The Unseen Side of Horses: When There Is No Formula
There’s something about horses that draws people in. It doesn’t matter your age, your background, or where you come from — horses have a way of capturing the heart with their beauty, their strength, and their presence.
I’ve loved horses all my life, and like so many others, I’ve admired what seems like perfection when you look at them standing in a pasture or moving across open ground.
But there’s another side to horses. A side most people never see.
Recently, I was reminded of that in a way I won’t forget.
My stallion, Amir, is a rare Arabian. When I first got him, I knew he was special, but I didn’t fully understand just how rare he truly is. He’s a liver chestnut with a striking white diamond centered on his forehead, a red mane and tail, perfect size, exceptional intelligence — and he’s a stallion.
In the breeding world, that combination is like hitting every mark at once. It’s not something you can plan or guarantee.
His breeder saw that, too.
Wanting to essentially recreate Amir, she bred the same sire and dam again, hoping for another colt with those same remarkable traits. As anyone who knows horses understands, that meant nearly a year of waiting — 11 months of anticipation, of wondering what would arrive.
This time, the foal was also a liver chestnut stallion. Close, but not the same. Instead of a diamond, he had a white marking. He had blue eyes, which some admire, though they’re not my preference.
But none of that ended up mattering because the colt was born without a hoof.
There are moments in life that stop you cold, and this was one of them. Here was a foal that, in so many ways, came close to what was hoped for — and yet, in the most critical way, could not survive.
Unfortunately, there was no humane path forward. The colt had to be euthanized the next day.
It’s hard to explain what that feels like unless you’ve been close to something like it — the helplessness. The heartbreak. The quiet realization of just how fragile life is not merely for us, but for every living thing we care for.
And it made me think how we like to believe there’s a formula to life. That if you combine the right elements — whether in breeding, in business, or in our personal lives — you’ll get the outcome you’re aiming for. “This” plus “this” equals “that.”
But life doesn’t work that way. Even with the same parents, the same careful planning, and the same intention, the result can be completely different.
In the horse world, we see it all the time. Even champions — Kentucky Derby winners, for example — don’t reliably produce champions. Some offspring excel, but many don’t. There is no guaranteed equation.
And that truth doesn’t just apply to horses. It applies to all of us.
So many of us follow what we think is the right path. We go to school, build careers, form relationships, and make plans for how life is supposed to unfold. But then something shifts. Something unexpected happens. Suddenly, the outcome doesn’t match the effort, or the plan, or the hope.
I can tell you, sitting here now at this stage in my life, none of this — owning a ranch, being responsible for land, animals, and people — is what I once imagined. This wasn’t part of any formula I thought I was following. And yet, here I am.
Life has a way of taking us places we never could have predicted.
What I’m learning — and what this experience with Amir and that colt brought into sharp focus — is that we are not in control of outcomes the way we think we are. We can plan. We can try. And we can do our best to make wise decisions.
But the results? Those are something else entirely.
Sometimes they’re beautiful. Other times, they’re heartbreaking. Often, they’re a mixture of both.
And maybe the real lesson is learning how to live with that “mixed bag.” To accept it. To grow from it. To allow it to soften us instead of hardening us. To give us more understanding, more patience, more grace — for ourselves and for others.
Because life isn’t a formula. It’s a journey of unexpected turns.
As for Amir, he’s not just another horse, and he won’t be treated like one. I don’t see him as a show horse. I see him as something more — a reminder, perhaps even a messenger of sorts, of how rare and unpredictable life can be.
I’ll share more about him in time.
Until then, take a moment to appreciate what you have. Because sometimes, you don’t realize just how rare it is until you see how easily things could have been different.
