I didn’t set out to adopt a wild mustang. In fact, I had exactly zero experience with them when I met Sunna. But as fate would have it, she became the horse who changed everything.
It all started in Oregon, where I was attending the Equus Coach Master Facilitator training through the Koelle Institute. As part of the training, we were provided with two completely unhandled mustangs, both borrowed from the Bureau of Land Management. One was a sleek black mare, wary but quick to trust. By the end of four days, she would let us touch her all over, pick up her feet, and lead her with a halter. The other mustang? Well… let’s just say she was a bit more complicated.
Sunna—though she didn’t have a name yet—was reactive and terrified. If you pushed past her threshold, she would explode like a cannonball, all hooves and adrenaline. The most we could do was carefully reach through the gate panel and, if we were lucky, rest a hand on her shoulder before she would rocket off again.
At the end of the training, the owner of the facility made a decision. "I'm going to adopt the black one. The other one is going back to the Bureau of Land Management."
And that should have been the end of it.
But something in me couldn’t accept that. Even though I had no experience with mustangs, I could see that this wasn’t a bad or hopeless horse—she was just scared. She needed time, patience, and understanding, not to be shuffled back into more unknowns. Still, the idea of bringing home a wild, terrified horse was daunting, to say the least.
So, naturally, I called my mom, so she could talk me out of it. I figured she’d say something like, "Wow, you might be biting off a little more than you can chew," or "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"
Instead, she said, “Let me consult the I Ching.” (For those unfamiliar, the I Ching is an ancient Chinese oracle.)
When she came back to the phone, she said just three words, "It's your destiny."
Well.
That’s how Sunna became mine. I filled out the adoption paperwork that day.
She had been gathered from Beatty’s Butte, Oregon, as a yearling and had spent two years in a holding facility before being selected for the training. The first thing I noticed about her was her sensitivity. Underneath the fear, there was kindness. Caution, yes, but also a quiet wisdom.
But we were both nervous types, and our early days together weren’t about big breakthroughs or cinematic moments of trust-building. Instead, they were about learning to just be. We sat with each other, no pressure, no expectations—just a quiet understanding that we’d figure it out in our own time.
That process changed me. Sunna taught me patience—not just with her, but with myself. She showed me that sometimes, the best thing you can do is not push. She taught me that it’s okay to go against the grain of popular belief when you know, deep in your bones, that there’s a better way.
She also taught me that I could gentle a wild mustang. And once you know something like that, you can’t un-know it.
Sunna is the reason Zenhorse welcomes mustangs born in the wild. She showed me how much these horses have to offer, if only given the time and space to heal. Now, when they're ready, they bring their incredible healing to the humans who need them.
She’s of course, still with us, and while she’s always been beautiful, no one—least of all me—could have guessed just how physically stunning she would become as she matured. She is regal, wise, and breathtaking, both inside and out. But what amazes me most is her willingness to give, despite everything she’s been through.
Sunna didn’t just change my life—she set it on an entirely new course. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
