Category: OE Blog

OYES Feature: Brielle Dorsey
By admin

OYES Feature: Brielle Dorsey

Brielle is the Fall 2022 Dream & Scheme Horse Show Award recipient, sponsored by Dreamers & Schemers.

I was an equestrian before I was anything else. I have always had an innate fascination with horses. Before I could walk, I was eagerly crawling toward horse toys. As I grew older, my love for horses grew even stronger. My mother assumed every little girl’s dream room was an embellished pink room adorned with Disney princesses. She soon learned it was the opposite for me after I begged her to switch my princess-themed room to a horse-themed one. My mother knew she had to satisfy my adoration for horses and took it upon herself to find me a place to ride. Unbeknownst to me, this would be the most meaningful experience of my life as I met an equestrian whom I would never forget.

Malcolm Dickinson was the name of the cowboy who changed my life. Malcolm was an older man who kept no value in his appearance and wore tattered brown boots and dirt-stained jeans every day. He drove around with goats in the passenger seat of his ramshackle truck and bathed in the water troughs of the horse pasture. Nevertheless, Malcolm was a knowledgeable equestrian who thoroughly understood the nature of horses. He was eager to fill my youthful brain with the information he had obtained throughout his long life, and I was equally eager and intrigued to learn. Although these untamed qualities of Malcolm were engrossing, it was not what initially caught my attention; instead, the first thing that sparked my interest in Malcolm was that he was an African American equestrian.

My passion for horses only furthered with Malcolm. He taught me the ins and outs of navigating a less-than-ideal world of equestrianism as an African American. I spent every evening at Malcolm’s ranch learning and loving the world of horses. Malcolm was so impressed by my interest and hunger for knowledge that he and I eventually convinced my mother to buy me my first horse by the age of nine. Malcolm made this possible by allowing us to purchase a horse from him at a much-reduced price and much hard work on my part, mucking stalls, feeding, and exercising his herd. The more I became involved, the more horses I wanted for my own. Eventually, my mom and I became the proud owners of 5 horses. By age 13, I was teaching local youths what Malcolm had once taught me through lessons at a leased barn and volunteering our horses at local festivals providing horse rides and petting experiences.

I am sure everyone knows the saying, “life gets in the way,” I would use this to describe precisely what happened to me. Standing 6 feet tall at age 14, I was lured away from my horses and into the world of basketball, a sport that was not my passion but a way to pay for college. I was often reminded that being an African American equestrian would not afford any opportunities to pay for my education. As a result, basketball consumed me, causing me to spend long summers with my travel team far away from the barn. By my senior year, I received several scholarship offers for basketball and decided to attend a two-year college for financial benefit, leaving my true passion behind. While in school, I struggled to acclimate to my new environment in a primarily restricted COVID world. I found myself self-isolating from others, questioning my identity and, more significantly, my purpose. I ultimately decided it was not beneficial to continue beyond the second year playing basketball because my heart was not in it but rather with my horses. With my time no longer consumed by basketball, I realized that the young girl who was once a passionate rider and who loved sharing that passion and knowledge with others still lived inside me. I yearn to get back to my true passion.

I am currently a part-time student pursuing a biology major, with the ultimate goal of attending veterinary school and becoming a Doctor of Veterinary medicine specializing in equids. Through my degree, I would like to continue my education in the equine industry to better assist other underrepresented youth in pursuing their passion for horses and advancing the veterinary field in terms of equity. My recent anxiety diagnosis, coupled with my father being 100% disabled after serving in the military for 23 years, has unfortunately resulted in financial obligations that caused me to take the current semester off from school full-time. I will resume my education endeavor as a full-time student in the spring semester of 2023 at either The University of Texas or Baylor University.

My current riding goals include joining a riding club, improving my riding skills, and furthering my horses’ training. Both of my prospective Universities offer riding clubs, which I wish to join.  Jointly, I want to begin formal training for my horses, who have unfortunately suffered the seemingly untameable “barn sour” fate due to our inability to afford quality training. Training for my youngest horse, Diamond, would be geared toward barrel racing with the hopes of eventually competing at the AQHA Barrel Racing World Championship. Additionally, having limited interactions with my horses over the past two years, it would be best if I began training to tune up my riding skills at Peaceful Acres, a local ranch where I have had the opportunity to  volunteer. The Optimum Youth Equestrian Scholarship would be a stepping stone in that direction.

Receiving the Optimum Youth Scholarship would help to relieve financial strain and allow me training opportunities that I could not afford due to the cost of college tuition and at-home obligations. Moreover, a mentorship would serve as an opportunity for growth in both my equestrian and professional goals. Most importantly, this scholarship would serve as a vessel to help launch me toward achieving my lifelong dream of being a successful equestrian.

OYES Feature: Mia Rodier-Dawallo
By admin

OYES Feature: Mia Rodier-Dawallo

Mia is the Fall 2022 Dressage Dreamer Award recipient (sponsored by Optimum Equine, LLC).

