It seems like every little girl’s dream is to own a horse, and I was no different.
As a child, I remember asking my dad countless times if I could have one. The answer was always the same.
“No, we have no place for a horse.”
His reason made perfect sense. We lived in town.
Whenever he asked, “Where would we keep it?” my response was always immediate.
“Duh, the backyard.”
To my young mind, it seemed like the most logical solution. We had a beautiful yard surrounded by trees with plenty of space. Surely there was enough room for one horse.
Of course, there wasn’t.
I grew up without a horse, but the dream never disappeared.
Years later, I had a son, followed by two beautiful daughters. Before long, I realized they had inherited the very same dream that had followed me throughout my childhood.
They wanted horses.
Suddenly, I found myself saying the exact same words my dad once said to me.
“Sorry girls, we can’t have horses. We don’t have an acreage, and we don’t have the time and money for animals like that.”
Even though we couldn’t have real horses, we found another way to keep the dream alive.
My daughters became completely obsessed with Schleich and Breyer horses. Every birthday, Christmas, special occasion or just because, seemed to add another one to the collection. They spent countless hours creating stories, building farms, and giving every single horse its own name and personality.
The collection grew to well over a hundred horses, and somehow they can still tell you the name of every one of them.
Those little toy horses are carefully packed away now, waiting for the day my daughters have children of their own. I hope they’ll bring just as much joy to another generation.
Then, about seven years after my divorce, something changed.
I can’t explain exactly what it was, but one day I realized I was finally ready to give my daughters – and myself – the dream we’d both held onto for so many years.
So we started searching.
Every evening we scrolled through Kijiji ads, looking at horse after horse until each of my daughters found one they wanted to meet. One was a beautiful Arabian. The other was a gentle draft paint cross. They were completely different, but somehow both felt like they belonged with us.
Looking back now, I laugh at how unprepared I was.
In my mind, buying the horses was the hard part. I figured we’d simply sell the house, buy an acreage, move the horses in, and live happily ever after.
Life, as it turns out, had a very different plan.
What I didn’t know then was just how much these horses would teach us – about patience, trust, responsibility, and ourselves.
Bringing them home wasn’t the end of the dream I’s carried since I was a little girl.
It was only the beginning.