The first blog I wrote for the Chronicle was about selling my oldest daughter’s first pony, the one she had outgrown but loved with her whole heart. It was about her first true love and her first true loss, and the emotional rollercoaster of letting go of a pony that had meant everything to her. It was raw and emotional. 

I was overjoyed when the Chronicle accepted my piece, grateful for the chance to share my experience. I knew many readers could relate to losing a heart horse, no matter the circumstances. The response on social media was overwhelming—so many people shared their own stories, their understanding, their heartbreak, their memories.

But there were a few others. The ones who judged.

Those readers criticized my parenting, accusing me of forcing my daughter to sell her pony and even of failing her as a mother. Things like: How could she make her child give up her first pony? She should have kept him or leased him—never, ever let him go. 

I cried when I read those words. And I questioned myself.

But with time and growth, I now understand that those readers likely believe that good parenting means protecting your child from any pain. And perhaps that good horse ownership means keeping your horses forever. I can appreciate those sentiments.

If you have the means to keep all your equines forever, I admire that. While selling a first pony is heart-wrenching, watching any animal you love age is deeply emotional. We share that heartbreak. I only ask that you consider reserving judgment when it comes to others who choose not to keep their horses forever.

For many families, keeping every pony simply isn’t possible. Inevitably, kids get taller, they become more skilled riders, their aspirations change, and often, their first ponies just can’t keep up. There are also financial and personal realities that impact these hard decisions. It isn’t always feasible to hold on to every equine family member and also be able to purchase and care for the best fit for your child.

That’s the case for my family.

Every pony on our farm must fit into our chaotic reality, which means sometimes, we must let go. Our life is wonderfully complicated. We have five kids, ages 4 to 15, and live on a small horse farm. My husband works long hours so I can stay home, raise our children, and care for our animals. We are constantly stretched paper-thin, and we only have so much money, time and energy to give. This means making gut-wrenching decisions. 

Recently, just as I had with my eldest daughter, I found myself grappling with a similar situation of rehoming a pony. My younger daughters’ first pony was slowing down. Though she had so much love left to give, I saw the signs. And the vet agreed that a slower pace would be best for her. Meanwhile, my middle daughter had moved well beyond that level. She was cantering and learning to jump. Even my two youngest were trotting and cantering. And while our sweet pony tried, it was clear she wasn’t loving that riding life anymore.

I knew in my heart it wasn’t fair to push her. And it didn’t feel right to hold my daughters back, either.

So I reached back to our pony’s former owner and explained our predicament. I wanted to ensure she was comfortable with our choice. Though she was not in a position to take the pony back, I assured her that if I did find a next home, I would include vital language in the contract to ensure we both had first rights of refusal if the new family was no longer able to care for the pony.

I agonized over the decision. Lost sleep. Cried. But deep down, I knew what was right for our family. If we kept their first pony and brought in another, she wouldn’t get the attention she deserved, and I would stretch myself even thinner. I couldn’t do that—to her, to myself, to my family.

So, I sat my girls down and told them my plan: I would search for the ideal home. But we would only let her go if it truly felt right.

“It makes me sad, Mom. But I understand why,” my 8-year-old said.

“Me too, honey,” I told her. Because I wanted her to know that though this was painful, it wasn’t a decision I took lightly. “She has a lot of love left to give, which is the amazing thing about ponies. They can touch the lives of many children.”

I explained that I would search for the perfect family. One close enough for us to visit. A family that had the financial means to care for her and understood her limitations. A family that would love her just as much as we do.

I began by messaging with friends and a few people on social media. But nothing felt right. Until one afternoon, I connected with a mother looking for a pony for her kids to dote on. I shared everything about our pony and her limitations. When she asked how much we were asking, I explained:

“Nothing. I just want her in the perfect situation where she is loved.”

At first, I had my worries. Was this really the family? But then we made the connection. This mom was not a stranger. Months before, we had met at a horse show—two moms chatting on the rail, cheering on our kids. We had an instant connection. And now, here she was, possibly the next person to love our pony. So, I set up a meeting.

When the mother and her daughter came to meet our pony, I just knew. Before they left, the mom turned to me with a smile and said, “We love her. She is exactly what we are looking for.”

I swallowed hard, “Can I hug you?” As we embraced, happy-sad tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I said, frantically wiping my face with my gloves. “I’m just so glad she will be loved like we love her.”

Because really, how could I ask for anything more?

When I told the girls she would be leaving, my 8-year-old sobbed. I rocked her gently, letting her feel every emotion. The impending loss. Because I felt it too. We spent extra time at the barn—brushing, riding, hugging her. 

The night before she left, I tossed and turned, too charged with conflicting emotions to fall asleep. And in the morning, we trailered her to her new home together as a family. I hoped this would give the girls some closure. As we pulled in, the little girl stood with her mother, a brand-new halter and lead rope in hand. Her face was ablaze with excitement as she ran to greet my daughters and her new pony.

The new family gave us space to say our teary goodbyes. And though I had a lump in my throat, though I felt my daughters’ pain, I did not regret our decision.

And on the ride home, there was an emotional shift. The sadness lingered, but it wasn’t as heavy. We were also excited for our pony’s new, beautiful life with her new family.

It’s been weeks, but I still notice the blank space in the paddock where she liked to stand, soaking up sun. And every day, we still talk about her. “I miss her,” one of my daughters said this morning. “I wish I could ride her.”

“I miss her too,” I admitted. “But look…” I held out my phone, and we scrolled through pictures of the pony bonding with her new girl. Her mom had gladly kept in contact with me.

“I know she is loved and happy,” my 5-year-old said, smiling. And I knew then that my daughters had learned important life lessons. Loss is incredibly sad. Change is complicated, emotional, and hard. But change can also be for the best. 

Parting with our pony wasn’t an act of cruelty. I’m not an unfeeling horsewoman or heartless mother. In fact, if you ask anyone who knows me, they’ll tell you I love hard. Probably too hard sometimes.

But I believe part of my job as a parent isn’t always protecting my kids from pain. It’s teaching them how to walk through it. Because the reality of life is that we all must learn to let go.

Before you jump to judgement, remember that just like every parent’s journey is different, every horse owner’s journey is as well. Instead of tearing each other down, let’s hold onto the powerful thing that unites us—the love we share for our children and for these incredible animals. 

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Jamie Sindell has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Arizona and has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids, ages 4 to 15. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their small pony, Cupcake, and her son and husband play with the tractor.