One of my first memories of my entire life was on the back of a horse. I was two years old, and I still remember it like it was yesterday. This is a memory that changed my life forever, and no matter how many decades go by, I will never forget it. Her name was Honey Buns, and she was one of a kind. She was a beautiful, loyal, and special mare who above all else was kind.

On a warm summer evening in North Carolina, and sort of on a whim, my auntie Nancy, who has recently passed on, threw me up onto Honey Buns and told me to hold on tight to her beautiful mane. And I felt a feeling I had never felt before in my young life. I was changed. It was transcendent. It was like an out-of-body experience. And in that moment I knew, that is what I needed to feel every single day. And naturally, when it was time to dismount, I didn’t want to stop. I never wanted to stop. Over the last few decades since then, I have worked every single day to make my dreams come true, and for the first time in my life, I have horses of my own, and I feel like I can finally breathe; like I am finally whole.

My ancestors, for millennia, have been horsemen and horsewomen. Their blood runs through my veins. From my ancient, tribal, Bedouin ancestors who escaped persecution and fled from genocide on the backs of horses; to my father, who trained horses for work and ran a taxi company in Iran using horse drawn carriages. Just as generational trauma leaves memories via scars on your soul, I also think that you can have generational muscle memory that draws you to the same passions of and lives of your ancestors. So, in a way, I feel like horses are a part of my DNA that predates my existence and the common era as we know it. Like a fingerprint left on your heart.

My current goals are the Paris 2024 Olympic and Paralympic Games, The World Dressage Champions in 2026, and the LA 2028 Olympic and Paralympic Games. I am a top contender for all of these. If I am to be successful in this goal, I would be the first ever Person of Color to represent US Dressage or Para Dressage in any Olympics, Paralympics, or World Championship.

I am not only on track but also ahead of the timeline necessary to be able to qualify for not only Paris 2024 but also WC 2026 and LA 2028. The steps I have taken toward my goal are as follows: I currently have 3 horses, Pudding, Meo, and Leo that are ages 8, 5, and 4. I have strategically bought these horses at these ages to have my bases covered not only for Paris but also for LA and the World Championships. Not only will I have 2-3 horses in contention at one time, they give me security against lameness, age, etc. so I need not lose a second of time training and qualifying for each of my goals. I am also exceeding every qualifying score necessary at each and every CPEDI (international Para Dressage competition) and breaking records at both The World Championship Selection Trials in Tryon in June but also The Festival of Champions National Championship (at which I won overall champion) in Chicago IL in August. I am also currently a finalist for one of the most prestigious international awards for riders of all disciplines: The FEI Against All Odds Award which is awarded to “an inspiring individual who has pursued their equestrian ambitions and overcome challenges and obstacles along the way.” In this last year, I have gone from 29th to 13th in the FEI World Individual Ranking for ALL riders from ALL countries in the world that are in my grade. And for Team USA, I am ranked second in the World Individual Ranking for grade 2. I am now considered to be an athlete of distinction by the Selection Committee and The US Team. I will be competing all over the world to make my dreams a reality, and I am closer than ever to making that happen.

In 2013, my life changed forever when I survived a brutal assault that left me with a TBI, PTSD, and several other debilitating conditions. I had to relearn how to speak, read, and write. It was like my hard-drive being wiped clean and having to start my entire life over from nothing. One year later, I was hit head on by a drunk driver which left me with a fractured T12 and subsequent TBI. After that, I am now and forever will be a wheelchair user for the rest of my life.

I am very open about my mental and physical health. People think that “surviving assault” is just staying alive through being attacked, but the reality of the situation is that the real fighting for your life comes after. Fighting for your life after trauma comes in the form of living life through victim blaming, through coming to terms with your newly different and permanently disabled body, through learning to love yourself unconditionally, being patient with your brain while you struggle with brain fog, confusion, and fatigue, and being patient with your heart while you learn to manage the symptoms of your PTSD. This gave me a whole new perspective on life and gratitude. There were a few days where I wasn’t sure that I would live to see another day. But with a lot of work, I am thankful for every moment that I am alive. I am thankful not only that I have a future but that it has been made so bright by the people in my life. I have survived everything life has thrown at me to make it to exactly where I am meant to be, today.

Outside of my Dressage career, I have been an avid advocate for the intersectional rights of marginalized people, women, People of Color, the disability community, and low income communities, amongst other causes. These causes are especially personal to me because I check every box. As a disabled woman and wheelchair user who is the child of an immigrant family, from a first generation American, Muslim and Baháʼí family, growing up in a post 9/11 world, life has been a slippery slope. Most recently, I made a feminist statement at the World Championship Selection trials by in the middle of my freestyle, dropping my reins, doing a free walk, and playing part if a speech on feminism by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. (Kismet Magazine recently did an article about this.)

It is easy to feel invisible when you don’t fit the mold and it is even easier to feel erased when your sport, your struggle, and your generational trauma is invisible too. But my baba always used to tell me when I was a kid, through actions and the wise words of Rumi ” ت و با بال به دنیا آمدی. شما هرگز در زندگی

نخواهید خزید .” “You were born with wings. You will never crawl through life.”

