My parents had horses before I was born. My dad had a chestnut Quarter Horse mare named Tammy; he was always a casual rider, who liked to go on trail rides. (Later in my life, he would serve as an outrider on my cross country schooling jaunts and at horse trials.) My mom had a little gray Arabian gelding named Romeo and took lessons at a hunter/jumper barn. I suppose it made sense to them to find a horse for me so I could ride, too.
My mom found Daisy in the local newspaper classified section and bought her, plus a saddle and bridle for a whopping $350. She was delivered to us on Independence Day, 1991.
Daisy was some kind of Shetland mix and possibly the cutest pony who ever lived. She was also a brat, regularly throwing me off. One memorable time, she bucked me off, bolted off down the road, and was returned to us by our neighbors with her saddle broken. She managed to buck my dad off once or twice; I think she missed her calling in the rodeo.
When we moved to Tennessee, we gave Daisy to one of my kindergarten classmates whose mother ran the local 4-H drill team. He sent me postcard updates on her for several years; his family had her until she died of old age.
Thankfully, my next mount wasn’t quite so enamored with throwing her riders!