May 9, 2025 
There’s a famous Rolling Stones line that’s been ringing in my head these days: “You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you get what you need.”
Life rarely unfolds the way you envision, especially in the horse world. But when it comes to the challenge of bringing along a ‘project’ horse or pony, you find out what you’re made of. And you also learn some valuable life lessons.
Sometimes you do it out of financial necessity, others because you love the process. But regardless of the why, I bet, in the end, you wouldn’t trade it. The bond, the growth, the sense of accomplishment… they’re unmatched.
It’s a perspective I’ve been trying to impart on my daughter lately—with mixed results.
“I don’t want a project!” my daughter emphasized every time I floated the idea. “I have goals. I want to keep growing. Moving up. I want a made horse so I can keep progressing.”
“I get that,” I’d reply. “But we have to be realistic about what we can afford. Right now, a pony project makes sense. Plus, working with a project is incredibly rewarding.”
Let me be clear. I didn’t think my daughter was being spoiled. Sure, she has her teen moments. But she’s a hard worker.
Her hesitation came from her big goals and insecurity. And let’s be honest, scrolling through social media and seeing influencers riding “big time” horses at “big time” venues didn’t exactly help her confidence (or my case). But I believed a project pony might be exactly what she needed.
For the past few years, we’d stretched our budget to keep our daughter riding at a barn she loved. When she outgrew her first pony, we leased a horse to keep her in that barn environment. Boarding and leasing are expensive!
So, eventually, though it broke her heart to leave her barn family, we had to pivot. Financially, it made more sense to bring her home to our small barn and find something she could ride that wouldn’t break the bank.
“You’re a good enough rider. You can do a project,” I reassured her. Deep down, I knew her resistance wasn’t about being unwilling. It was fear. Fear she wasn’t capable. Fear she wouldn’t fit in.
So, I started looking. For something with quirks but promise. Something that, with work, may even help her chase those big dreams—competing in the division, maybe even Pony Finals. Goals that felt out of reach otherwise.
Then I found him: A gelding with a show record, good breeding, a big step, and a kind eye. He’d been on the back burner. All the right pieces, just underused and lacking attention.
“I don’t know,” my teen said, nervous. “What if I can’t ride him?”
“I get that you’re scared,” I told her. “But let’s try. If it doesn’t work, we’ll regroup.”
To my husband’s dismay, I pulled the trigger, sight unseen! I knew the pony wouldn’t be a quick fix. He would take time, patience, and dedication. But I believed in my daughter and in us. I believed in the journey.
When the pony arrived, he needed groceries. His ground manners were… let’s say… less than ideal. He refused to stand on crossties, he was mouthy, he required a chain over his nose.
Though he was in his teens, it was clear he’d gotten away with pony tricks for years. He lacked the time and training he needed.
Day by day, though, his expressive eyes began to soften, and his behavior improved. When he finally took a treat gently from my daughter’s hand instead of lunging to bite, I saw the beginning of something beautiful.
After their first ride, she said, “I don’t think he likes me. His ears were back the whole time.”
“It’s not about liking you,” I told her. “He has to learn to trust you. That takes time. And patience.”
We knew a limited amount about his past, so we gave him what we could: kindness, consistency, and good nutrition. Grooming, treats, quiet time. A balance of firmness and compassion. We corrected his naughty behavior without crushing his spirit.
I reminded my daughter that horses, like people, come with baggage. The difference is they can’t talk about theirs. Understanding a project takes a different skillset. Empathy. Patience. Observation. And she had that.
As adults, we understand that in life, the playing field isn’t level, and probably never will be.
Riders with projects show against those with six-figure mounts. Even our local walk-trot division sometimes looks like the Wellington warm-up ring. It’s easy to feel you can’t keep up; to feel that you are inferior.
I want my daughter to evolve into an adult who can handle that reality with her self-esteem intact. And I want her to understand that it’s not all about being the big winner on the big import. It’s about a deeper level of horsemanship.
Still, it’s hard to make the ‘project’ point of view appealing to a young rider in today’s world. Social media shapes their vision of what “success” looks like. It rarely features a teenager with a green pony in her backyard.
But if you do happen to win on something you brought along yourself? That ribbon means so much more. It’s a symbol of every ounce of effort you poured in.
So that’s why I’m trying to shift my daughter’s focus. Not toward the fancy. Not toward the big oxers. But toward the work. Toward the risk. Toward the bond.
The moments that I hope will matter will be in the quiet rides where something clicks. In the first whinny when her pony sees her approaching his stall. In cantering him bareback through the grass on a loose rein. In the confidence she builds, not just in him, but in herself.
The good news? I think she’s starting to see it. She rushes right to the barn after school to ride. She trusts and adores this pony. He trusts and adores her. Magic.
And maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the pony she wanted, but he’s exactly the one she needed right now.
