That was my decision. Your mileage may vary.
Once again, I have no idea what kind of costume The Kid is wearing. Some kind of Arabian dancing girl with a pink tutu headpiece. Yes, that is the kind of mom I am. I can tell you exactly what my horse is dressed as. My kid, no so much.
The white wings are sewn onto a bareback pad. He turned and looked at them when I tacked him up, rolled his eyes, and plodded along beside me with nary a sigh. Dreamer is the Honey-Badger of horses: He doesn't give a shit.
What all this is leading up to is this: He passed his 30 day trial with flying colors. So now, at the age of 24, Dreamer begins his new career as a hippotherapy horse. The facility is very nice, and everyone that finds out I'm his owner feels compelled to tell me how much they love my horse. What a good boy he is. How wonderful it is to have him in class, and how well behaved he is with the children.
And really to me it's not a surprise. It was on his back that The Kid learned to ride. (Yes, I know this picture looks cheesy... back in the stone age we didn't have Photoshop so we had to make up weird photos the old fashioned way, with scissors and glue sticks.) And he was schooled early on that it was in his own best interest not to screw around. So much so that now, when he feels you become unbalanced, he stops. dead. in. his. tracks.
So now he has a new home, a new job, and hundreds of people to pet him and love him up.