By KATHY SELKING
Reading some of the blogs posted lately on The Plaid Horse, I found myself nodding along—and also sitting with a deep, lingering sadness. As a parent new to the horse world, I recognize the truths in each article. I respect the economics, the realities of keeping the lights on, the loss of horsemanship, the erosion of fundamentals, and the longing to return to a time when learning truly centered on the horse. But I also want to say this plainly: for families like mine, this sport is not always welcoming. And sometimes, it’s not kind.
I have an eager 12-year-old who wants nothing more than to learn. She is willing to listen to anyone who will teach her. She wants to ride, yes—but she also wants to groom, muck, sweep, feed, wrap, bathe, and understand. She wants to be a barn rat in the truest sense of the word. And honestly? So do I. I’ll scrub buckets and clean tack right alongside her. For free. No discounts required.
Over the last three years, we have done exactly what so many in this industry say young riders should do.
We have worked at barns quietly, without fanfare—cleaning up after ourselves and others, helping to feed horses, cleaning stalls, assisting new riders with tacking up when the trainer isn’t around, staying late, and showing up early.
We have paid for extra lessons.
We have leased and purchased the horses recommended as “the right ones” for our child.
We have purchased the saddle that costs more than a small used car because it was “absolutely necessary.”
We have paid high training board and rising circuit show fees.
We have hosted barn parties, organized get-togethers, purchased presents for all the kids in the lesson program, and tried to help build community where we could.
We have never asked for anything for free, but have always freely given.
We have contributed. Financially. Physically. Emotionally.
And yet, too often, we have felt invisible.
What I am asking for as a parent is not free labor, free lessons, or special treatment. I don’t even ask a lot of questions. I understand that this is an expensive sport. I understand that trainers are running businesses, not charities. I will happily pay the bill.
But I need more than a monthly invoice.
I need a trainer who cares.
A trainer who focuses on the kids in the ring—not on phone calls, texts, or conversations with other adults while a child is riding.
A trainer who works progressively forward instead of repeating the same lesson, week after week, with no explanation of the bigger picture.
A trainer who teaches horsemanship out of the saddle as much as in it.
A trainer who is willing to answer questions, even basic ones, without making a new parent feel foolish for asking.
A trainer whose advice is rooted in what is best for the child and the horse—not what best feeds their own bottom line.
Most importantly, I need a community. A place where my child can socialize, feel safe, feel seen, and feel like she belongs. A place where learning is encouraged, curiosity is welcomed, and effort matters just as much as talent or money. A place where parents aren’t treated as walking checkbooks or inconvenient outsiders, but as partners who are trying—often blindly—to do right by their kids and their horses. This is the only reason I pay thousands each month; this is why I invest all of my free time.
I want to be clear: there are good trainers out there. Truly great ones, actually. I trust a couple completely and am working with them now. But in the three years we have been in this world, I have encountered far more who were disengaged, transactional, or simply too busy to care. This sport does not survive on invoices alone.
If we want to rebuild the pipeline, preserve horsemanship, and keep families in the sport long enough to fall in love with it, then caring—real, visible caring—has to be part of the business model.
We are ready to work.
We are ready to learn.
We are ready to belong.
We just need someone willing to meet us there.
Kathy Selking is the proud mom of a young equestrian and a relative newcomer to the horse world. Alongside her 12-year-old daughter, she has fully embraced barn life and all that comes with it. Together, they own two very different but equally beloved mounts: an old-soul 6-year-old bay gelding and an energetic, opinionated 6-year-old palomino pony. Through early mornings, lessons, shows, and countless barn hours, they have discovered a deep appreciation for the patience, partnership, and joy that horses bring to their lives.
