This is possibly my Mother’s fault, although okay, I’ll accept the blame because, well, I did beg until she finally bought the little black and white horse. No, not a real one, but a wonderful statue that came with a removable plastic saddle that went missing long ago. But that statue still decorates one of my bookshelves, where it perches in front of an entire row of books about equines. Beloved stories that solidified my love of horses began with Misty of Chincoteague by Margarite Henry, followed by Walter Farley’s Fury series. And of course, Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty is not to be attempted without a good supply of tissues. Lots of kids, mostly little girls, catch ‘horse fever.’ My daughters and I are happily and incurably infected.