Self-contained and magnificent, she indulged her controlled passion together with, but separate from, the giggling girties. The mirror in her mind's eye continually adjusting the image of horse-and-rider that was presented to the outside world. The pleasure of the promenade balanced with the responsibility of the rub-down, the preening, the feeding and the mucking-out.
With the sun beaming into us and an afternoon thunderstorm just a bubble-of-cloud over the distant ocean, Dad and I slurped our coffee adjacent to the dressage field in Centennial Park, about 7 minutes equidistant from my home, his home and the centre of the city. We reminisced about the numerous methods he employed as gate-closers on the farm that we owned in the Hunter Valley in the late '50s.