Why I Didn’t Wait for Retirement to Buy a Horse
Because life doesn't come with guarantees.
The wind whipped freezing air across the sky the day I bought Tex. I stood in the gravel lot in front of the barn with my hands in my pockets waiting for the brand inspector. CW stood beside me, back turned to the wind, telling me everything I should know about horses but didn’t.
The brand inspector pulled up 15 minutes later in a white truck, shook both our hands, and asked for Tex’s paperwork. CW handed him a still-sealed envelope which the inspector reviewed carefully before walking around the side of the barn to Tex’s pen.
He looked at the horse, then back at the paperwork.
“All four legs accounted for?” I asked, trying to crack a joke. The inspector ignored me and turned to CW.
“Any special markings or brands to identify him?” he asked. CW shook his head. Even from a distance, I could see a splatter of brown freckles in his white coat, which apparently weren’t special enough (and which I later learned dubbed him the unfortunate descriptor of “flea-bitten gray”). The inspector scratched a note onto the clipboard and walked back to the truck.
He secured a laptop onto the steering wheel in a small fabric harness and typed up notes from his clipboard. Then, he unfolded a portable printer, set it on the seat of the cab and printed out a sheet of glossy paper with an embossed stamp and my name.
He handed me the paper, packed up his truck, and without much fanfare, left.
CW looked at me expectantly as we stood in the parking lot shivering.
“Was I supposed to have the cash in hand for you today?” I asked, realizing my mistake too late. Tex was now legally mine, payment or not.
CW blinked at me. “Um, yes,” he said. “Please don’t run off with this horse without paying.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said. It would take me days to get the money moved around.
There was a lot more I didn’t know about horse ownership. Like how expensive saddles were or how if your horse colics within the first 72 hours of owning him, your anxiety will blast straight to the moon as you as you fork over $150 to the vet for his very pricey tummy ache. And how, for the next month, you’ll wake up at 3 a.m. wondering if it will happen again—and if he’ll survive it if it does.
I learned a lot of lingo real quick that sounded like a random word generator: dog bone snaffle with a copper roller, floating teeth, browband, throat latch, curb strap, latigo, off billet.
***
Already, I am enamored with the peculiarities of horse ownership and the ways in which I can swing from the anxiety of everything that can go wrong to the curiosity of everything that can go right over the course of a few minutes. You don’t know what you don’t know until you’re standing there not knowing it.
For example, I didn’t know Tex might be in need of a donkey.
Over the last few months, Tex developed a deep love for the mini ponies and donkeys who were in the pen directly next to him. One night a few weeks ago though, the minis broke out of their enclosure and went gallivanting around the property. Tex lost his mind that his friends were gone and screamed until everyone at the barn rushed out of bed to check on him. A few days later, the barn owner donated an emotional support donkey named Mango to live with Tex full time and they’ve been two peas in a pod ever since.
Mango screams in delight when he sees me coming to the pen, carrots in hand, and he screams in terror when I take Tex out for our rides. He will press his forehead straight into my thigh and sigh with contentment when I finally bring Tex back for the day.
I find this whole setup hilarious, but Tex isn’t the only horse at the barn with a donkey buddy. One woman always rides the arena on her sleek Thoroughbred with a scraggly donkey trotting at his heels. They’re inseparable.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to do anything with this donkey or if I’m responsible to him in any way, but he seems content and happy for the extra head scratches. No one has confirmed how long he will stay with Tex. So until someone says otherwise, I just treat his presence as a lovely, unexpected aspect of horse ownership.
***
It would be impossible for me to own a horse without the financial stability of my full time job. I try to be at the barn 5-6 days a week to get meaningful time with Tex.
I also work a full 8-hour day.
And go to the gym.
And do everything else.
The days are full. Very full. But I’ve been getting antsy about what it means to put off experiences I’ve desired until I’m retired.
According to Merrill Lynch, “The Social Security Administration will be unable to pay scheduled benefits in full and on time starting in 2035 if no changes are made.” Pausing wonderful things now in the hope of financial security later feels like a gamble I’m not willing to take.
Plus, life doesn’t come with a retirement guarantee. The patients I volunteered with in hospice were in their early 60s, saying goodbye to spouses and families just as they entered retirement age. One spouse said to me, tears running down his face, “We were supposed to be starting our lives together now.”
I shifted my life after hearing that.
It is because health and wealth are not covenants that I now own a horse and borrow a donkey. That I learned to scuba dive. That I bikepack and ski and paddle board all over the west. That I live in a place I want to live, not just a place to work.
Because something in my gut said I needed this now. And waiting 40 years just wasn’t an option.
You’ve put a smile on my face! I am fascinated by the relationship between Tex and Mango. So sweet! What causes colic in a horse?