Dressage has always been my safe space. But as I got older and got more serious about my own dressage career I started to feel different and realized that I didn’t have any idols who looked like me. It might not seem like much to feel ”other” in the sport that’s your whole world, but it carries a heavy and silent weight only those who’ve experienced it will truly understand. I channeled the feelings of isolation and detachment into fuel for my dream to fill that space and be the person that young me would’ve done anything to see on that podium. I’ve chased this dream for decades and it’s finally coming true. My win is a win for all the unapologetically Brown and beautiful people who grew up feeling different. It’s our differences that make us beautiful and together we’re unstoppable. To anyone who feels other, under-represented, this is for you. You deserve to take up space and wear your team’s colors. You deserve to be seen and heard. You deserve to be celebrated. You deserve to be extraordinary.

OYES Feature: Maura Weston-Lee
By admin

OYES Feature: Maura Weston-Lee

Maura is the Fall 2022 Reserve Champion Award recipient (sponsored by the Pittsburgh Polo Club).

I originally got involved with riding the way most young girls do—through horse camp. At the time, I lived in Saskatchewan, and for a few glorious weeks every summer, I went to a sleep away camp and rode every day. We moved to the interior of BC when I was thirteen in order to be closer to the Children’s Hospital in Vancouver, and then to Vancouver Island after I graduated high school. Somewhere along the way, riding got left behind. 

When the pandemic hit, my physical and mental health went into a steady decline, until finally in May 2021 someone suggested therapeutic riding. It took less than five minutes for me to be completely obsessed. I knew immediately that I was meant to be back with horses. When I started, I was so weak I couldn’t trot for more than 30 seconds, and I would get home completely exhausted. Now, more than a year and a half later, I own my own horse (a sweet little quarter horse named Addie). She was the first horse I rode when I started lessons again. We really were meant to be. 

I spent the summer of 2022 showing very low level jumpers, but my new goal is to compete in dressage and potentially hunters by the summer. My very, very long term goal is to one day make it as a professional para-athlete in dressage. I am also hoping to start my own barn with my mother where I can produce horses and provide lessons for other disabled athletes.

Despite dedicating every possible second to riding and my horse, I’m not as far along in my career as I’d like to be. I am doing everything in my power to improve in and out of the saddle, but due to the unpredictable nature of my health issues, I have had to take long stretches away from training, which has set me back. However, even out of the saddle, I try to absorb as much as I can. I work at a dressage barn on Saturdays, and I have been taking courses on equine anatomy and business management through the University of Guelph. I also audit as many clinics as is feasible. 

The challenges I face and still work to overcome are threefold. One is my physical health. I have a very rare genetic disease called Autoimmune Polyendocrinopathy Type 1 that impacts all my major organs. It causes me to lose consciousness and go into a life-threatening state of shock when my body is stressed, and it has left me with long-term nerve and brain damage, most notably the loss of all feeling in my legs below the knee, and in my arms below the elbow. Other side effects of APS mean I cannot regulate my body temperature, heart rate, or produce important, life-sustaining hormones. My replacement hormones are severely immunosuppressive, which has posed a challenge in receiving safe training during recent waves. The medications I take also give me very brittle bones, to the point that I cracked my sternum while jumping (which is why I don’t do show jumping anymore) so I have to take extra precautions, such as wearing an airbag vest and body protector when riding. I am often exhausted and require more rest and sleep than the average person.

The second challenge is financial. I am the middle of four children, and in order to provide the medical care I need, my mother left her career to become a full-time care aid for me. I cannot work a “normal” job because of my health. It is also very important to me that my goals do not present any hardship to my younger siblings as they begin their studies at university, and therefore I pay for all my training independently. In order to pay board for my horse, my mother and I do barn chores at the facility where we board, and I lease Addie to my coach. I also sell small stuffed animals and fly bonnets to help with costs. 

Finally, my third challenge is logistical, although hardly unique. I am unable to drive because of my health, so my mother has to drive me to the barn—half an hour from home, with gas prices high and one car to split between her and my siblings, who both work and study full time. 

I have overcome these challenges, but not alone, and receiving this scholarship would both validate the effort so many people have put in to help me, proving that this is worth it for my future, and relieve a little of the pressure. 

Don’t Quit. Be Strong. Keep Going.
By admin

Don’t Quit. Be Strong. Keep Going.

Mandy Collier

I was having a conversation about running, as I’d recently hit a tiny distance goal (2 miles, ugh) after rehabbing an Achilles injury for the better part of 2 years. “What do you think to yourself when your body hurts and you want to stop?” A valid question. I’d been a half decent distance runner in the past, so the answer came easily. I have a mantra. In time with my labored footfalls and ragged breath, I tell myself: “Don’t quit. Be strong. Keep going.” Over and over and over. “Don’t quit. Be strong. Keep going.” For miles and miles and miles. I also had to laugh and say, “I also have a nerdy neuroscience viewpoint on ‘keep going’.” Something I learned in a neuroanatomy course way back when and never forgot.

