BreyerFest: A Unique and Inspiring Experience
I thought I knew what to expect: Middle-aged women dragging wheelbarrows of plastic horses behind them. Cutthroat shows pitting plastic model versus plastic model. Groupies donning horse tails and horse ears and customized T-shirts, chasing down autographs for the models they’d waited in seemingly endless lines to purchase.
For the very first time, I was attending BreyerFest.
And while I found what I was looking for—and more—at the Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington, I also found a diverse and welcoming group of enthusiasts of equines, both the plastic and pooping varieties. Breyer collectors and competitors, I learned, unapologetically love their unique hobby and are excited to share it, even with someone with as many not-always-flattering preconceptions as me.
And the owners of the real-life horses whose models debuted during this year’s BreyerFest were—despite intense heat, full schedules and constant attention from adoring fans—some of the most generous, humble and grateful equestrians I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with in a long time.
I had good reason to attend BreyerFest this year: I’d written articles on two of the horses featured in the 2024 BreyerFest, themed “Against All Odds.” Alan A Day’s Work, Whitney Barnard’s jumping mule who was purchased by Barnard as a nervous and unhandled youngster, inspired a U.S. Equestrian Federation rule change that now allows mules into the jumper ring. “Alan” reminded BreyerFest guests that the world is a better place when we are inclusive to all.
I also wrote about Athenian Lady, this year’s Celebration Horse and the face of BreyerFest 2024, after having several extended phone calls with her owner, Amanda Delgado, that left us both in tears. Amanda rescued the mare from horrible neglect and then rehabbed a nasty leg injury that threatened both the mare’s career and her life. The team proved wrong a whole slew of disbelievers, time after time, to become world champions, many times over, in the discipline of western dressage.
So I was excited to see Whitney again—I’d met her and Alan during the Defender Kentucky Three-Day Event earlier in the year—and to meet Amanda and Athena in person for the first time. I was also ready, I thought, to take in the rest of BreyerFest.
When I got to the Kentucky Horse Park at 5 p.m. Friday, a line of people wrapped halfway around the Alltech Arena, and I wondered if I knew what I was getting into. I texted Whitney for help. She directed me to the shedrow barn where Alan was stabled and met me with a horse guest parking pass, a ticket to the evening show, “Liberté—Against All Odds,” and an invitation to attend with her, her mom, Kathy, and a handful of other friends.
At the Alltech Arena, we enjoyed impressive liberty performances, anxiety-inducing trick riding and vaulting demonstrations, and beautiful music, costumes and choreography. And when Sylvia Zerbini, the show’s lead horse trainer and performer, came out with a herd of a dozen gorgeous gray horses for an impressive liberty performance, we joked that she really knew what she was doing: If you buy all your horses the same color, it’s really easy to hide a new one from your significant other!
I dropped Whitney and her mom back off near the stables and ran into another friend, equestrian artist Larissa Ann Ray whom I profiled in the spring edition of Untacked, and who happened to be Amanda Delgado’s neighbor and dear friend. She and Amanda were tucking “Athena” in for the night a few stalls down from Alan, but the mare was unsettled and tense. Someone in the stalls behind her was making a racket, and the beautiful chestnut paced back and forth near the door.
Amanda’s family was heading out to dinner, but she refused to leave her nervous horse. Larissa and I had talked about catching up over a meal that weekend, but instead we ran out for some nearby fast food, picnicking with Amanda and her horse. By the time we returned, Athena was much more relaxed, grazing near her stall next to the one person with whom she felt most safe.
As I dipped French fries into a chocolate shake and chatted with new friends who very much felt like old friends, I remembered something a young rider at my farm said once, that making friends with another “horse girl” is just easier. Horse girls are different, she said. And it’s true, no matter how old you are.
Saturday morning found me hanging out with one of BreyerFest’s guest horses: Buckeye the dressage mule, during his hourlong meet and greet session while his owner, Jenny Majors, signed autographs.
Buckeye, who lives fairly close to the horse park, had been invited to join Alan for a pas de deux during one of Alan’s required demos. (Generally, each horse in attendance performed two 10-minute demo rides and an almost hour-long meet and greet daily, Friday through Sunday.) Jenny and Buckeye were at BreyerFest without any other help, so I’d offered an extra set of hands.
When Buckeye and I were motioned by a pink-shirted BreyerFest employee towards a spot on a shady hill, I started to understand just what this event was about. Over a hundred people waited anxiously behind a bright “Buckeye” yard sign, and another hundred or so waited in a line for autographs.
I squared him up on the hill, and one by one, Buckeye’s fans approached. Many were children, but plenty of adults also wanted to run their hand over his leopard Appaloosa coat and admire his oversized, flopping ears. Many held their own plastic, miniature version of the almost 16-hand mule, either showing their models to the living, breathing version or holding them in front of their chests, beaming in front of the real thing.
A little girl, maybe 7 or 8, walked up to Buckeye, awe-struck. She wore a black glittery Breyer T-shirt and her wrist was stacked with beaded bracelets that guests made and gifted each other throughout the weekend, like equine Swifties.
“You’re so beautiful,” the girl told Buckeye, touching him softly on his spotted shoulder as if she didn’t quite believe he was real. “You’ve always been my favorite.” The mule yawned, then nudged her with his muzzle. She smiled for a photo and was gently ushered on so the next fan could approach.
As Buckeye’s admirers whispered sweet nothings into his giant ears, the mule alternated between falling asleep—eyes closed—and staring wistfully into the distance at the Friesian foal he was desperate to befriend. Once, when the dark baby and his momma walked towards the covered arena for their demo performance, Buckeye brayed, a loud, low, honking hee-haw that was interrupted half a dozen times with ear-splitting squeaks, sending everyone within earshot into giggles.
