06/20/2026
The Story of My Dream Horse
When I was a child, I loved horses, but I was especially drawn to Appaloosas. When I was 11 years old, I watched Run Appaloosa Run, and from that moment on, I knew exactly what I wanted—a bay blanket c**t with some white on his face.
For years, every time I saw a blanket Appaloosa for sale, I imagined owning one.
When I was 12, I got my second horse, a few-spot Appaloosa mare. I wanted so badly to love her, but we never seemed to connect. At the time, I didn’t understand why she always seemed angry and difficult. Much later, I realized she had likely been living with pain. After years of frustration and trying to make things work, I sold her. Letting her go felt like letting go of my dream of owning an Appaloosa.
Then, in 2017, I saw an ad for an Appaloosa c**t with just a few spots. He was affordable, and I was determined to have him. I pestered the owner until she finally agreed to sell him to me.
He turned out to be everything I had hoped for. For seven years, he filled my life with laughter and joy. He was a ham, full of personality, and one of those horses who makes every day better just by being there.
In December of 2023, he was shot.
The loss shattered me. I seriously considered selling all my horses and walking away from the horse world entirely. For months, I couldn’t walk into the barn without crying when his face wasn’t there to greet me.
Time doesn’t erase grief, but it teaches you how to carry it.
Eventually, I bought another Appaloosa that looked similar to him. Deep down, I knew she could never replace him, but my heart hoped otherwise. When that didn’t happen, I sold her and moved on. Still, the desire for a spotted horse never completely left me.
Last year, I finally convinced myself that dream just wasn’t meant to happen.
Then I offered a mule up for trade, and someone contacted me about a mare they wanted to swap. They were honest about her flaws: she wasn’t really broke to ride, she was hard to catch, and she was nervous around people. Then they casually mentioned that she might be pregnant because she had gotten into the neighbor’s Appaloosa stud.
The possibility of a spotted foal immediately caught my attention.
After I got her, I had her checked, and she was indeed pregnant. Every day, I’d jokingly tell her, “I really want a spotted baby—a c**t with some white on his face.”
She never seemed impressed.
Then, on Wednesday morning of this week, a neighbor texted to say my horses were out in our freshly cut hay field.
I hurried outside to bring them in. Most of the horses came when I called, but this mare stood still. As I walked toward her, I noticed she kept glancing down at the ground.
That’s when it hit me—she might have foaled.
I picked up my pace, and then I saw him.
At first, I thought he was dead. Then she nudged him, and he struggled to his feet. The first thing I noticed was the spots covering his little rump.
I burst into tears.
Then I saw the white on his face.
After all those years, he was standing right there in front of me—the c**t I had dreamed about since I was 11 years old.
To me, he’s more than a foal. He’s a reminder that dreams can survive disappointment, loss, and years of waiting. He’s a gift I never expected and a sweet reminder of my beloved Scout, who will always have a place in my heart.
Sometimes dreams take a long time to come true. Sometimes they arrive by a path you never could have planned. And sometimes, after heartbreak, you receive a reminder that hope is still worth holding on to.
