My Journey with WRF Hamlet
The feisty Norwegian Fjord is our September Breed of the Month on YourDressage! Did you know that dressage riders who choose a registered Fjord as their dressage mount are eligible for special awards through the Adequan®/USDF All-Breeds Awards program? The Norwegian Fjord Horse Registry and the Norwegian Fjord Horse Alliance Inc. are participating organizations!
Written by Hamlet’s treat dealer, MacKenzie L. Waro
In February 2023, I “stole” WRF Hamlet from my mom.
At the time, I had absolutely no intention of keeping him. My heart horse had recently suffered a tragic accident and passed away, and suddenly I found myself grieving and without a horse to ride. Hamlet was my mom’s driving pony, and she graciously agreed to let me “borrow” him for the season so I could keep riding while I figured out what came next.
The plan was simple: ride Hamlet for one season, give him back to my mom, don’t get attached.
Hamlet was going to be my placeholder until my “real” horse came along. But three years later, in July 2026, Hamlet and I went down centerline together at the National Dressage Pony Cup in Ohio.
So much for the plan.
The truth is, Hamlet was never really a placeholder. Instead, he became the horse who allowed me to heal, challenged me to become a better rider, made me laugh, made me question my sanity, and reminded me how much joy there is in simply riding the horse you have.
From Driving Pony to Dressage Pony
My mom purchased Hamlet as a six-year-old and drove him for six years before I commandeered him for my own purposes. He was an established driving pony, but being a riding horse, particularly a dressage horse, was a very different job.
I still remember my first ride on him; I felt like I was riding an intoxicated pony. Without the shafts of the cart alongside him, straightness apparently seemed entirely optional. We wandered everywhere.
And then I discovered the Fjord spin.
Hamlet has an impressively quick pony spin that will teach you to sit deeply whether you intended to learn that lesson or not. He tested me every stride, every aid, and sometimes every nerve I had.
Fjords themselves were not new to me. I grew up around a Fjord named Ludvic, who belonged to my sister. He eventually became the backbone of her lesson program. Ludvic lived to be 30 years old, and some of my earliest Fjord memories involve helping my sister with him. At one point, my contribution to his training consisted of running in front of him holding a carrot to convince him to go forward while my sister nudged him along from the saddle.
So, I knew a little bit about Fjords; I just never imagined I would ride one myself, much less compete on one in dressage.
But alas, here we are.
The Horse I Thought I Was Looking For
Hamlet was supposed to fill the gap until I found my next horse. In my mind, I knew exactly what that horse looked like: 16-plus hands, an upper-level dressage prospect, and ideally capable of also becoming an upper-level vaulting horse.
Hamlet clearly did not receive that memo.
In addition to becoming my dressage partner, Hamlet stepped up to become a vaulting horse. Vaulting is a huge part of my life. I am an FEI Level 2 Vaulting Steward and a USEF Vaulting Technical Delegate, and through my many years in equestrian sport, I have developed a deep belief in the horse and what horses can do for the human soul.
Hamlet reinforced that belief in ways I never expected.
And when I say Hamlet tested me, I mean he really tested me. Every. Dang. Stride.
There were rides when he would simply take off at a hand gallop with seemingly no “whoa” button in sight. Other times, he would suddenly spin in the opposite direction, determined to see whether I planned to continue the ride with him or without him. His spin became one of his signature moves.
Those rides were incredibly frustrating. There were plenty of times when I wondered why I was working this hard for a pony who was only supposed to be temporary. There were days when I was discouraged and days when I seriously questioned whether this partnership was ever going to work.
But those difficult rides ultimately became part of what made our partnership what it is today.
Hamlet demanded that I become an effective rider instead of simply a passenger. I had to learn when to push, when to soften, when to correct him, and when his behavior was telling me something I needed to hear.
Most importantly, I had to learn to stay completely in the present.
I cannot get on Hamlet and spend the next 45 minutes thinking about work, tomorrow’s schedule, emails I need to answer, or anything else happening in my life. He requires my full attention. Fear and anxiety have no place in the saddle with him. If I hesitate, he knows. If I am not committed to what I am asking, he knows that too. He has taught me to ride confidently even when I may not entirely feel confident.
There is no pretending with Hamlet.
He has also taught me something perhaps even more important: not to hold the stride before, or the ride before, against us.
Every stride is another opportunity to start over.
A difficult ride does not mean you have a bad horse and it does not mean you have a bad partnership. Sometimes it simply means you still have something to learn from each other.
That may be one of the greatest lessons Hamlet has given me.
Where We Solve the World’s Problems
Trail rides with Hamlet are a different story.
Out on the trail, Hamlet seems perfectly content to listen while I tell him about my day. We talk—a lot—and, in true Hamlet fashion, he always seems to have plenty to say in return.
Those quiet rides have become some of my favorite moments with him because there are no scores, tests, qualifying requirements, or expectations. It is simply the two of us enjoying each other’s company.
Needless to say, Hamlet and I have solved many of the world’s problems on those trails together.
I’m not sure the world knows it yet.
Progress Is Rarely a Straight Line
Just when Hamlet and I began making significant progress, our journey took another turn.
We essentially lost two years to two separate suspensory injuries.
