At the age of two, my parents took me to visit my aunt and uncle at their ranch in Montana. We were sitting on the lawn waiting for them to arrive, and I got up and walked into the pasture. Instead of jumping up to save me, my parents decided to stay put and see what would happen.

I eventually began learning to ride, first in a western saddle at Bar 20 Ranch in Montana, but once we moved to London for two years I switched to an English saddle. It’s been 12 years now, and I’ve gone from barely being able to sit on a horse to jumping 3’9″ fences.

I got my first pony when I was eight, and it was the horse I’d been riding for two or three years at the time. I woke up Christmas morning, at the crack of dawn to the disappointment of my parents, and we opened the presents under the tree. Then my mom suggested we go to the barn to give Razz, the horse, some Christmas carrots. When we got there, my trainer led her out of her stall. She had a red bow stuck to her forehead and streamers around her neck. She was my Christmas present.

I rode Razz until she was too old to continue competing, and then we retired her to my aunt and uncle’s ranch. From there came a couple other ponies, all of whom I loved dearly but outgrew quickly. And then finally I graduated to a horse, Time.

At first we didn’t get along. He was big, and was a lot for me to handle. But after a year or so of struggles, we finally figured out how to work together. And that was when he became my best friend.

Although we weren’t so cool as to have a special whistle which would have him running over to me, like you see in the cheesy movies, he would come sauntering over as soon as he saw me standing by the pasture gate waiting for him. He was a bit like a puppy-dog, and would follow me around, even without a lead rope.

We also experimented with his diet. Gummy worms? His absolute favorite. Along with gummy bears, fruit mentos, things along those lines. However, goldfish, pretzels, and fritos were a huge no-no. Those just ended up back on the floor.

I would look forward to going to the barn every day after school. It was my escape form reality, and it still is. I don’t have to worry about a test the next day, or how poorly I’m doing in math while I’m there. Time was also a shoulder for me to cry on as my parents started arguing, and eventually divorced. I could tell him about my day without him passing any judgments.

At least not out loud.

Time was, and still is, that one thing I can rely on. I know he will always be at the barn waiting for me, and that whatever mistakes I make can be forgiven. Over the course of the four years I’ve owned him, he has become an especially fuzzy safety blanket for me. One that I rely on heavily.