Humans (and all mammals) have two main distinctions in their brains. One we can simply call the “primitive” or reptilian brain. It includes the structures that operate automatically or on instinct. These deep, buried structures in the mammalian brains are responsible for reflexive things like breathing, regulating hormones, detecting threats in the environment, and for the purpose of this story—movement patterns. The other main part is the evolutionarily newest part of a mammal’s brain—the neocortex. The cortex gives rise to consciousness, decision-making, and also goal-directed movement.

Our actions then can arise from two different pathways. Top-down, where our conscious thoughts influence the automated structures. And bottom-up, where reflex and instinct influence our conscious thought. Where am I going with this…? Here’s the cool part: in animals where movement patterns like walking or running have to be maintained, it’s a primitive structure, called the basal ganglia, that operates in a feedback loop to keep you walking or keep you running without you having to think about performing every single step. 

So the moral of the story is that you DECIDE to start. And you also DECIDE to stop. To keep going is automatic. To keep going is the default. Your brain will automatically tell your legs to go and go and go until the you part of you, your conscious, decision-making part of you, says ‘ok stop’. To keep going is bottom-up. To stop is top-down. You have to WANT to quit.

Powerful stuff, right?  

It’s no secret that the last several months have been especially difficult for me, with crisis on top of crisis, grief layered upon grief, nothing but uncertainty when it was time to make critical decisions. I didn’t feel like myself at times. Usually so sure of myself, I felt paralyzed. Once so motivated and energetic, I felt withdrawn and unable to function. I somehow pushed through the initial waves of grief and anger and confusion until they slowly started to subside. And now, I remind myself once again that to keep going is the default. Not just with running, but with living. With horse life and all the challenges that come with it… Maybe the nuances of finding a way forward through pain and grief and uncertainty and that finding a way to love and care for a fragile animal is not controlled by a simple structure like the basal ganglia, but if you’re a horse person like me, there MUST be something in our brain that tells us to just. keep. going. To not give up. To know that challenges will come, but they will pass. Somehow, even in unimaginable crises, life goes forward. The sun still rises. There are still horses to care for. I would have to choose to stop.

And will I?

No, I don’t think so. From the bottom of my heart to the top of my brain, I am a horse person. It’s in my DNA, it permeates every action, every thought. The default in my body for some reason is to just. keep. going. I go back and look at the smiles when I’m near them, the look of determination when I’m riding, how I don’t care about frozen fingers while I admire their beauty on a snowy day and I know that I could never not do this. I look at my happy, muddy Beau out in the field and at the tiny, sensitive mare next to him and I know what I have to do. Be strong. Don’t quit. Keep going.

Just a Ride in the Outdoor: White Breeches Edition
By admin

Just a Ride in the Outdoor: White Breeches Edition


It happened the way many horse show entries do: on a whim. I was three states away immersed in my Masterson Method Advanced class and didn’t think much about our home show except for the fact that I would be missing it. Then came that midweek text inquiring about my missing entry… my subconscious took hold of my phone and said sure, I could be there if they needed entries and that was that.


Instead of a leisurely drive home from a friend’s house in Cincinnati on Saturday morning, I white knuckled my way home from Indianapolis that Friday night, fueled by a healthy dinner of iced coffee and pistachios and chatting on the phone to stay awake. When I finally collapsed into bed at midnight-thirty, I could barely sleep for the horse show excitement buzzing in my brain.


In true horse girl fashion, my anxiety woke up an hour before the alarm said to. It wasn’t about the ride though: it was about the white breeches. In the three years that they had been hanging in the closet untouched, a lot had happened. I’d spent over two years not riding and slowly losing fitness. I stress ate my way through a global pandemic. The gyms closed, the marathons were cancelled, I sustained an Achilles injury to my good leg, and my physical health (and mental health) took a hit. F*ck it, I told my brain. If the white breeches don’t fit, I’ll wear the pink ones. It’s only a schooling show, after all. When the moment of truth came, the breeches zipped and my heart did a little somersault. For something that seems so silly, it was a huge moment. The last time I zippered those white breeches, I rode Beau down centerline for what would be the last time, though I didn’t know it then. The last time I wore the white breeches, I had no idea of the changes and challenges that would have to be endured to get to a place where I would wear them again. Between these two shows were three years marked with tears, with triumphs, with outlandish dreams and huge risks all in pursuit of a chance to do this once again. 


While I grumbled at the heat and humidity as I pulled on my black coat, I secretly knew I wanted to wear it again–the Bronze Medal pin proudly pinned to its lapels as a nod to the horse who carried me so far. I swung myself into his saddle, took up his reins into my hands, and felt so much gratitude for my dear Charlie Brown though it was his tiny successor now sporting his hand me downs. 


