The story of the horse who chose me—and the healing path that followed.
Before there were Constellations… before I had land… there was a horse who came to me in a dream.
This happened shortly after I made the declaration: “I’m ready for a horse!”
In the dream, he was being chased by a determined mare, and I happened to be in his path. For an instant, I thought he would mow me down—but he stopped, and our eyes met.
Not long after, the exact same scenario unfolded in waking life. There he was—the horse from the dream—trembling in front of me. He was the one for me.
That was Silver. An Arabian gelding, and at 18, he had the spirit of a foal. He was longing to be claimed, to be seen for who he truly was. Life hadn’t been too kind to him, and he heard my call and answered. “Here I am!” Not just once, but twice. How could I turn away?
He was from royal blood, born to be a stallion and reproduce more like him. But he quickly ended up at the feedlot—probably because he didn’t fit the stallion role.
What I saw in him was the Puer, the archetypal Peter Pan—free, young, and otherworldly.
At the time, I was working at a therapy ranch. On the surface, it looked like ideal work—helping people “heal” with horses. But what I found was that most clients weren’t fully present. They arrived with fantasies—I’ve always wanted to ride a horse—but their bodies were fragile, sick, or deeply disconnected. It wasn’t just emotional. Many were out of shape or seriously ill. Getting them on a horse was a problem.
Even with a mounting block and my sturdy knee, most of them couldn’t pull up their bodyweight or swing their leg over.
It usually ended in deep disappointment, and a feeling of shame about their condition. A classic setup for failure.
To make things worse, the horses were being used to fulfill the client’s dream—not to co-create healing. Sometimes they were even blamed for the client’s inability to get on them.
I learned quickly with Silver that he was not a riding horse, and any expectations of us riding into the sunset quickly disappeared after getting repeatedly bucked off.
He was still mine, and I was quite happy to stop flogging a dead horse.
Our relationship developed through friendship. We enjoyed each other’s company. Going for walks or hanging out in the corral was enough. When he had finally decompressed from his former traumas—by being allowed to simply be a horse—he started opening up to me. He showed me how to read people, which he was the master of.
With my background in Polarity Therapy and Cranial Sacral Unwinding, we developed a therapeutic practice rooted in somatic process. At the time, I called it Communing with Horses. Silver and I offered workshops together on my days off.
He generously taught me about healing, resonance, and rapport—and he did it with humour. I was able to get him a job at the ranch, and we worked with hundreds of children from local schools.
When I saw those kids run down the hill screaming, I thought: This is the perfect opportunity for Silver to teach horse etiquette—how to approach, listen, and receive. I told the children Silver had a message for each of them, and all they needed to do was approach with respect, touch him gently on the side, and listen for his message.
Silver became a huge attraction—and none of those kids ever got on his back. He adored them, and they could feel it.
As the years passed, I adopted more horses—mostly from the PMU rescue circuit. After rehabilitating them, I got them jobs at the ranch. Like Silver, they were put on the hay roll.
After a deep personal breakthrough—one that came through my body and changed how I related to everything—I found myself speaking more openly with clients. One woman with cancer came for a session. I offered her healing practices and an I Ching reading. I gave her my number.
She later complained to my boss. Said I was bragging about my healing powers. Said I didn’t get her on a horse.
But I wasn’t surprised. Her feedback didn’t hurt—it clarified.
Soon after, my boss gave me a choice: move with her to a new location, or stay and rent the space for myself.
I chose to stay. And that choice birthed Silver Horse.
Not a business plan. Not a brand.
A continuation of a dream.
The dream Silver brought me.
What I offer now—Horse Constellations, grounded healing, ancestral repair—grew from that time with Silver.
From the space outside the system, where the real work began.
He refused the human’s fantasy.
And because of that, I found my path.
By Sara Fancy