"what was the name of your horse?" the guide asked cheerfully, pen poised to jot it down onto my certificate.
"um, i'm not sure...she was solid white and i think it started with a F." i replied.
after a moment's thought, her eyes lit up and she scribbled down the name and triumphantly reported that my horse's name was frida.
my horse was most certainly NOT named frida. but as my certificate now clearly stated so, i decided not to argue.
maybe i should back up a little. the husband and i were just in iceland, on a 10 day vacation around the country. it was the second day of our trip, and we had just completed a little icelandic horse excursion right outside of reykjavik. although in general possessing lukewarm feelings toward horses, i had become somewhat enamoured by the idea of icelandic horses. therefore, i was very enthusiastic about this excursion, and had a made a point to book it early in the trip planning process. it wasn't until the end of our drive to the ishestar center (they conveniently picked us up at our hotel for the tour) when i decended from the mini-bus and hit my head on the door frame, that i began to wonder if this was actually a good idea.
