The Ladies of the League arrange for a volunteer
to bring a miniature horse to the old folks’ home.
“Come see the tiny horse! Now in parking lot B!”
the activities director says over the PA system.
The residents come on walkers and in wheelchairs
to see and touch this unusual animal. Some hold out
their hands and let her nuzzle their palms. Others
stroke her straw-like mane. All exclaim at how small
she is, her withers barely reaching her handler’s
knees. Imagine a horse so small you have to reach
down to touch its head. You would feel like you’re
living in a fairy tale— and you’re the Giant. After the
handler leaves with the horse, I join my father in the
dining room. I look around at the other residents who
are bobbing their heads up and down up and down,
gently nickering into their Jell-O
