Harley sold on August 28th. He went to a seemingly nice couple of people who told me he’d be loved and well cared for. I made sure to tell them all about him, I made sure not to leave anything out. Like the fact that he’s not kid safe. And he hadn’t been worked consistently in a couple of years. And needed work but would make a cute horse with some time.

They didn’t want to get on him. They watched him go around the round pen, we put a saddle on him and they sent him around again. He was cold backed. I don’t blame him – it had been about six months. They bought him.

Ten days later he was listed again. For six and a half times what I sold him for. Advertised as kid safe and “they don’t get any more broke then this guy!”. I’m not sure how a horse goes from someone not wanting to get on him when they come look at him to broke as hell and kid safe in ten days.

I feel like I failed him. He was my heart and I loved him; and I sold him to someone who lied through their teeth about his future with them and is lying through their teeth about what he is to any potential buyers. And apparently I “don’t know how to keep things professional and just business”. Or something like that. I’m not a professional, and this wasn’t a business decision. It was a heartbreaking decision I agonized over for months and never would have made if I wasn’t so sick.

I know quite a few good people in the horse world. That are honest, kind and will give you the shirt off their back to help you if they can.

But I’ve been reminded pretty sharply why I err toward the side of hating and distrusting people. Because for most people, greed and money is the driving force behind what they do. To hell with the consequences.

A chapter has closed on one part of my life and I’m just waiting for the next one to begin.

Oh I also have an official diagnosis for my migraines. “Intractable migraine” – which translates to difficult to treat or fails to respond to standard or aggressive treatments.

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Over the weekend I had to make the heart wrenching decision to place my horse, Harley, on the market. My health has tanked so much over the last year and a half that a few hours at the barn knocks me on my ass for three days or more. This has turned into me getting out to the barn maybe once or twice a month. In fact, in the last eight months, I think I’ve seen Harley a total of ten times. That’s not good for Harley and it’s stressful as hell for me because I spend my time I should be resting feeling guilty that a horse who wants to work and have a job has become nothing more than a pasture ornament.

I pulled the trigger Saturday afternoon and then spent the rest of the day sobbing. I felt, and to an extent still feel, like I’m losing a piece of myself. I’ve involved with horses since I was twelve years old; and the idea that selling him means I may never own another horse is heartbreaking.

That decision brought up a lot of thoughts about just how much my life has changed in the last two years or so. I am currently unable to work. I’m rarely able to go out because many things from noise to heat to light to the wind blowing the wrong way can trigger a migraine. I no longer write as much as I used to. I’m no longer able to code (websites, strictly as a hobby) the way I used to. My memory is not what it used to be. I used to be able to drop everything to help a friend in need.

Now every activity is done with the knowledge that I’ll likely be in pain either during said activity or after. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. It’s a shit way to live one’s life. Thinking about these things has made me angry. This is not where I wanted to be at thirty years old. I wanted to be working full time, saving for a house and showing my horse. Instead I’m selling one of the most important things in my life with the potential to never replace him.

I’m trying to focus on good things, on hopeful things. I still need to decide what to do with the mountain of tack I own. Hang onto it for now or sell it. I’ve no idea. I have moments where I forget I’ve made this decision and then I remember and the cycle of feelings starts all over again. I’m sure it’ll be worse the day Harley steps onto someone else’s trailer. All I can really do right now is hope that’s soon so closure can start.

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