Even though the last chapters of his career were not written the way I would’ve penned them, I felt ever grateful to be on this path once again–living the tumultuous journey of developing a dressage horse. Nothing with horses is a given, a sure thing, or the least bit linear. But for the Type A dressage riders, that’s a hard concept to come to grips with. So after a soft and steady warm up with Lucy on her best behavior, we headed to the outdoor just to “ride around except in show clothes.” And that’s exactly what we did. Not quite educated enough to execute an accurate test yet, Lucy and I contested a Materiale class alongside another super youngster at Uphill. Both four-year-olds were calm and composed and everybody even picked up the left lead! It was exactly as boring as you want it to be with young horses, but I left the ring completely elated. 


Sure, it was just another ride in the outdoor (though to be fair, we only have about 6 of those under our belts) but this one represented a lot more. Because this ride involved white breeches, and white breeches mean you have a sound horse to ride. It means you have a sane partner who won’t lose their marbles if you ride in front of a dozen people. For me, white breeches mean not only do I have a sound, sane horse, but that I’m back on the wild and curvy road that I’ve been trying to get back to for three long years. 


It’s been three years since I last rode into a show ring, two years since I met my latest adventure, and just one year since I first swung a leg over her back. This story is for everyone who thinks their dreams have been derailed forever, are unattainable, or just plain silly. If it sets your soul on fire, if it lights a spark and a passion inside your soul, it is not silly, it is not unattainable, and no matter how long it takes, those dreams are worth chasing.

 
Here’s to more white breeches and more dressage dreams coming true!

All photos courtesy Kate Rebecca Photography

 

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Checking In from Babyhorseland
By admin

Checking In from Babyhorseland

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again: babyhorseland is a wild place. It’s like being on a roller coaster where you definitely might die, if not from bodily injury then definitely from a heart attack. Or an aneurysm….

Roller coaster going up… first pony ride


It’s like being on a roller coaster that in one moment is the best, most thrilling thing imaginable but in another moment you’re like wtf am I doing on this thing? And why did I walk through a valley of hot coals to get in line for this? And, why am I truly doing this voluntarily?!


The highs have been very, very high. Since our last Lucy Lu update I have backed and started this special little filly under saddle and let me tell you: she is F-U-N. And she is smart. From our last update in July where she conquered her fear of baths, she has come a long, long way. I went from being carried around like a sack of potatoes to bravely swinging a leg over and going for a pony ride in the indoor to cantering around on the lunge line and even going walk-trot off the lunge by Halloween. 

First canter under saddle. Striving for progress, not perfection.


I was on Cloud 9! This roller coaster was the best adventure that I’d ever been been brave enough to ride! Then suddenly a bolt flies off and you think, ‘well, I might die now.’  She definitely knocked a screw loose somewhere along the way and some of things I have seen are hard to unsee… there were days on the lunge line when I would watch her antics and think, ‘am I really going to get on that thing again?’ And these days eventually culminated into a harrowing and expensive journey trying to find a physical cause for going off the rails. Surely we can tighten that bolt and get back on track. 


After many, many weeks and many vet visits and many sleepless nights we had treated her for everything she might have and ruled out everything else. (Here is where the aneurysm comes in… I had definitely convinced myself she was suffering some pretty terrible and incurable ailments). The emotional roller coaster was at its lowest low and I was not sure if I wanted to go around again. But gosh were those fun times fun and I hadn’t actually died yet and the vet’s orders were to ride the damn horse so… why not.


In the dregs of winter, mid-pandemic, and approaching the holidays, a good groundsperson was hard to find. So I found myself doing what every desperate horse girl does when she is in dire need of a groundsperson: make your husband do it. This sparked an entirely new and exciting route for the baby horse roller coaster: gently riding around the indoor while Beau finds his second career as a husband horse. 

New adventures for both of the pony kids


And as only the allure of babyhorseland can do, I was sucked right back in again. Each week, I got a bit bolder and a bit braver and she got a bit steadier and a bit braver herself. And Beau.. well it goes without saying that he was THRILLED to have conned a new person into his I-will-not-be-caught-for-less-than-three-treats routine and his new job description included sporting a western saddle and not even needing to walk into corners. 


All this to say, babyhorseland is a wild, wild place where you never know where you might end up once you cross its threshold. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and it’s not for the faint of heart, but if you need me, that’s where I live now…
#greetingsfrombabyhorseland 

Act Now, Talk Later
By admin

Act Now, Talk Later

In June, I attended the Diversity in Horse Sports forum hosted by Heels Down Mag for a few reasons: I wanted to listen to stories of equestrians whose paths have differed from mine, I wanted to learn from these horse women, and I wanted to know what I could do to help. 


The simple, clear answer came from Abriana Johnson: “Act first, talk about it later.” She acknowledged that solidarity with an Instagram post is a nice gesture, but it’s simply that: a gesture. She questioned the audience of nearly a hundred equestrians, “What are you doing in your community? What funds have you allocated? How have you used your influence to make a difference?”


Time for action. A seed of an idea was planted that night, and with the help of many others it took root and began to grow. Today, alongside my friends and co-board members, Shaquilla Blake and Jacqueline Ely, we are excited to announce the launch of Optimum Youth Equestrian Scholarship which will give financial stipends for riding, training or showing and also provide mentorship for young equestrians.


