...I’ve never chosen the horses I work with. I’ve always taken any kind of horse - any breed, any age, any issues. Clients bring me horses. It’s not the horses’ job to make me look good. It’s not their job to make me feel competent, or to boost my ego. It’s not my job to label or judge them. It’s my job to help horses find confidence and trust, to develop their balance, top line, and work ethic, to build their bodies and minds so they can enjoy long, happy partnerships with their owners.
In the beginning, this was a matter of economic necessity. When I started my training business, I could not afford to be picky. I was happy to have clients - even if their horse was challenging, even if they only chose me because I charged less than anyone else did, even if no other trainer in the area wanted to work with their horse, or with them. I felt unbelievably lucky to have horses in my barn at all.
Once I was more established, this elation gradually faded. I began to resent the reputation I had built, which was that of someone good with green or difficult horses. No matter what I did, the label stuck. I envied my colleagues, who got to choose talented prospects and compete on horses who look and move like what dressage judges expect to see. These colleagues, I believed, were successful, while I was not. For years, I felt resigned, burned, out, and discouraged.
But eventually, the resignation faded, too. Once the fog of envy lifted, I saw my career in a more positive light again. Taking on any kind of horse became a matter of principle. I now take pride in being an equal opportunity trainer. Watching my colleagues deal with competitive pressure and fickle, demanding clients, I began to appreciate the niche I had found. I now feel extremely grateful for the choices I made and the skill set I continue to build.
Lately, another shift is happening. I am, finally, getting more selective about the horses I ride, for two reasons:
The first makes me a little sad: I am getting to old to do what I used to do. At 54, I feel incredibly lucky to have suffered no serious injuries. I am still fit. I can still ride all day. I can still get on a 16 hand horse without a mounting block, but most of the time, the mounting block looks like a good idea now - and not just for the horse’s sake. Those unscheduled dismounts hurt more than they used to, and for longer. My joints feel creaky on cold mornings. It’s hard to admit, but undeniable. I hope to keep riding until I’m at least eighty, so I no longer accept horses with severe behavioral issues or ingrained dangerous habits. I also stopped starting colts the summer I turned 50. It felt like the right thing to do, for the horses and for myself. I’ve fallen off the no-colt-starting wagon a couple of times since, but for the most part, my days of getting on just about any horse, no matter how challenging, are over. It’s a tough pill to swallow, though getting old most definitely beats the alternative.
The second reason I am getting more selective about the horses I take into training is a happier one: I can finally afford be a little bit picky. But I find my priorities have changed. The upside of old age is a bit of wisdom. By now, I know what makes my heart sing. I know what keeps me excited to go to work every morning, and it’s not the vision of more blue ribbons on my tack room wall. It’s little bits of progress. It’s the transformation of average horses into happy athletes. Instead of choosing the most talented horses, I choose the most supportive people - clients whose core values align with mine. I choose horses whose owners truly want to invest in their - and their own - education. I choose clients I enjoy being around, who want to learn alongside their horses. I choose clients who want to do the right thing for the horse they’ve got. If that horse has talent, great - but truthfully, I enjoy working with a variety of equines, with a variety of issues. I keep learning more that way. My life is never boring that way. Yes, I still would love to finish my USDF silver medal before I die, but the flame of that particular ambition is not burning like it once did.
I now feel grateful I never got to be picky about horses when I was younger. I admire my colleagues who have focused on developing talented horses and have found success in a more traditional sense, but I know I’m much happier with my slightly different approach.
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