by SB, age 13

There comes a time in every girl’s life where they have to make the jump from fantasy to reality: fantasies of that coal black stallion that races only for you; of being a princess on a snowy white horse; of a dream farm already planned out with the horses’ names and breeds and colors already picked and placed. The reality is that not every horse is the big and strong black or the soft and sweet white. The in-betweens are the ones that seem to touch most peoples’ lives.

Not too long ago, I was another of the girls who wanted a wicked fast stallion. Then, one of my friends pointed something out to me as she was reading one of my stories. “Y’know,” she said, “you always seem to make the main character the best. For this story, why don’t you make her fail at some things? Have her be not the best.” It wasn’t that she hated the story; in fact, she gave me immeasurable ideas for how to improve it. The girl in the story wasn’t as stunningly pretty or as smart or as strong as all the others had been, and I found that I could relate to this girl better simply because she was ordinary. She was completely normal, yet she changed the world. (Sorry to bore you about my story problems, but I find that most writers can relate to that scenario well.) My friend went on to explain that she found herself almost wanting the main characters to fail at some points just so they wouldn’t be the best at everything they did.

Horse dreamers are just like this. Most of us, as young kids, dream of that perfect black stallion or snow white unicorn, so when we open our eyes and see an average brown gelding sitting in front of us, we reject him. Some turn their heads away, determined to find their fairy tale pony, but are met with another average-looking horse. I used to think like that until my friend explained it to me, and it hit home because I knew it was completely true. I wanted the invincible horse, the one that only rode with me on its back. But if all horses were black Thoroughbreds or white ponies, where would the individuality be? We’d all be racing and having 11 tie wins.

After talking to my friend, I came to this website and found the blog More Than Just a Pretty Face, which really cinched it for me. I started looking back at all the horses I’d ridden. At camp, the one horse I rode was a tired flea-bitten Quarter Horse named Denim. He wasn’t much to look at, and I’ll admit when I first saw him, I immediately started looking at the other horses in the barn. However, as soon as I started riding him, I found I loved him just as much as any dream horse I had ever imagined.

Then I think of my uncle’s horses. There’s a thin, rangy Quarter Horse whose coat was white flecked with brown. His coat may have been matted with many burs, but he’s the horse that followed me around the field and snuffled my face when I sat in the pasture. Blue was my little angel who stood for me when I brushed him and lipped at my hair. Magic was a smallish brown mare with a little white smudge on her forehead. She was the horse that I rode, and although she could be moody, she always came when I whistled and never failed to show up for carrots. Peanut, a Tennessee Walker, was a breed that I was sure I was never going to like. His unique way of walking wasn’t my favorite, and I had promised myself not to ride one of those horses. He had a medium bay coat, a little snip and a star. There was nothing special that stood out about him. But when he looked at me with those eyes, it was a spark that started a flame. When I sat on the fence, he would come up and stick his head in my lap waiting for me to groom him. Now when I ride him, I’ve found that he doesn’t do that walk, and I love him just as much as Old Blue.

I don’t have a horse of my own, and even though I’ve said this all and preached a little, I still hope to find that famous black stallion that has galloped through my dreams. Right now, I can’t reject every horse that isn’t a black Thoroughbred stallion, because the average ones have touched my life and heart the most. Deep in all of us there is still a little spot in our hearts where we save space for that dream horse. As for that farm, I’ve given up saying that I’m only going to take in only the horses I have imagined in my dreams. Whether they be black or white, spotted or solid, injured or healthy, sick or well, rescued or abused, stallion or mare, old or young, you can bet they’ll find love at my barn. You dreamers who don’t have any horses, keep dreaming of your own special horses, but don’t forget the ordinaries, the ones you might call the underdogs — better yet, the underhorses. At the risk of overlooking an average-looking horse with an enormous heart, you can’t forget to separate your fantasies from the realities of life.

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Related Blogs: In addition to More Than Just a Pretty Face, you might also like Look at the Inside, Not the Outside.