazing horse and I never had any problems or issues with her. Miss you, Pat.
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