Bob:
Well well well… look who finally slowed down long enough for their interview. Gypsy, it’s about time.
Gypsy:
Hi Bob! I was just doing a quick spin and checking on the toys. You never know when someone’s hidden something good in there.
Bob:
You and those toys. But let’s start at the beginning—you’ve had quite a life, haven’t you?
Gypsy:
Oh, you could say that. I was born to my beautiful sorrel mom, Brittany, and my striking black-and-white dad, Jody. I’ve got two older brothers, Prince and JR, and a little brother named Watch. But I gave everyone a scare when I got sick as a newborn—spent a whole week at the vet with my Mama (not to be confused with my new bestie, Mama Mia). Thankfully, I made it through, and came back with plenty of cha-ching energy!
Bob:
That explains the name--All Wrights Lil Miss Cha-Ching, straight from All Wright Farm.
Gypsy:
That’s me! Named after the vet bill and proud of it. I’ve always been the spunky one—running, spinning, stopping, and doing it all over again just for fun.​

Bob:
And now you’re one of the stars here at STEPS With Horses. What’s your role these days?
Gypsy:
Oh, I love my job! I work in play therapy with the kids, and let me tell you—I’m all about the toys. I’m curious, energetic, and always up for a game. The kids feel safe around me, and I think they like that I’m a little goofy but still listen with my heart.
Bob:
You’ve got a gift, Gypsy. And you’re not just a hit with the little ones, right?
Gypsy:
Right again! The teenage girls from The Maples come out every week, and they love dolling me up—brushing my coat, giving me braids... I eat it up. Who wouldn’t want a fan club?
Bob:
Speaking of fans, I’ve noticed you’ve been sticking close to Mama Mia lately…
Gypsy:
She’s my best friend! She’s calm and sweet and makes me feel grounded—plus she lets me steal her hay sometimes. And Bob, don’t worry, I enjoy your company too… even if I give you a little sass now and then.
Bob:
You mean when you try to herd me like a sheepdog?
Gypsy:
It’s all in good fun. I’ve got to keep you humble. And those big horses? Please, I've dealt with llamas. I may be small, but I’ve been known to put a few in their place when they get too full of themselves.​

Samuel* always felt different. Other kids didn’t seem to understand him, and no matter how hard he tried, he struggled to relate to them. When he got excited, his energy bubbled over, sometimes overwhelming those around him. He talked too fast, moved too much, and reacted too strongly. Other children pulled away, and eventually, he found himself standing alone on the playground more often than not. Even at home, companionship eluded him—the family cat, sensing his intensity, spent most of its time tucked safely under the bed.

His parents, desperate to find something that would help him connect with the world in a way that made sense to him, brought him to equine-partnered play therapy. At first, Samuel didn’t understand why the horses wouldn’t stay near him. Just like the kids at school, they ran away when he ran toward them. He wanted so badly to be close to them, but the more excited he got, the further they retreated.

Mama Mia, a miniature horse with a heart as big as her name suggested, became his silent teacher. Unlike people, she didn’t judge or scold—she simply responded. When Samuel rushed toward her, she turned and walked away. When he slowed down, softening his energy, she paused, ears flicking in his direction.
With time, Samuel started to notice these small changes. The moment he caught himself before moving too fast, Mama Mia would linger just a little longer. When he approached her with calmness, she stayed. The more he observed, the more he adjusted—not because someone told him to, but because he wanted to.

The transformation didn’t happen overnight, but one day, something remarkable occurred. Samuel came home from therapy, and for the first time, the family cat wasn’t hiding. Instead, it sat at the edge of the hallway, watching him. A few days later, it crept into his lap. Samuel beamed, gently stroking its fur, suddenly understanding something profound—his energy mattered.

Not long after that, his mother got a call from his teacher. Samuel had made his first friend at school. It wasn’t because someone had taught him social rules or given him a list of steps to follow. It was because he had learned—through Mama Mia’s quiet patience—how to listen, how to adjust, and how to connect in a way that felt real.

For Samuel, this wasn’t just about learning self-control. It was about discovering how to be himself in a way that brought others closer instead of pushing them away. And it all started with a miniature horse who simply waited for him to figure it out on his own.
​
At STEPS With Horses, moments like these unfold every day. Because sometimes, the best lessons in life don’t come from words—but from the quiet, steady presence of an equine partner willing to show the way.

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Alyse* was the youngest of five siblings, a quiet girl who lived in a whirlwind of change. Her father was in the military, and frequent relocations were a way of life. When he was deployed for long stretches, the house grew chaotic. Alyse’s siblings acted out in their own ways—angry outbursts, defiance, and emotional withdrawal. But Alyse? She retreated into herself, becoming a silent observer of the storm that seemed to rage endlessly around her.

When she first arrived for her Equine-Partnered Play Therapy sessions, Alyse would greet the horses softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. But as soon as she entered the play area, her focus shifted to the dollhouse. She would create a tornado that ripped through the house, again and again. The walls, the roof, the furniture—nothing was safe from her carefully crafted destruction. The play therapist, seeing this, recognized the tornado as a symbol of the chaos in Alyse’s home life, the uncontrollable forces tearing through her world.

Bob, the miniature horse, was always nearby during these sessions. Though Alyse didn’t acknowledge him much at first, he would inch closer each time, keeping a gentle watch over her. His presence was calm, quiet, and steady. And as Bob approached, something magical happened—the tornado would weaken. The destruction would stop. Alyse would pause, turn toward Bob, and smile faintly as if remembering he was there all along. She would brush his mane, running her small fingers through his coat, and speak to him softly. Bob seemed to understand, lowering his head as if to listen, his large, dark eyes reflecting her unspoken words.

Over the course of the sessions, the tornado became less frequent. Alyse still played with the dollhouse, but now she would rebuild it, carefully placing the furniture back in its proper place. The chaos in her home hadn’t disappeared, but her relationship with Bob gave her something constant, something that couldn’t be torn apart by the storm. 

At home, subtle changes started to emerge. Alyse was still quiet, but she no longer withdrew completely. She began to talk more with her mother, share small details about her day, and she even started to sleep with fewer nightmares. When her siblings argued, Alyse didn’t flinch away from the noise—she was learning, in her own way, to rebuild even when the world felt overwhelming.

In her play therapy sessions, Bob became a central figure in Alyse’s stories. Instead of the tornado, there was now a brave little horse who protected the dollhouse, standing firm while the winds howled outside. Alyse’s play grew more complex—she began to create stories of strength, of healing, and of finding calm amidst the chaos.

One day, Alyse arrived at her session with a drawing. It was of Bob standing next to the dollhouse, surrounded by a beautiful, peaceful scene—no tornado in sight. When asked what had changed, Alyse simply smiled and said, "Bob helps me feel safe. So now, the house stays safe too."

In that moment, the play therapist knew that Alyse had found a way to cope, a way to manage the storms of life. And while the tornado might never disappear completely, Alyse now had Bob to anchor her, helping her weather whatever came next.

*Client's name and details have been changed to protect client identity. Photo does not depict real client.

You can make a difference in the lives of children like Alyse. Give a gift for North Texas Giving Day at https://www.northtexasgivingday.org/stepswithhorses