Once I safely returned Buckeye to his stall, I had a few hours to wander before returning to help Whitney and Jenny with their demo rides, so I collected my Athena, who came with my ticket, and my Alan models, at the Breyer store.
I passed the hillside where Amanda and Athena were now greeting their fans. Each line on the hillside, one for Amanda, the other for her horse, was maxed out, 200 deep. For the first time in 74 years, the Celebration model sold out. All weekend long, Amanda and her mare were swarmed by adoring fans—before the gates opened, people found their way to Athena’s stall, and they didn’t leave until Breyer employees herded them away at the end of the night. And even when she was exhausted, or when fans crossed boundaries (leave her alone in the bathroom, people!) Amanda’s kindness and gratitude never waivered. She was so genuinely thrilled at how many people loved her horse. Breyer couldn’t have picked a more perfect pair to represent the event.
Later in the day, accompanied by two friends of Whitney’s, I saw part of the kids’ model show, which was surprisingly adorable and educational. We asked a teen in a blue Breyer Ambassador shirt how the whole thing worked, and she told us about the different divisions (12 and under, or 13-17), some of the different classes, and how they were entered and judged. Participants, it seemed, in addition to submitting their model, had to also display a little write up, called a breed reference, that included their horse’s name, identifying information, and the owner’s rationale for entering that particular model in that particular class.
A costume-type class was underway, and judges hovered around a Breyer painted like a turkey, autumnal feathers protruding upright from its croup. Next to him, a black draft was dressed as a bumblebee, complete with fat yellow stripes and pointy antennae. We walked away to a table where a class was prepping for judging, and two teenage competitors brushed the dust off their models with what looked like soft paintbrushes. When we asked a little girl, maybe age 10, to explain why the horse’s had different colored ribbons around their legs or tails, she told us it was to identify the horse’s home barn. When we complimented a horse sporting her barn’s identifying ribbon, she tried to hawk it, saying, “You know, it’s for sale if you’re interested.”
Back at Alan’s stall, we carried props toward the covered arena’s warm-up area and watched a few other groups of horses warming up. A herd of Arabians, all wearing different tack to demonstrate different disciplines, were preparing to show the breed’s versatility. The mounted police, astride a collection of chunky drafts, drummed and waved their flags, led in to the arena by their cartoon-worthy mini who carried Breyer bags on his harness. Half a dozen little Icelandics tolted, their bushy manes flying. Standardbred enthusiasts showed off the variety of second careers their former racehorses now enjoy.
When Alan and Buckeye performed their pas de deux, and when little Alan perked his big-old-ears and hopped over fence after fence as we raised the poles again and again, the crowd cheered. At the end of their performance, guests in the front row reached out their arms for a chance to pet one of the four-legged stars.
Every demo celebrated horses. All breeds. All disciplines. All things equine.
That evening, Whitney and I ventured to the Clarion Hotel to meet my childhood friend Lizzie who insisted that “If you haven’t been to the Clarion, then you haven’t been to BreyerFest.”
We were so grateful that she offered to be our guide. The hotel was a labyrinth—so much so that it was a running joke among BreyerFest die-hards. And more intimidating was the buzzing, bustling crowd that moved through the hallways like some sort of force. Most hotel room doors were wide open, encouraging visitors. Shelving units, brought from home, displayed model after model, most carefully tagged and labeled. People moved furniture to accommodate their setup; in one room, a couch was upended in a corner for more floor space for displays.
Printed-out signs advertised models that were wanted and models that were for sale, and what rooms to find them in. Some signs had inside jokes. Every hallway was plastered. One sign, which I found hilarious in its sarcasm, said only the room number and “Plastic horses for sale” on a cold, white page.
Lizzie led us in and out of rooms, sometimes chatting with the occupants (who were often eating dinner or lying in bed watching TV). This was Lizzie’s 21st BreyerFest, so many people she saw had become annual friends.
As we walked room to room, Lizzie pointed out the names and molds and histories of most of the models we came across, down to the type of paint and shape of their tails. Whitney recognized only a Gem Twist from her youth, and I kept my eye out for the Rugged Lark of my childhood.
Thank goodness I hadn’t gotten into this hobby as a child beyond the handful of Breyers on a bookshelf. I might be on my 30th BreyerFest instead of my first, a car full of models to sell and a “wanted” list stuck to my backpack, hoping for a tap on the shoulder in a crowded hotel hallway.
By the time I returned home, I felt like I was hung over, though my only adult beverage all weekend had been a signature Alan A Day’s Work mule with the mule himself back at the stables Saturday evening. The weekend was exhausting, overstimulating—and unexpectedly inspiring.
On Monday morning, my husband picked up one of my Breyers from the counter, studying it.
“Nice pony,” he said. “You gonna let Otto play with it?” Otto is our adorable, sticky, impulsive, bull-in-a-China-shop toddler.
“Nope,” I said. “Those are mine. They’re going in my office.”
“Ahh, so I guess you’re collecting these things now, then,” he teased.
You know what? Maybe I am.
Sarah K. Susa is the owner of Black Dog Stables just north of Pittsburgh, where she resides with her husband and young son. She has a B.A. in English and Creative Writing from Allegheny College and an M.Ed. from The University of Pennsylvania. She teaches high school English full-time, teaches riding lessons and facilitates educational programs at Black Dog Stables, and has no idea what you mean by the concept of free time.
