A Gentle Reminder: Why I Love What I Do

It was a quiet afternoon on the farm, the sun soft against the hills and the air filled with the gentle rustle of hay. I was standing in the pasture, talking with the caretakers—his people—about the horses, their routines, and the newest addition to the herd.

That’s when it happened.

While we spoke, the little foal—just weeks old, all legs and curiosity—wandered closer. No noise, no fuss. He circled slowly, his ears flicking as he listened. Then, without hesitation, he folded his legs beneath him and lay down gently.

Right on my feet.

It was the kind of trust you can’t force. The kind that only comes from calm energy and a quiet heart. He nestled in, eyelids fluttering closed, and fell into the deepest, most innocent sleep.

No one said anything for a moment. We all just watched, smiling softly, letting the peace of that moment settle over us.

It’s experiences like this that remind me why I do what I do.

Working with animals—especially ones as sensitive and intuitive as horses—isn’t always easy. It takes patience, presence, and often, a willingness to let go of control. But when an animal chooses to trust you, when a foal lays his head near your boots and sleeps like he’s safe in the world—that’s everything.

These quiet moments are sacred. They’re not dramatic. They don’t shout. But they speak volumes.

And I carry them with me, long after the dust of the day fades.