By: Shannon Hooten

A few years back on a beautiful summer day I was on my grandmother’s farm up in Grants Pass, Oregon. Here in Arizona it’s anything but beautiful in the summer. But, that’s enough about that. Gamma’s farm, back then, had seven chickens, two Rottweilers, a Queensland Blue Healer, two sheep, five cats, and five horses. The horses are the main part of my story. There’s an Appaloosa named Harley, an Arabian called Justice, two Rocky Mountain horses named Bastian and Moonshine, and a mix of horse breeds named Dakota. To shorten it even more, this story is about Dakota & Moonshine.

By: Sharon Gibson

Southern California horses seldom have to deal with bad weather. They rarely, if ever, see snow. Elad lives in Los Angeles so that makes him a “city” horse. City horses face different and sometimes interesting challenges.

Elad spent his early years as a racehorse. Part of his training covered clipping, trailering and being on his best behavior for vets and farriers. He also learned to break from the gate and to run as fast as he could on good footing. I don’t think he ever heard the words “lateral movement” in his racing days and I’m sure backing up on command never crossed his mind.

By: Denise Trizinsky

My love of horses really has no beginning, it just is, and has always been a part of who I am. I started riding when I was 5 years old. My family purchased a horse for my ninth birthday. He was an energetic two-year old Appaloosa from Boise, Idaho appropriately named “Bob’s Gitty Up Go”. I learned quickly a few of life’s lessons. The full and exact meaning of stubbornness, a backyard pool is not necessarily a good amenity next to the horse barn, and that a crash course in time management is helpful with relationship to the daily routine of mucking stalls, feeding, exercising, and getting your school studies done.

By: Audrey Pavia

The first time I ever touched her was on a damp winter night. She had just been used for her fourth jumping lesson that day. The teenaged rider dismounted, handing me the reins as our trainer requested.

The mare seemed relieved to stand quietly and rest. I reached to touch her steaming, spotted coat, I could feel the taughtness of her neck muscles, and could see the anxiety in her eyes. A rose-colored, spotted horse she was aptly named Rosie. She had a hard life as part of the boarding stable for these last seven years, following too long a stay at a feed lot where horses were generally auctioned. She had been spared the slaughterhouse. Her new life as a lesson horse was difficult for her.

By: Francine Acord

In the late summer of 1998, my beautiful, vivacious, bouncy 12-year old daughter became sluggish and was slowing down. She was pale and lethargic. Her tan had faded, and it seemed her spirit had too. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but she wasn’t right. Within a couple weeks she began to complain about chest pains. The pains were so sharp she could not sleep during the day, or at night. Within six weeks, she was in a wheel chair. Two months later, after many tests and nowhere else to turn, she was diagnosed with Fibromyalsia, a very painful, debilitating disease. While relieved we had a “name” for the disease; I was in shock and disbelief. It was not a life-threatening disease at this point, but it was certainly life altering. How could this happen? I wondered what had I done to deserve this, or even more so, what had she done to deserve this incredible pain and agony at such a tender age?

By: Brittany Gentry

I was nine when I got my first horse. I knew I was going to love taking care of Star, all the time! And I did, until the winter came. Each morning before school and in the evening, I had to go out and feed her.

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: Sara Henderson

“Dad!” My younger brother William’s voice echoed through the house as he burst into the mudroom. “I quit! I can’t work with that horse anymore. She is just not trainable!” Letting the door slam behind him, William’s frustration was evident as he flopped down to pull off his boots. No need to ask which horse he was talking about. It was Ashley Ann.

By: Catherine Sprunt

When I moved to Japan, I felt torn apart. My favourite pony, Rupert, was still in England…without me. I had been a regular at the stables and missed him terribly. My parents told me that riding in Japan would be hard, as there was not much open space and stabling and keeping a horse was expensive.