Our mission is to provide opportunities for youth aged 17-27 from marginalized communities to become involved or stay involved in horse sports through financial awards and mentorship focusing on not only horsemanship and equestrian pursuits, but also career planning and education. We believe that opportunities for riding, training, and showing are not easily attainable to individuals facing socioeconomic and accessibility hurdles as well as overt and passive discrimination based upon their race, sexual orientation, or gender identity. Together we seek to bridge this gap through the sharing of knowledge, opportunities, and solidarity. 


All applicants will be matched with a mentor who will be asked to meet virtually with the youth applicant at least once. Ongoing communication will be up to the mentor and the applicant to decide upon, but our goal is that within these meetings, mentors can provide perspective on career choices, share resources and ideas to help further that applicant’s riding goals, or even connect applicants with potential opportunities within the mentor’s circle– opening doors for connections that lead to internships, jobs, or meetings with helpful horse people from the applicant’s area.

The board of O-YES. Read more about us on the
scholarship page

Our mentors have competed or trained in eventing, dressage, hunters, jumpers, and even working equitation. We have amateurs and professionals alike who have started young horses, retrained off the track Thoroughbreds, and developed their own show horses. The horsemanship skills range from running a backyard farm, to showing on a budget, to managing an equine business. With mentors from most major cities across the US and a wide variety of colleges and universities, we hope that these connections will open doors for the applicants and provide opportunities for young professionals.

A few of our mentors have careers within the horse industry, but most are ambitious amateurs who have chosen careers that will help fund their riding and competition plans. The mentors have joined the program because all of us believe the horses have given us so much: it is time to give back and help others find the empowerment of being a horse person. Want to join us? Head over to the Scholarship page to learn more about ways to donate, mentor, or get involved. Together we can make a difference, one rider at a time. 

Can I get an OYES?! Follow us on social media to follow the journey @oyesequestrian
The Perfect Sale Ad
By admin

The Perfect Sale Ad

Each time you scroll by a sale ad, it must depict the ‘perfect horse.’ The ad will tout all of the virtues of this horse, starting with the most basic skills: loads, ties, stands for the vet and farrier, easy to clip and to bathe, sound, no vices, cooperative in turnout with other horses… but all of that stuff you just gloss over. It’s a formality, a prerequisite. Of course every horse can do those things, right? Wrong.


Now having the privilege of taming and training my very own ‘feral horse’ I am here to tell you that this dream horse you’re looking at online doesn’t “just do” those things. Someone taught that horse all of those skills with painstaking repetition and thoughtful preparation and the patience of someone who has never owned a watch or a calendar.


I’m not saying little Lucy isn’t wonderful and she’s definitely as easy as they come. BUT, it has taken me nearly 11 months just to install these prerequisites of “How to Horse” with the help of a lot of YouTube, countless books, and endless phone calls to people who have bravely and successfully completed the baby thing before me. (A lot of people are in this category, but mostly it’s been Nina Catanzarite, shout out to her!) 


Some things were quite straightforward and Lucy more or less learned ‘by the book’ with me following the plans that the experts recommended. My mantra was always ‘one step at a time’ and the only hard thing about that process was learning how to laugh it off when people would inquire, “well have you done this yet, have you done that yet, when are you going to ride her?!” I learned with sweet ol’ Beau that it’s a heck of a lot easier and faster to do something right the first time, than if you have to go back and undo your hasty mistakes. Within weeks, Lucy had learned how to lead, tie, and stand and I was just thrilled. 


Our next major goal was trailer loading, which also went more or less according to plan, albeit very slowly and methodically. It did not take long to figure out that Lucy was very sensitive, very timid, but also very smart. Her being a quick study could easily work against me if I accidentally taught her to expect a bad experience, or if she learned that her fear was justified. We started out with the most basic task: put your little hoof onto a tarp. Now onto a piece of plywood. Now walk the whole way across it. Now walk across it with two barrels on either side. Now the barrels get more narrow and touch you, keep walking across it. Now back through. Now stand on it. These little steps were done one tiny bit a time, never more than one step in a day. She was always cautious and always skeptical, but as long as I only asked for a little more, then a little more, she obliged and grew more confident. Eventually we started feeding her dinner on the trailer ramp. Then in the trailer. Then we put the butt bar up and gave her some snacks. We walked on and off, on and off. We did one test lap around the block. We hauled her to a nearby farm with a friend. Then farther away and without a friend. (Shout out to Katey Simons for all of her help with this!) Months later, and she’s a trailer loading pro.


But this blog isn’t about the times that her training went according to plan. It’s about the things it took her six months to get over (clippers) or nine months to get over (fly spray) or my latest major victory: bathing. That was a hard one, and I’m lucky we conquered the other two super intense activities first, or… well, let’s just leave it at that.


