Finding my seat

A“dud,” they called her, so her career as a racehorse was cut short. I met her when she was 4, as she stepped out of an extra-tall horse trailer at the small barn where I learned to ride.

The filly wasn’t there to meet me. An older girl at the barn, Sara, was horse shopping, and two prospects were slated to arrive so she could make her choice. I busied myself with chores, waiting to catch a peek.

I’ll never forget the moment that 16.2-hand bay beauty clambered from the rig. Sara quickly snapped up the other horse, a sturdy