Growing up I lived and breathed horses. My grandparents owned a boarding stable and I was on horseback before I could walk. I devoured Billy and Blaze, Marguerite Henry's Misty, the Black Stallion. I went through every copy of the Timber Trail Riders my aunt had saved. For years, next to the photograph of the ponies in the mist still in its shrink wrap, this poster hung on my wall. I memorized the shape, size and color of every breed listed.
In our area of the country we had Quarter horses and Arabians and Appalosas. As I grew up I occasionally spotted draft breeds or gaited horses. But it wasn't until we came to England that we met our first cobs with their flowing fetlocks.
Welsh Cobs are an ancient breed. They have pulled carts, hauled coal, ploughed fields and gone to war. Today they mostly carry delighted children and smaller adults in riding events. And greet grateful people like us at the fence.