Lucy is a dressage horse (or she will be) so it’s a good thing that she’s sensitive to the lightest touch on her body. But it can completely overwhelm her into a panic. My saving grace is that she has learned how to love being groomed and being massaged. After slow, patient sessions, she learned to relax into the rhythm of each touch and stand quietly. I used gentle massage techniques to help relax her during our first sessions with a girth and it was only with the help of a soft brush that I was able to acclimate her to the sound and sensation of fly spray and clippers. But the hose, oh my goodness, the hose!! It took two solid months for me to convince her the hose was not a predator. During those two months, I just quietly groomed and tacked her up in the wash stall and didn’t even look at the hose. We then graduated to grooming and tacking up in the wash stall while I held the hose and didn’t do anything with it while everyone laughed at me. Then I started grooming her while I gently sprayed the hose, but didn’t dare touch her with a drop of water. I will never forget how joyful it felt to finally spray her little foot on the ‘mist’ setting only. It took how many months, but finally I was able to spray my filly’s left front foot with the hose!


After that monumental breakthrough, things progressed much more quickly. Day by day, she allowed me to touch more and more of her body with the water. This (fortunately) coincided with a nasty heat wave so not only did I absolutely need to hose her off, she began to find the water much more tolerable. Within a week, she was able to stand quietly while I simultaneously brushed her to soothe her with the familiar feeling of grooming while also spraying her ever so gently with the hose. (To date, we have only mastered the mist setting, but I have my eyes on the prize, aka, shower setting. And someday, bubbles too). 


So why am I telling this incredibly silly story of bathing my three year old? To remind myself how impossibly impossible this was just a few months ago and that there will be more impossibilities in the future with this horse.  And to have a little chuckle about those perfect horse for sale ads. Lucy now stands stands quietly in crossties, loads like a champ, is adored by her vet and farrier, and soon, will be a pro at bubble baths. But how is she under saddle? I guess we’ll find out!

My neatly groomed and braided filly at her first show! Trotting that triangle was the easy part.
Photo courtesy Kate Rebecca Photography
Labor of Love
By admin

Labor of Love

Eight weeks ago, when I moved Lucy to a boarding barn, I had plenty of plans for what she was going to learn next. With access to an indoor arena and lights making it possible for me to work with her in the short, dark days of winter, I thought she’d progress even more rapidly than she did in her first 12 weeks with me. 

Not. So. Much.

Little trouble and big trouble, Lucy & Charlie Brown

I don’t want to say ‘things quickly unraveled,’ but they pretty much did. My once sweet and mild mannered filly was a little overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of a training barn with 30 horses and all the equipment that comes with it. The arena I dreamed of working in became a terrifying death trap in her mind, and we had to make a quick exit anytime another horse entered. Some days she still had her stop, go, and turn buttons and other days she was a terrified mess. Some days I was proud that I could lead her down a very steep hill in the dark and the wind and other days I had to ask myself, ‘am I in the mood to almost die today?’

Am I the mood to put on 8 layers of pants and then almost die? Sure.
Photo credit: Kate Rebecca Photography

After a particularly traumatizing day involving two geldings in turnout charging at her (because I was stupid enough to try to lead her past two geldings in turnout), then being cornered between a dump truck and a tractor while on crossties, followed by a flock of chickens flying into her face, she was fried. I drove home feeling utterly defeated and wondered if the poor little thing would ever let me catch her again after everything I put her through. I felt lost, not sure what to do next. I was plagued with self-doubt, able to convince myself that every move I made was wrong. To leave her in the field and forget about it was to avoid and ignore the problem. To bring her out and confront the scary world was overfacing her. I convinced myself I didn’t know her well enough to know what the answer was, and each day when something went wrong, as it inevitably would, I told myself it was proof that I was making the wrong choice day after day.

All of this came, of course, in a super fun string of windchills in the teens kind of days. It came on the heels of an abscess for her and for her overly-attached and over bearing pasture mate, the infamous Charlie Brown. It occurred when real-life and my day job were approaching that nearly unmanageable level of crazy that makes you want to just stay home and hibernate.  Lucky for me, that’s never an option though. Barn girls don’t get nights off, not when horses need to be fed and hoses thawed to fill up ice-crusted water buckets. So night after night I went to the barn anyways. On nights I didn’t want to do anything with her, I at least did something. I insisted on manners coming in and out of the gate. I picked up that foot she didn’t want to give me. I tried to show her that clippers aren’t that scary. But night after night, I kicked myself for not doing more, for letting all those weekly and monthly goals written on my calendar just slip by.

Despite the frozen mud under my feet, I was feeling spring creeping up and beyond that, the summer show season I had been dreaming about. I started whining to my friends and my husband about it (Sorry, Krissy. Sorry, Art.) and as I heard myself whining and making all of my excuses, I realized that Lucy’s lack of confidence had been wearing off on me. It was supposed to be the other way around. I was supposed to be the fearless leader making this baby horse feel more confident, yet in the ways that animals often do, she was the one training me. I was becoming afraid and I was avoiding everything that was terrifying me.

