The search goes on

After all of the deliberation, discussions, heartache and agonising over whether getting another horse now was the right thing to do, she failed the vetting.  Not on one of the things I had niggles about, but over something totally out of the blue, and that would only have been picked up by a vet.  There were no shades of grey as far as this was concerned, no difficult decision to be made.  It was totally clear cut.  Ironically the owner had been concerned beforehand about how hard the horse would be pushed during the exercise stage as she’s not very fit, but the vet failed her before the tack came out.  With heavy hearts Mum and I got in the car and drove away, feeling desperately sad for the lady who owned, and had bred her.

Later that day, I had a call from the horse’s owner.  The gist of our conversation was essentially: would I be interested in buying her for a lot less money.  She could carry on being ridden, and do everything that I’d wanted to do with her until such time as (if ever) her condition deteriorated.  We agreed to talk after her vet had been out next week.  My frazzled and exhausted mind, once again, started whirring.

There were so many things about this horse that had seemed meant to be.  Was this fate once again trying very hard to push us together despite my best efforts to keep walking away from her?

Whilst her reduction in price would obviously reduce the initial financial risk, it would still leave me with a liability for future vet’s bills.  And what about the niggles that I had to start with?  What else might have shown up in the other stages of the vetting that we didn’t get to?  But most of all, what about the emotional cost?

Over the last 18 months to two years, my life has been entirely turned upside down by a chronic debilitating illness.  I’ve been through spells in hospital, months spent waiting for tests and results, decisions about treatment and then the frustrations of it being ineffective, side effects from cocktails of drugs such that I don’t feel myself anymore; I could go on.  The hardest thing that I’ve had to face by far though, was having Murphy put down.  Could I go into another relationship, as that is effectively what it is, with a horse knowing that I would, in all likelihood, have to make that decision again?  I know that it is a risk we all take in owning any animal, but it is rather different expecting from the outset that that day will probably come, and that it could be as close as a couple of years away.

Knowing that although there was no rush to make a decision, I would spend every waking second agonising over it until I did, I phoned her back.  It seemed more than a little crazy to hear myself say that the reason I couldn’t have her is that I would love her too much.  Even through the little time that we had known her, as Mum said to me on Tuesday, she had started to steal our hearts.  Sitting here thinking about her and writing this is making me wonder again whether I’ve done the right thing in walking away.  I’m sure though there is a horse out there with whom life would be less complicated, and that we would love just as much; one which would be therapeutic rather than end up putting me into therapy.  We just need to find each other.