LEGACIES

Some horses leave hoofprints. Others change the direction of your life

The horses who have shaped Sonny on the Rox are more than names in our history. They were teachers, partners, competitors, friends, and in many ways, the foundation beneath what we have become.

Each one entered our story for a different reason. Some challenged what we thought we knew. Some carried us farther than we thought possible. Some taught lessons we never would have chosen to learn. And some simply gave us the privilege of being loved by a truly remarkable horse.

Their time with us may have ended, but their influence has not. The lessons they taught continue to shape the way we train, teach, lead, and care for the horses entrusted to us today.

These are their stories—and the legacies they left behind.

Sonny

(05/02/2006 – 12/26/2015)

Make the most of what you're given.

Watch Our Journey

Sonny came into my life when I was ten years old, a gift from my Grandpa Jerry. Bred from the Impressive line for the halter world, he wasn't supposed to become a performance horse. He had already spent time with several trainers without developing a solid foundation, and somehow, at ten years old, I took over from there. We figured it out together. Sonny had a huge personality—stubborn, opinionated, athletic, and remarkably similar to me. Even when he became incredibly well trained, there were things he simply refused to do. He never backed out of a trailer. He could tie beautifully and would still occasionally set back. He wasn't perfect, and neither was I. But our bond was extraordinary. He came running and neighing when he saw me, followed me wherever I went, and became my best friend. We spent countless hours training, trail riding, competing, and simply being together. Somewhere along the way, the halter-bred horse who wasn't supposed to be fast became an exceptional barrel and pole horse—once clocking 40 mph at a run. By my junior year of high school, years of work were finally coming together. We had become 4-H State Senior Games Champions and were in the middle of our best season yet. Then, on Christmas Eve 2015, Sonny underwent emergency colic surgery at the University of Minnesota. He passed away two days later at only nine years old. Losing Sonny changed the trajectory of my life. I had imagined a future built around rodeo and equine veterinary science, and suddenly I wasn't sure I wanted that future without him. His loss also left me with regret over moments I wished I had appreciated differently—and ultimately taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. There is no guarantee of another season, another run, another ride, or another opportunity to get it right. Sonny taught me passion and gratitude. He taught me to work with what I have, believe beyond perceived limitations, and appreciate what is in front of me while I have it. His short life still influences the way I care for horses today: their careers will never matter more to me than their lives. Sonny was my partner, my teacher, and my best friend. In many ways, we grew up together. Years later, his name—and so much of what he taught me—would become part of Sonny on the Rox. His career ended before we were ready. His legacy never did.

Miss Foxy Roxanne "Roxy"

(06/19/1993 - 06/28/2022)

The pony that taught me what freedom feels like.

Miss Foxy Roxanne—Roxy—was my first horse. She came into my life when I was eight years old, a gift from my Grandpa Jerry not long after I began taking English riding lessons in Minnesota. An Arabian pony mix with plenty of sass, Roxy became my first partner, one of my best friends, and the horse who gave me the freedom to discover what horses could become in my life. Through 4-H, we tried nearly everything: English and Western pleasure, equitation, showmanship, dressage, gaming, and eventually rodeo events. When I discovered speed events and fell in love with them, Roxy became a gaming pony. When I wanted to learn goat tying and breakaway roping, she learned those too. She wasn't bred to be particularly fast or specialized for any of those things. But she was the horse I had—and that became one of the greatest gifts she could have given me. Roxy taught me to work with the horse in front of me. I couldn't replace her every time I wanted to try something new. I had to recognize her strengths, understand her limitations, adapt, experiment, and discover what we could accomplish together. She gave me the freedom to explore without needing to have everything figured out first. And Roxy absolutely knew who was on her back. Even well into her twenties, she could carry a beginner through one of their first rides and take perfect care of them. Then I would get on and suddenly she remembered she had opinions. She would buck, rear, test me, and remind me exactly who she was. A majority of the falls I've taken in my life happened because of Roxy. And somehow, I trusted her completely. Her sass was part of our relationship. She knew what I could handle, and I knew her well enough to understand the difference between her personality and something truly being wrong. She would neigh when I arrived. I could climb on her and feel completely at home. As close to “bombproof” as a horse can realistically be, she gave me a kind of freedom and confidence that can only exist when trust has been built over years. Roxy lived to be 29, and losing her was incredibly hard. But her death taught me something very different from losing Sonny. With Sonny, there had been so many what ifs. With Roxy, there was grief—but there was also peace. We had grown up together. We had tried the things, made the memories, taken the rides, and lived a full life alongside one another. There wasn't a feeling that our story had been cut short. Even her birthday carried a connection that always felt special to me: June 19, the same birthday as my dad - who passed away when I was 4. Roxy taught me versatility and resourcefulness. She taught me not to underestimate the horse in front of me. She taught me that trust doesn't require perfection and that sometimes the horse who challenges you the most is also the one who makes you feel the safest. But perhaps most importantly, she showed me the freedom that becomes possible when a horse and human know one another deeply. Roxy didn't just give me my beginning with horses. She gave me a lifetime with one.

Lets Go Mendy “Malibu”

(04/15/2006)

The horse who proves that where you start doesn't determine where you finish.

Let's Go Mendy—Malibu—came into my life the summer before college. I rescued her from a kill pen in Minnesota for $800, and when she arrived, she knew very little. There was no impressive training history or carefully mapped-out future waiting for her. We simply started from the beginning. Over the years, Malibu became one of the most versatile horses I've ever developed. With a lot of time, experimentation, and willingness to try just about anything, she learned reining maneuvers, barrels, jumping, bridleless riding, and became an incredible trail horse. But Malibu's greatest accomplishment isn't what she can do. Today, she is the only horse still with me who made the journey from Minnesota to Arizona, and she has become a staple of the Sonny on the Rox lesson program. She has helped countless people discover horses and fall in love with riding for the first time. Her versatility makes her uniquely special. She has enough speed to carry students through Gymkhana events, yet enough steadiness and patience to work with beginners and students with special needs. She has adapted again and again to the person and purpose in front of her. A horse once sitting in a kill pen with an uncertain future became a horse entrusted with introducing others to an entirely new world. Malibu reminds us never to confuse where someone begins with what they are capable of becoming.

Julep
(04/03/2022 - 04/06/2022)

Julep was a surprise addition to the herd. She was a beautiful red dun, with the sweetest personality. She was rejected by her mom, which meant she needed to be raised as an orphan. She had a short life, as we found out a couple days later, that she was born with an infection in her intestines and there was nothing that could be done. Although only with us for a couple days, Julep made a big impact.