Per usual, I came home cold and grumpy and defeated one of those nights that were like all of the other nights. Read something, my husband told me. Maybe you can find some answers in one of those training books. Indeed, my bedside table is stacked with books on dressage, massage, and starting youngsters (thank you Nina!) and I’ve been slowly making my way through all of them. I wasn’t drawn to any of the practical how-to texts that night though and something made me reach for the more philosophical ‘Horsemanship,’ the old classic by Waldemar Seunig gifted to me by Kristin Hermann many moons ago. I opened it to the last dog-eared page and not two paragraphs in to where I’d last left off was the section on the psychological qualities of the rider. He outlines three, but most importantly, above all else, the very first one is: LOVE THE HORSE.

“A horse will overcome its inborn shyness and gain confidence, the fundamental condition for mutual understanding, with a man whose love it feels.”

As I read on, it became clearer and clearer that this was exactly the advice and perspective that I needed that night. Why did I get this baby horse in the first place? Why do I have a fat retiree living his best life as a pasture puff? Because I love them. I love caring for them, I love training them. I love the horribly non-linear process that is progress with horses, I do. The motivation for training has to be rooted in the love for the animal.

In the finger-freezing cold and the brain-numbing dark of winter it’s a little easier to lose sight of this and get bogged down in the monotony of day-to-day survival. It sure doesn’t feel like progress and it sure isn’t very rewarding. But despite the lack of reportable progress, I have to remind myself that it’s not all for nothing. Each day she comes in and out of the field like a good citizen and each day she stands to be groomed she is learning something very important–she is learning that I’m her person. My viewpoint was refocused by another helpful passage on the secondmost important facet: PATIENCE.

An excerpt from “Horsemanship” by Waldemar Seunig

“Anyone who loves his horse will be patient, and patience, inexhaustible patience –especially when physical and psychological defects are present–is necessary to make the horse understand what we want of it.”

Despite the recent onslaught of hurdles, I will solider on. I will handle her with the required inexhaustible patience, I will train her with aids as gentle as possible and as firm as necessary. I’ll seek out good trainers and follow the tenets of the masters because damn if I don’t love this little mare already. 

Thankful for: Difficult Roads and Beautiful Destinations
By admin

Thankful for: Difficult Roads and Beautiful Destinations

Perspective is a funny thing. If you would have told me last year that my champion dressage horse was going to be an equine lawnmower this year, I a) wouldn’t have believed you and b) would have been inconsolable and completely crushed. Instead, here we are, a year later and I am positively THRILLED that my Beau is a happy pasture ornament.

I repeat: Beau is now happily living his best life, with his yak coat in its full fluffy glory, his long mane a far cry from the neatly pulled show horse look and his weight solidly in the “thick” category. The old man doesn’t miss many (any) meals and his new hobbies include feeding the birds (pooping) and landscaping (eating). Seeing him calmly and happily enjoying his new life brings my heart a kind of peace I could not have imagined I would have. I’m thankful that the long road of his recovery has seemingly reached and its end and oddly enough I am thankful for the difficulty of that road.

Had things not gotten as bad as they did, I likely would not have found the peace and gratitude I have now, after 11 months of rehabbing a horse on stall rest. I didn’t know it then, but you know what they say about hindsight… after facing other much worse potential outcomes, I feel nothing but gratitude when I see my heart horse enjoying his retirement. Eleven months of daily trips to the barn so that he could enjoy a few minutes outside of his stall. Eleven months of uncertainty weighing on me, unsure of what his future would look like. Eleven months of hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Eleven months of closing him in his stall every night and knowing he didn’t understand why he couldn’t go outside. That anguish has made me truly grateful for the normalcy and peacefulness of the present. It is such a simple and a profound joy–to pull into the barn driveway and see your beloved friend in the pasture, as happy as could be.

Meanwhile in the pasture next door, Lucy is working on growing up to be a real horse. I don’t yet have the bond and the emotional connection with her like I do with her big brother, but I do believe she’s going to become something special. Each day I work on teaching her “how to horse” and I am so very grateful for the promise of a bright future with her. I don’t expect her to ever fill his shoes (I mean, come on, his feet are huge) but with any luck she’ll grow up to be a good citizen and a horse that allows me continue to compete in the sport I love and take part in the life I am so passionate about. I know that it’ll be a difficult road ahead with her too–raising and training a two-year-old isn’t for the faint of heart either. But I know now that difficult journeys lead to the most rewarding and beautiful destinations. I’m up for the challenge because I know where ever this road takes us, I’m headed in the right direction.

With the difficult journey behind us at long last, I am grateful for the eight seasons I spent competing my heart horse. To me, it feels like it ended too soon but in retrospect–what a career. I am so very grateful to still have this special horse in my life, doing what he’s always done.  Some might look at these retirees as senselessly expensive pets, horses who no longer serve a purpose. I realized that not only does this horse still have a purpose, it’s the exact purpose he’s had all along: to bring me joy.

I cannot tell you that these last eleven months have not been a difficult road to travel, but someway somehow I ended up somewhere beautiful.