For an amateur rider, those years felt incredibly long. You watch other people compete. You watch other riders earn the medals you are still working toward. You watch seasons come and go while your own goals get pushed farther into the future. Your perspective changes.
Instead of worrying about scores, movements, qualifying rides, or the next level, your definition of a successful day becomes much simpler:
Your horse is sound.
Your horse is comfortable.
Your horse walked today.
And that is enough.
It wasn’t until Hamlet and I went to Florida for the winter of 2025–2026 that everything finally began coming together again. For the first time since our initial season together, we returned to the recognized show ring.
Somewhere along the way, a goal emerged that I had never even considered before Hamlet: the National Dressage Pony Cup.
Before him, NDPC wasn’t something I even thought about. Why would I? I wasn’t looking for a dressage pony. Remember, I was waiting for my 16-plus-hand upper-level dressage horse…
Instead, I ended up with a Fjord.
And in July 2026, that Fjord carried me down centerline at the National Dressage Pony Cup in Ohio.
For some riders, simply going down centerline at a particular competition may not sound like the greatest accomplishment.
For us, it was.
That centerline represented three years of learning, frustration, laughter, injuries, rehabilitation, changed expectations, postponed goals, and refusing to give up on each other.
It represented every ride when Hamlet tested me and every ride when I questioned whether we would ever get there. It represented all the tiny victories that nobody else saw.
We made it. And that mattered.
The Horse I Needed
Hamlet still tests me. Every. Single. Ride.
He makes me laugh. He frustrates me. He makes me question my sanity. And occasionally, I am fairly certain he wakes up and chooses chaos.
But Hamlet has also taught me to appreciate the small victories. As an amateur rider, it is incredibly easy to become focused on what comes next: the next level, the next score, the next show, the next qualifying ride, the next medal. Hamlet has taught me that sometimes the most important moments are much quieter: a good transition; a straight centerline; a complete dressage test without a buck, bolt, or spin; the first ride back after an injury; a trail ride where we solve all the world’s problems; realizing that something we struggled with six months ago has quietly become easy; or simply walking back to the barn after a good ride and realizing how incredibly lucky I am to be there, to be here on this earth, in this moment.
Hamlet was supposed to keep me riding until I found my next horse. Instead, he became the horse who helped me survive losing one. There is something particularly special about that.
I thought I knew exactly what my next horse was supposed to look like. I had the height, the job description, and the future goals all mapped out.
Hamlet checked almost none of those boxes.
What he gave me was something better. He gave me a partnership. He gave me hope. And he gave me back a part of myself I didn’t know I had lost.
Why a Fjord?
If someone asked whether they should consider a Fjord as a dressage partner, I would absolutely say yes. But I might also tell them to buckle up. They are smart. They are versatile. They are opinionated. And they are capable of far more than people sometimes expect from them.
Hamlet went from being my mom’s driving pony to my dressage partner and a vaulting horse. If necessary, he could probably go back to driving tomorrow and wonder why it took us so long to finally put the cart back on.
But what I appreciate most is that Hamlet has never allowed me to take our partnership, or a single accomplishment, for granted.
Everything we achieve feels earned. He may never be the 16-hand dressage horse I thought I needed. He doesn’t need to be.
Three years ago, I borrowed a Fjord because I needed something to ride while my heart healed and I searched for my next horse. Somewhere between the pony spins, runaway hand gallops, wandering centerlines, injuries, rehabilitation, comeback rides, trail conversations, laughter, tears, and finally riding down centerline at NDPC, I stopped looking.
Hamlet wasn’t the horse I was riding until the right horse came along.
He was the right horse all along.
A Pony for Christmas
There was, however, one technicality in my story about “stealing” Hamlet from my mom:
She still owned him.
I had taken over his riding career. I made the decisions. I paid all his expenses. He was, for all practical purposes, my horse. But on paper, Hamlet still belonged to my mom. That changed on Christmas morning in 2025. My mom handed me a suspiciously thin present. When I opened it, inside were Hamlet’s registration papers, signed over to me, along with a Christmas card telling me that Hamlet was officially mine.
I had finally gotten a pony for Christmas.
There was something wonderfully full-circle about that moment. So many horse-loving little girls grow up dreaming about waking up on Christmas morning and discovering that somehow, impossibly, there is a pony waiting for them.
Then we grow up, and reality hits us. Horses become feed bills and vet bills. They become 5 a.m. mornings, mud, injuries, rehabilitation schedules, disappointments, responsibilities, and impossible decisions. Dreams get mixed together with reality.
But somewhere underneath all of that, the little girl who believes a pony might show up for Christmas never completely disappears. Mine certainly hadn’t. That Christmas morning, her dream finally came true.
Hamlet came into my life at a time when my heart was broken. He was supposed to keep me riding while I grieved and searched for another horse.
Instead, he challenged me. He frustrated me. He occasionally tried very hard to unseat me. He taught me to ride in the moment and to leave the last bad stride behind. He carried me through injuries and rehabilitation. He took me back into the recognized show ring. He became my vaulting horse, my trail-riding confidant, and my dressage partner.
For years, I joked that I had stolen Hamlet from my mom.
I just didn’t realize that while I was busy stealing her pony, Hamlet was quietly stealing my heart.
