Steven Sukkau
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
Winnipeg Sun
If you’ve ever been stared down by a horse, you know it’s unsettling. Horses have those deep, unreadable eyes that seem to know something. Now imagine all that horsepower shrunk to coffee-table size and paired with shaggy bangs. That’s Tornado, a miniature horse in Winkler, Manitoba, who may just be the smallest therapist in town.
Tornado works alongside his daughter Katie, who has the gentler temperament of the duo, and together they’re co-stars in an unlikely new venture: equine-assisted learning sessions run by local entrepreneur, music teacher, and part-time princess-for-hire, Lindsay Rae.
Yes, princess. Yes, horses. Yes, therapy. Stay with me.
The Classroom in the Barn
Rae’s “classroom” is not desks and chalkboards but a pen filled with tiny hooves, pencil crayons, and, occasionally, a cat named Fred. Children who struggle with anxiety, self-esteem, or reading aloud can sign up for a session with Tornado and Katie. The curriculum might include grooming, leading a horse through an obstacle, or simply reading Charlotte’s Web into the twitching ears of a 200-pound listener who, unlike most siblings, never interrupts.
“It’s like the horse is the teacher,” Rae explained. “They mirror what you’re feeling. If you’re anxious, they’ll show it. If you’re calm, they’ll come close. It gives kids honest feedback, without judgment.”
Honest feedback, incidentally, sometimes looks like a horse sticking its nose into a box of pencil crayons and knocking them all over the ground. Which, as Rae points out, is also a lesson: life can get messy, but you can still finish your drawing.
Equine Assisted Learning
Equine Assisted Learning, or EAL, is a ground-based approach where horses help people build skills like communication, confidence, and emotional regulation. The idea is simple: horses mirror human emotions. If someone is anxious or agitated, the horse will pull away; if they are calm and clear, the horse responds with trust. That non-judgmental feedback makes it easier for children to recognize and manage their feelings.
Used in schools, youth programs, and trauma recovery, EAL has been shown to reduce anxiety and boost self-esteem in ways that feel more natural than a traditional therapy setting. And while many programs use full-sized horses, Lindsay Rae’s miniature pair, Tornado and Katie, make the experience far less intimidating, offering eye-level connection and comfort to even the most hesitant child.
Lessons Without Words
One girl with separation anxiety once watched Tornado pace and whinny when Katie was led out of the pen. As the child observed the horse’s distress ease with each reuniting, she quietly confessed that she felt the same way when her mom left the house. Rae hadn’t made the connection for her. The horse had.
Another child, barely old enough for multiplication tables, confessed her fear of the school bus while holding Katie’s lead rope. No therapy couch could have coaxed it. The horse, standing solidly at her side, apparently could.
“It’s incredible,” Rae said, still a little astonished herself. “I’m watching these kids connect dots through the horses that I couldn’t have drawn for them.”
A Calling, Not Just a Business
If Rae sounds born for this work, it’s because she almost was. As a child, she tagged along with her grandmother to the local seniors’ home, parading ducks and rabbits through common rooms. She saw faces light up. She noticed the calm. She filed it away.
Eighteen years of teaching music, running a party princess business, and managing events later, she finally put all the pieces together. “It feels like my calling,” she said, in a tone suggesting both gratitude and relief.
Now, she’s certified in Equine Assisted Learning through a course in Fraserwood, part of a national network of practitioners who share exercises and stories, like the one about a horse that correctly identified an undisclosed pregnancy.
Science is on Rae’s side. Horses’ hearts are ten times the size of ours, capable of influencing human heart rhythms and calming nervous systems. They chew to release stress. They literally carry emotional weight and, Rae notes, need breaks of their own after hard sessions.
But the real secret sauce may be cultural amnesia. Our grandparents grew up in barns, where cows and horses provided both chores and therapy. Today’s kids, in contrast, process stress in basements illuminated by the flickering light of OLED screens. Rae is betting that thirty minutes with a mini horse might do more good than three hours of screen time.
A 30-minute “Tiny Hooves” session runs $45, though Rae offers a first-time trial for $25. There are group programs for siblings, homeschoolers, or shy readers, and Rae is experimenting with coloring sessions, too. She is careful to note that no one rides the minis; they’re teachers, not ponies.
There is something at once comic and transcendent about seeing a six-year-old pour her heart out to an animal shorter than she is. Comic, because it looks faintly ridiculous. Transcendent, because it works.
“It just makes me a calmer person, even,” Rae admitted. “The horses don’t respond well if I’m agitated. They’ve taught me how my mood affects others.”
Maybe that’s the real curriculum: small horses training big humans in how to be gentler with one another.
Learn more at acountryprincess.com, or email acountryprincess@outlook.com.
