Five and a half years ago, I watched Mary Schwentker contest her first four-star three-day event at Rolex Kentucky. It was one of those events where the scoreboard doesn’t tell the whole story. Although Killarny pulled a shoe near the end of the course and wasn’t able to finish, Mary was all smiles the next morning, reliving the thrill of jumping over some of the biggest fences of her life and hearing the crowd roar as she emerged from the famous Head of the Lake.

“I’m thrilled with him,” she said at the time. “He was so fabulous I can’t complain–not at all.”

Even though she didn’t take a place in the awards ceremony, it was an especially meaningful event for Schwentker because she’d owned Killarny since he was 18 months old. And “Johnny” hadn’t been an easy horse–she’d persisted through years of bad behavior that would have turned away many other riders. Anybody who gets to Kentucky is a dedicated rider who has made sacrifices, but Schwentker had put her heart and soul into this event. Johnny was 16, and she couldn’t afford to go to Europe for a four-star. This was their shot.

I had an immense amount of respect for Schwentker when I saw her that Sunday morning after the final horse inspection, which she was watching, with Johnny munching hay back in the barn. I respected what she’d accomplished with him over 14 years and for the way she so obviously adored him, despite an extremely disappointing turn of luck the day before. This wasn’t fondness for a horse who’d won something for her or made her famous–it was the deep bond of an unusual level of commitment between a horse and rider.

So when Mary emailed me the story describing how she and her husband, Andrew, adopted a young boy named Nicholas in Russia (p. 12), I wasn’t surprised to hear what a compassionate parent she’s become. Parenting involves many of the same qualities that make her such an excellent horsewoman.

For most of us with horses, our days, our nights, most of our money and free time–our lives, really–are taken up with them. But it’s refreshing to find riders at even the highest level looking beyond the barn doors to the greater world, from which we are so often isolated. Taking in a child is obviously not something that everyone can do–although most of us horse people are pretty good at adopting that stray dog or cat.

But looking outside the horse world can make you appreciate actions like Schwentker’s even more. Most people will never experience the life we love with our horses. The horses we ride, the trucks, vans and trailers we drive, the space we have around us to ride, the clothing, tack and equipment we use–and, of course, the pleasure of our horses’ companionship and willingness to let us train and compete them–are all truly gifts.

It takes a special person like Mary to share these gifts with a disadvantaged child, especially one from another culture, not unlike her willingness to take a challenging horse to the highest levels. Behind both of those experiences, there’s so much work, so much time and sacrifice and emotion. But, when perfectly executed, the rewards are greater than anything someone can buy for us.