The Heart Horse I Almost Sent Back – Fading Hoofbeats
If you’re new here, Fading Hoofbeats is the long ride I’m planning with my two wild-born mustangs—Devil’s Garden Lagertha and McGavin Peak Floki. We’re still in the early “figuring each other out” chapter, and this is one of my favorite heart horse stories from that beginning.
I didn’t pick my heart horse.
In fact, the day he stepped off the trailer, I very nearly sent him back.
When I chose my two mustangs, I thought I knew exactly how the story would go.
Devil’s Garden Lagertha was supposed to be my horse—the big, bold, regal mare I’d dreamed about, the one I could already picture under saddle, ears pricked on some far-away trail.
McGavin Peak Floki was supposed to be Brent’s horse. On paper, he was going to be the steady-eddy gelding: practical, sensible, safe. When the corral description said he was “stubborn,” I expected that meant he wasn’t easily flustered. I had the story mapped out before either horse ever set a hoof on my property.
Lagertha arrived first, and I fell hard and fast. She was everything I’d imagined—sharp-eyed and wary, yes, but with this brave, queenly presence. I was smitten.
Two weeks later, Floki showed up. I was not smitten. I was worried… and maybe a little bit terrified.
The Horse Who Wanted No Part of Me
Floki came off the trailer like a live wire in water. Terror was written in every line of his body. He didn’t just avoid me—he acted like the very idea of me was more than he could handle.
This wasn’t just normal mustang caution. It was deep, bone-level fear.
If I so much as looked at him, he flinched.
If I breathed wrong, he snorted and tried to melt through the farthest panel. If he’s had claws I’m sure he would have been climbing the walls and hanging from the rafters.
It didn’t take long for the horrible, guilty thought to creep in:
I can’t do this. I picked the wrong horse. Maybe I should send him back.
On paper, that might have looked like the responsible choice. “This horse isn’t a good fit” is a sentence a lot of us have said or heard.
But out here in the real world, a terrified mustang who’s too much for his adopter doesn’t always land in a soft place. He might go from home to home, each one a little less patient. He might end up in a sale pen. He might vanish into a pipeline where scared, difficult horses don’t get many second chances. Even if he went back to the corrals, he might have wound up as low man on the totem pole in a field full of horses, picked on by everyone, always hungry, always tense.
Standing at the fence, watching him tremble on the far side of the pen, I realized that if I sent him back, I might be sending him straight into that future.
So I made a different choice.
I kept him.
Even though I wasn’t sure I was brave enough, or good enough, or ready enough.
The First Cracks in the Wall
For a while, it didn’t feel like much of a choice. It felt like standing in the cold, trying to be patient while this black, wild-eyed gelding watched me like I was a stalking wolf.
About two weeks in, we had one of those small, quiet moments where you wonder whether you’re reading the situation right.
It was bitter cold that day, the kind of wind that slices straight through your sweater and rattles your bones. I was shaking so hard every muscle was locking up with the effort to keep me from freezing. My teeth were chattering, my whole body shivering in that uncontrollable way that makes you feel a little bit like calling it a day and retreating to the warmth of the car.
Floki was still afraid of me. He didn’t want to be caught; he didn’t want to be touched. The idea of me laying a hand on him was still too much.
But as the wind picked up, he did something new.
He watched me intently for several minutes. Then he drifted closer. Not close enough to touch—he kept that careful bubble of space between us—but he came to stand kind of near me. Close enough that his body took the brunt of the wind. Close enough that I could feel the air quiet a little on my side of him.
He stood there, still tense, still ready to move if I did something wrong… but he stayed.
I could tell he was offering to be my windbreak, in the only way he knew how, even though he was still afraid of me. It wasn’t the big cinematic moment anyone dreams of. No first touch. No magical instant bond. It was a wild stallion’s natural instinct to protect those in his circle.
It was just a scared mustang saying,
I can’t let you all the way in yet… but I see you. And I’ll stand with you in the wind.
That was the first crack in the wall.
The Day He Chose to Sleep Standing Beside Me
Another day, I was sitting in his stall. By then, I’d gotten into the habit of just being there with him—no agenda, no “training plan,” just quiet time. Letting him watch me breathe, listen to my heartbeat, and learn that I wasn’t going to explode or demand anything.
He was tired. You can feel it when a horse is carrying too much and hasn’t really rested in a while—eyes a little dull, muscles taut, everything just on the edge of letting go but not quite.
Floki wanted to lie down. I could see it in the way he shifted his weight, in the little half-bend of his legs. But I was in the stall, and that was still too much vulnerability for him. Lying down with a predator in your space is a big ask, especially for a horse who’s survived this long by staying ready to flee.
So instead of lying down, he made another choice.
He walked over and stopped a couple of feet away from me.
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even look straight at me. He simply leaned his face against the wall, closed his eyes, and went to sleep standing up.
For about twenty minutes, he slept like that.
I was afraid to move. Afraid to shift my weight, afraid even to raise my camera, afraid to even think. I did manage to snap a photo, but it’s blurry—my hands were shaking, and I didn’t dare adjust the focus. Waking him up felt unthinkable.
In that moment, I realized something quietly huge:
He was still afraid of me.
But he trusted me enough to rest.
That’s how he is, my dragon-hearted gelding. He doesn’t give you grand gestures. He gives you these small acts of courage that are easy to miss if you’re only looking for the big milestones.
The Heart Horse I Didn’t See Coming
Little by little, those moments stacked up.
- The first time he didn’t pull back when I reached up to touch his nose, and he let me kiss him and cry for happiness, leaning my forehead against his nose.
- The first time he let my fingers rest on his neck without flinching.
- The first time I saw his whole body soften when he realized, Oh. It’s just you.
- That first sweet, sweet nicker when he saw me coming down the dark shedrow with breakfast.
Somewhere along the way, without either of us quite noticing when it happened, the story I’d written for us changed.
Floki—the horse I almost sent back, the one I was sure I’d made a mistake adopting—has given me his heart.
He isn’t the easy, ready-made steady-eddy I thought I was bringing home for Brent. He’s something deeper. He’s the horse who chose me one trembling inch at a time. The horse who learned to stand between me and the wind. The horse who closed his eyes and slept with me sitting in his stall, even though he was still a little scared. The one who nickers non-stop at the sight of me, and the entire way across the pasture until he reaches my side.
Now, when I look at him, I don’t see the terrified gelding pressed against the back fence. I see my heart horse.
And funny enough?
Lagertha—the mare I thought would be mine from the very beginning—has claimed Brent instead. She’s his horse now in that quiet, unspoken way horses have of choosing their person. The plans I made on paper were wrong.
The horses had better ones. The horses always know best.
Your Turn
So here’s my question for you:
- Was your heart horse the horse you planned for—or a surprise who wasn’t the one you’d have chosen at first?
- Have you ever almost given up on a horse (or dog, or person) who later changed your life?
I’d love to hear your story in the comments—especially the ones that didn’t go the way you expected. Those are the stories that keep me going on the hard days with my own wild-at-heart gelding from McGavin Peak.
If you’d like to know more about where Floki and Lagertha came from, you can start with my California Wild Horse & Burro Guide: Devil’s Garden, Twin Peaks and more.
