I used to collect Breyer horses, or rather badger my parents into buying them for me. My friend Ruthie Allen, the one who introduced me to horses, used to collect them too and together we would play with them like dolls. They were organized into specific family groups that mimicked what we saw around us. There were some nuclear horse families and single-mom families. We never worried ourselves overly about paternity .
They had homes, some furniture, clothing, blankets, home-made bridles and saddles, and maybe even kitchen equipment. I think the mom Belgian, for example, would cook dinner for her husband, Gus. Gus belonged to Ruthie and the mom was mine.
One of my favorites was Ann, a dappled gray Arabian. Ann was the prettiest name I could think of and seemed to go well with the plastic mare’s almost Quaker-girl demeanor.
When Ruthie and I got too old play with horses anymore, I packed them up in boxes and labeled them all with their names. Years later, when my father asked me if I still wanted them, I said yes. He brought them down but I didn’t open the boxes, just put them away in the basement.
Later, when it was time to get going and I needed to travel lighter than I had been, I donated them to a woman’s shelter. I hope that some stranded children have found some quality time with Ann and the others, making the herd gallop from room to room, tucking them into bed at night, and rousing them in the morning for new adventures in the shelter.
Image courtesy of BreyerHorses.com. This image is for non-commercial home use only. All hail Breyer!