Tied into the saddle
at three. Still
choosing horses
at sixty-two.
A buckskin gelding named Joe, and a grandfather who needed to finish his chores.
Michelle "Shelley" Hagans-Brown grew up in a horse family, spending much of her childhood under her grandfather's care. Draft horse teams pulled covered wagons; Quarter Horses were for riding. When she was very young, her grandfather would tie her into the saddle on an old buckskin gelding named Joe while he worked. Later came a pretty bay mare named Ginger — her best friend, and endlessly patient.
College took her away from horses for a time, but they were never far. She rode with friends and family whenever she could. When she retired, she came back — fully, intentionally, and with a herd of her own.
Kro, Apollo, Nugget, and the two-year-old who naps in her lap.
Shelley's herd has a clear pecking order. Kro is the boss. Apollo is exceptionally beautiful and seems to know it. Nugget, the John Mule, manages to make everyone smile just by existing.
And then there's Reo. Named after Shelley's late uncle — whose initials he carries, and whose personality he apparently shares — Reo is two years old, smart, spirited, fast, and deeply affectionate. Shelley works with him daily on groundwork, plans to start him driving this year, and will wait until he's four to start him under saddle.
In the meantime, he naps. In her lap. Every day.
"One of the happiest days of my life was the first time he laid his head in my lap for his favorite activity: napping. To this day, he naps with me — and it's the sweetest gift I've ever been given."
She retired from competition. She didn't miss it.
Shelley came from a highly competitive work environment. She'd planned to carry that drive into the show ring. Then something shifted.
She found herself drawn not to competing, but to connecting. Hours in the paddock. Long walks in the pasture. Watching the nuances of how her horses move and breathe. Matching her own breathing to theirs. "While I still ride and train," she says, "I like to focus on being present with each of them. It's a work in progress — and I'm okay with that."
Horses, she'll tell you, have taught her to live with intention. "It's so much harder than it sounds. But every day, they help me get a little bit better at it."
It starts from the kitchen window, watching all four of them.
Every morning: feed, water, muck the stalls, love and scratches. Then the day begins. Sometimes, Shelley says, it feels like living a dream — which is an extraordinary thing to mean it.
Her husband Clark caught the horse bug a few years ago — got his own, and became fully invested in the care of the whole herd. They rode together at the Battle of the Little Bighorn earlier this year, a three-day trip through Montana with a Crow guide, exploring sacred land on horseback. "It was beautiful country," she said, "and so meaningful to experience that way."
"After evening feed, crack open your favorite beverage with the love of your life, and sit there and soak in all of the wonderfulness of owning horses together. Try it — you'll thank me later."
"It's not a sacrifice. I choose to be with them."
Shelley hears it all the time — the assumption that horses limit your life, that they keep you from things. She disagrees completely. She doesn't miss activities because of her horses. She chooses her horses instead.
And if you're thinking about getting into horses yourself? She has thoughts. Many, as it turns out:
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself. Listen to your horse — they want to tell you all kinds of things. Hang out with your horse; match your breathing to his, your steps to his. Groundwork is important. Really important!"
She paused, then added: "Ok, that was more than one thing. So I'll try again: GET THE HORSE!!!"
"I feel like I am buying from a friend."
Shelley uses TailCinch fly boots for her whole herd — Kro, Apollo, Nugget, and Reo each has their own color. They work well, they hold up, and the customer service sealed the deal.
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