I fumble the basketball, my hands unable to coordinate with my feet even though I'm giving it my all. Betsy Bearston shoulder checks me and takes it away, running off like a gazelle toward the basket. Her delicate hooves make tiny tapping sounds, her long, arched neck showing off perky ears while her front legs leap upward, tossing the ball with a grace I can only dream of. When her hooves hit the ground, she's a girl again and everyone cheers, including me.

The shoulder of my ...