…but were afraid to ask.
Once in a while, you find something that’s so personal, so specific, that you can’t imagine how any sane thrift store manager expects to move it–a question that contains its own answer, really. Like a memento of someone’s funeral, with a name plate. Or a “Sweet Dreams, Mary Elizabeth Sue Spenser” plaque. Or…or Glenn Woelfer’s horse.
It’s not a very big horse. I hope Mr. Woelfer didn’t have to get out of Dodge in a hurry, because I’m thinking that would have been a slow, awkward trip, involving a lot of short hops and extended rests. I mean, where do you even put the saddle?
What a sad little thing. It’s like a hobby horse from the Great Depression, when it was so bad they had to cook and eat the 3/4-inch dowel rod for soup. I’m imagining a tragic little waif, wearing shorts and dirt, pulling it a foot or two, looking dejected, wandering off. Someday, kid…smartphones.
Someone call Death. Tell them we found his hood ornament.
Unfortunately defunct Saint Vincent De Pauls near 620 and I35, Round Rock