When I was a young boy my father sold cattle at the Chicago Stockyards, and I often tagged along with him to meet with farmers. Gay boys and their daddies have complicated relationships, but our farm visits were safe ground.

One rainy day in 1962 in Milledgeville, Ill., I witnessed a Shetland pony mare give birth to Raindrop, a beautiful roan filly. I had never seen anything so miraculous.

For years afterward, I ran with Raindrop in the fields, groomed her in the barn, and rooted for her at county fairs. She became the best friend I never had. I earned animal husbandry Boy Scout badges, became a member of the American Shetland Pony Club, and devoured every page of its journal.

Once I got to high school, life was taken up with other activities. Any connection to ponies was increasingly distant. But I kept photos of Raindrop as icons of unmitigated joy.

Three years ago, my pony love was reignited. Google led me to Moss Landing, where Fog Ranch welcomed me into its Classic Shetland world. After a few farm visits, I began learning to harness and drive a pony in a cart with a very patient trainer. Acquiring these skills was not without complications. Thirteen years ago I became paraplegic after spinal surgery, losing much function in my legs.

Soon I entered my first competition driving Candy, a pinto mare. Beginner's luck and a clever pony won us six blue ribbons in Pleasure Driving. I was hooked. Once again Shetlands became instruments of salvation, this time allowing me to move freely again - exhilarating for this middle-age balding guy who ambulates with a cane.

Being a novice at midlife is both gratifying and humbling. Laughter at failure and learning from mistakes propel improvement. Thrilled to do my best, whether first or fifth, is freeing. It used to be all or nothing.

And, let's not forget the outfits. In Pleasure Driving, formal outfits are de rigueur. After one class, as Candy and I were picking up our ribbons, one judge offered some advice: "Next time, wear a fedora," she winked.

Throughout my journey of rediscovery, pony people have been inviting, gracious and encouraging. My husband has been patient, spending weekends at lessons, offering encouragement and even mucking out stalls. And there is nothing like pony breath and velvet nose nudges.

As darling as small equines are, I was reminded of their power while driving a new pony that was distracted; she was in heat. Entering the training arena, I asked for a trot. Instead, she bolted, tearing around the oval, dumping me out of the cart. Luckily, neither of us was hurt.

Fog Ranch has allowed me to show Candy for another season, so we are working together again on driving skills, as well as Showmanship patterns. This entails me walking alongside her, unsteadily and with my cane. Hopefully, persistence, if not grace, will prevail.

This weekend, we are performing in a national Miniature Horse and Shetland competition at the Sonoma County Fairgrounds in Santa Rosa. We will see how my nerves do against pony professionals.

There are other fun shows scheduled. We might try a Pinto Horse event where Candy will compete against her larger relatives. Color, not size, is the organizing principle here. In the Shetland world she is one of the largest; here she will be one of the smallest. For me - because she has given me legs, again - she will always be the best.

John Killacky is program officer for arts and culture at the San Francisco Foundation. To see videos of his Shetland world, visit PonyManSF on YouTube.com. E-mail your pet tale to home@sfchronicle.com.

This article appeared on page E - 6 of the San Francisco Chronicle