I've already posted this on my other blog but I've decided to translated it for my english-speaking friends. This is a true story. It is an abstract from a little book written and illustrated by my mom for my niece Gene. This story happenned in the thirties. My mother was about nine years old... She lived on a farm with lots of brothers and sisters. I hope the traduction is not too bad...
Guest Artist: Jeanne Larouche Villeneuve.
Sometimes, in winter, when the weather was gloomy and when the snow and the wind oblitarated the old lane, my father harnessed the Old Fine to the cariole and came to take us at school. Hidden under the fur blankets, we were cradled by the slow, safe and regular pace of our nice pink mare. No no, Fine was not really pink. But like many horses of her lineage, she was of a nice beige color, had heavy horse hair and a long golden blond tail.
Fine tragically died on a summer day, while she was grazing in the middle or our fields with her inseparable companion, Jo the black Bronco. They were both hit by a stroke of lightning during a terrible storm. My father never had time to bring them back to the stable. When he told us that Fine was dead, I was very sad and cried for a long time. I was nine years old then. After a few weeks, I was comforted by the though that my Fine was at last free. She didn't have to work hard on the farm anymore, pulling the plow or dragging some heavy cartloads of oat. She was now forever happy in the great golden light of Paradise, even nicer, and at last, really pink.