The Story of Daegen

If you’ve been following Life at Oz, you’ve probably already met Daegen. He’s the sturdy little black Fell pony with the thick mane, endless opinions, and enough strength to remind me daily that I am no longer thirty years old. These days he’s built like a little tank, but he wasn’t always.

Our story actually begins with the move to Oz.

Back then there was only Hadji.

My sister, my niece Olivia, and I had all moved here together. Olivia was every bit the horse girl. She’d been riding almost as soon as she could sit on a horse, and like me, she adored Friesians and Fell ponies. We decided it was time for her to have a pony of her own.

I found an advertisement online for a recently weaned Fell pony colt in Illinois. We bought him sight unseen and arranged transportation, then spent the next several days anxiously waiting for him to arrive.

It was close to midnight when the driver called.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He pulled around behind the barn, lowered the ramp, and out stepped the tiniest little pony imaginable.

Olivia burst into tears.

That was a rare thing for her.

I, on the other hand, was momentarily horrified. He looked so tiny and delicate that I was convinced I was somehow going to break him.

Hadji had a completely different reaction.

He was thrilled.

From the moment he saw that little pony, he absolutely adored him. Daegen toddled around on those enormous clumsy baby feet while Hadji watched over him like an older brother.

Olivia practically moved into the barn. She and her friends had slumber parties out there with the pony. We knew it would be quite a while before he was big enough to ride but that was part of the dream.

They were going to grow up together.

Then tragedy struck.

My sister passed away.

In the aftermath, Olivia had to move away to live with her father.

Almost overnight, the future we had imagined disappeared.

From then on, Daegen simply became Hadji’s little buddy, and the two of them were inseparable.

Life kept moving.

Between working full-time, painting, and taking care of the farm, there just wasn’t much time left. Most of my horse time naturally centered around Hadji. Daegen was loved, well cared for, and happy, but he didn’t receive the consistent education a young horse ideally should.

Then tragedy struck again.

One morning Hadji was here.

By nightfall, he was gone.

Losing him changed everything.

After the initial shock wore off, I tried working with Daegen. But my heart simply wasn’t in it.

I also caught myself making a mistake I didn’t recognize at first.

I wasn’t getting to know Daegen.

I was expecting him to be Hadji.

They’re completely different horses.

Different minds.

Different personalities.

Different ways of looking at the world.

Eventually I realized I wasn’t being fair to either of us, so I stopped.

For a long time.

It has only been recently that I feel like I’ve started living again instead of simply surviving. Only recently have I been ready to meet Daegen where he has been all along.

The funny thing is, I’d been feeding him every day for years.

But I didn’t really know him.

Caring for an animal and truly knowing one are not always the same thing.

So I started over.

No agenda.

No expectations.

Just spending time together.

Lots of grooming.

Standing quietly.

Learning how he thinks.

Learning what makes him curious.

Learning what worries him.

Learning what he enjoys.

And discovering who Daegen actually is.

One thing became obvious very quickly.

That tiny little colt had turned into an absolute powerhouse.

He is exceptionally strong.

If he decides to walk away, he simply walks away. If he decides your personal space belongs to him, he’ll happily occupy it. He’s a perpetual teenager with a very short attention span and enough confidence for three horses.

Strength-wise, I’m no match for him.

So out came the books.

The videos.

The notebooks.

I started studying horse behavior, body language, and perhaps even more importantly, human body language.

There are three horsemen whose work has deeply influenced how I want to approach horses.

The first is Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling.

The second is Frédéric Pignon.

Those two are my dream team.

The third is Bent Branderup, whose classical academic riding has become another important influence.

What draws me to all three isn’t simply their horsemanship.

It’s the place they come from.

None of them rely on intimidation or force as the foundation of the relationship. Instead, they become masters of their own energy, posture, timing, and intention. If you watch closely enough, their conversations with horses are almost invisible.

That’s the kind of partnership I hope to build.

One of the Hempfling videos showed something that really stayed with me.

He was handling a mature, animated stallion.

The horse became pushy.

There was no whipping.

No shouting.

No dramatic correction.

Instead, Hempfling simply became bigger. He stood taller, projected confidence, and made one quiet but unmistakable energetic gesture with his hands.

The stallion immediately understood.

That fascinated me.

I also found a copy of Frédéric Pignon’s DVD La Leçon Indispensable. Unfortunately, it was entirely in French. After a bit of searching, I found someone who had created English subtitles.

Suddenly everything made even more sense.

I only wish I could find more videos showing the beginning stages—the mistakes, the misunderstandings, and the corrections. Most demonstrations begin after the horse already understands the language.

That’s where Daegen and I are.

We’re learning the language together.

I’m still trying to answer difficult questions.

How do you set boundaries while remaining fair?

How do you correct pushy behavior without damaging trust?

How do you become someone your horse genuinely wants to follow instead of someone he simply tolerates?

I don’t pretend to have those answers yet.

But I’m learning.

For now, our work is simple.

Leading.

Stopping.

Standing quietly.

Learning “whoa.”

Building trust.

Making it rewarding for him to spend time with me.

Trying my very best to become the kind of leader he can relax around.

When you’re working this way, you can’t think about tomorrow’s grocery list or what happened at work.

The horse knows.

He requires your full attention.

Maybe that’s part of the gift.

He keeps bringing me back to the present moment.

We’re in no hurry anymore.

There are no competitions.

No deadlines.

Just a woman getting to know a pony she thought she already knew.

And a pony slowly deciding that perhaps this human is worth paying attention to after all.

I think we’re finally beginning our real journey together.

Someday I hope we’ll be riding through the woods here at Oz. I have no doubt he’ll have enormous expressive gaits that make me smile every time I climb into the saddle. I’d also love to teach him a few tricks—not because I need a performing pony, but because play is another way of building a relationship.

For now, though, this chapter isn’t about riding.

It’s about beginnings.

Sometimes life interrupts the story we thought we were going to live.

Sometimes years pass before we’re ready to begin again.

Daegen has been waiting patiently all this time.

Now, at last, I think we’re both ready.

And I have a feeling the adventures of Daegen are only just beginning.