By: Kelley Reames

He’s 16.2 hands, he has big brown eyes, and a heart of gold… this is my horse – TC Mexican Leggs. A hand equals 4 inches. I am Kelli Reames, I am 16 years old and I’m in the 10th grade. My parents are Don and Kelley Reames, and Margaret and Darrell Clark. I have one brother Jessie. I am a member of the church choir and the church youth group. I am an active member in the Beta club, FBLA, FCA and on the Honor Roll. I sing in the choral program at school.

By: Erin Hanley

I was almost eleven years old standing in a sale barn wearing shorts and sandals. I don’t want to imagine what those old time regulars were saying about the “city kid.” I had rarely entertained the idea of getting a horse, but I knew that both my mom and dad grew up with horses. So, my parents decided that getting me a horse was a good way to preserve their youth.

By: Karen Castelletti

My parents were hardly surprised when their ten-year-old daughter entered the much-dreaded phrase known to dismayed parents everywhere as “Wanting a Pony.” Yet, like many children in this phase, I did not simply “want a pony”; I neglected food and rest in favor of concocting the wondrous creature I was sure would soon be mine.

He would be beautiful, naturally: a rippling, dappled gray with luminous eyes. Slender limbs would flow into delicate hooves whose graceful motion would scarcely press them to the earth at all. Most importantly to the greedy possessiveness which only a child and some wealthy individuals can truly manage, he would be entirely mine. In short, he would be a bit of perfection taken equine form for I alone to keep.

By: Brittany Gentry

I had a dream of becoming acknowledged in the horse world. For years, I saved my babysitting money, and the money I earned from doing odd jobs, such as mowing, feeding animals, and watering. Finally, I was able to buy a horse of my own, something of which many kids only dream.. A couple of years later I was able to buy a second horse.

By: Christine Kang

It was the second week of August and my mother’s patience with me was reaching its end. At 13, I was already known throughout town as outspoken, stubborn, and incorrigible. My mother herself wasn’t a very patient or flexible person either. It was the ten thousandth argument of the summer, only this time it wasn’t about clothes or curfew, but about my horseback riding.

By: TINA TORRY

I am sure of neither when nor how I became a lover of horses. I have a sense that I was perhaps born with a natural affinity for the creatures, the proof of this innate tendency being that as a six-year-old I was tossed by my father onto a palomino stallion, and I rode with no fear of the unfamiliar as I had already begun to sense the power that horses possess and the idea that they would rarely yield to their own desires.

By: Brittany Gentry

When I was about twelve, after I had been riding for three or four years, I got the dream of every horse-loving girl. Friends offered me the opportunity to train a two-year-old gelding and a three-year-old mare.

Now, being aware of the dangers, I am amazed my parents allowed me to take on such a task. Ignorance was bliss! If I had known how dangerous unbroken horses can be, I probably would have ended my exploration in that area!

There were days I thought nothing would go right. At times, I would have loved my dad to grill a horse steak!

By: Kip Mistral

One soft spring morning long ago, I stood with my back to the screen door I had propped open, concentrating on a phone conversation with my mother. Yes, I assured her, I had finished vacuuming the house and was shaking rugs on the back porch. Suddenly, I felt warm breathing on the back of my neck. I froze in fear; I knew I was alone in our house! Dropping the phone, I shrieked as I whipped around to face the intruder.

By: George Stalzer

As a young boy I dreaded one Saturday chore most of all. With two days off from school I should have been happy, but after looking under the stoop I knew it was going to be another one of those terrible Saturday mornings. I sat down to wait and listen for the sound of Tony and his fruit and vegetable wagon coming up the hill.
“Why don’t he come on school days?” I thought. And then I heard him “Fresh Fruit! - Fresh Vegetable!” and the sound of hoofs clip clopping along. Tony led Caroline around the corner, and to the bottom of our dead end street, guiding her and the wagon in a half circle to stop right in front of our house. Tony fed her an apple, a reward, I suppose, for the steep climb. The neighborhood ladies did their shopping while Caroline stood quietly, her ears sticking through holes in a straw hat sitting atop her head, and her tail whipping side to side chasing the flies away. Caroline was something special to the little kids staring at this huge animal right in front of their door.

By: Patti Leininger

He was born on a snowy Valentines Day to our red roan halter mare Strawberry Misty. This was her first foal and already I had his future planned. He would be a beautiful halter horse as were his parents. As I looked at this fuzzy shivering red foal with the sweatshirt on, our bond was beginning. He was soft and cuddly with a curious nature. I named him Valentine Laddy and I took him to my heart.