On Loss, Healing, and New Beginnings

I wonder if there will ever be a day where I can think about Goose without that awful clenching feeling in my chest and tears escaping my eyes. Part of me hopes there won't be, that perhaps if I didn't feel such a great sense of loss, my memories would be less real and present. 

This Sunday is my Goosiversary, year 12. 

12 Years since I met the horse who changed my life for the better. One year since I saw his ultrasound and made the decision to retire him. Nine months since my best friend died in my arms. Shit, here are the tears again. 

The end of 2023 was, in essence, the worst three months of my life. Goose died. Franny hurt her back, Zuzu needed TPLO surgery for a torn CCL that she managed just days after we lost Goober. Penny needed old lady surgery. I was traveling for a new job that I was growing to hate working for a boss who is possibly the craziest human I've ever met. And then she fired me on December 26. 

It was just one of those times in life where everything was shit and I just had to survive day to day working to make incremental changes until it got better. 

At the core of my sadness was [(is)] the loss of Goose. How can such a big personality cease to exist? How can there be an echo of him calling to me when I go to the farm, but when I look up he isn't standing there to greet me and the dogs? My heart breaks a little more every time I go to put the dogs in the car and ask them if they want to go see Goose, as is habit. Nine months later, it still happens frequently. It feels dramatic as I type this out, but sometimes the truth is dramatic, and this is my truth.  

We all go through trying times and I recognize that I have it better than many even on my worst day. But I feel it can be important to talk about the hard times on a public platform to ensure people know they're not alone if they're going through something similar. It's easy to post only happy things, but I appreciate and respect the bloggers who post about real life, whatever that looks like at any given time. Mental health is a challenge in this world, particularly in the current economy, political climate, and, frankly, the dedication of our lives to an expensive sport and animal. So if you're having a hard time, or can relate, I see you. You're not alone.

Having the first six weeks of the year off was life changing for my mental health. I picked up jobs working at local barns while I job searched and networked. Right away, I had fantastic interviews with several companies all garnered through referrals from former colleagues or friends. Little by little, the days got brighter both literally and figuratively. I felt like I was starting to heal a little. I had the time I needed to rehab Zuzu after her surgery. I had the time to journal, see my therapist regularly, reflect, and frankly just sit on my couch a fair bit because that is what I needed. I also had time to find myself again, mucking stalls, hanging out with rehab horses that needed a little extra babysitting, and losing myself in the cadence of farm life. 

In the chaos of the last year, I had lost that sense of peace that comes with spending time with horses and doing physical labor to care for them. Anytime I fed at the barn last year, I was rushed. I was sad about retiring Goose though I made the most of those few months we had together, but I wasn't present. I hadn't realized what I'd lost outside of Goose until I found it again, and each day became a little easier. 

In February, I landed an amazing opportunity with a company I am thrilled to be a part of. I know someone who works there, the culture is a seamless fit, and I've been able to hit the ground running. It gives me such a sense of fulfillment to be back in Agriculture, an industry I know and love, and to work for a company that appreciates my experience and is excited about the knowledge and ideas I bring to the table. It's been over four months, and the new-job bliss hasn't worn off yet. 

Losing a horse is weird. There is a Goose-sized hole in my heart where he once took up space, but there was also a generic horse-sized hole independent of Goose's outline. I not only lost my best friend, but I lost my sense of purpose, a part of who I am as a horse person and rider. Caring for others' horses helped immensely, but the connection to my own horse, that special relationship between human and horse that is built up over time, was gone. Who am I if not a horse person? A horse's person?

I'll always be Goose's person. <3 

Two years ago I thought about getting a youngster to start training as my next horse once Goose retired. For many reasons (mostly financial, ugh money) that never happened. Getting another horse felt independent of the sadness of losing him, because I'd already wanted that for so long. It's not about replacing Goose - that is simply impossible. It's about adding another layer to that horse-sized hole, where his outline is tattooed over the scar of his loss. For months, friends sent me posts of lovely horses, and though I knew it was a hot market, the prices shocked me. For a 5-6 year old draft cross, decently put together, green but has done maybe a few things and seems sensible, the cost is averaging around $30,000. I have friends all over the east coast, the prices are bananas everywhere. I'm not saying those horses aren't worth it, I'm just saying that is a number entirely out of my realm of possibility. 

Where was the 4-6 year old under $10k green, cute but not fancy, somewhat sensible horse that isn't an OTTB or broken or out of a camel by a donkey? 

 Earlier this year, I messaged several people asking about the horse they had listed, trying to get a feel for the market. The prices were unattainable and I thanked them and moved on. I went back to thinking about getting a youngster. A few yearlings popped up locally that could have been cool. But then I'd need to find baby board for a year or two, it's 3-4 years before I can ride it at all, and it felt a little too young though I love working with weanlings and yearlings. I thought maybe a 2-3 year old made more sense. Two year olds tend to be up for a bit more groundwork than a yearling, its only a year and a half or so before it can be backed (by a pro, I'm not of the mindset I can do all this myself), and two years before I can really start getting into things. 

Oops, I bought this. 

I said from the beginning that Goose would send me my next one and I'd know it, just as I knew I had to have Goose when my friend showed me his ad all those years ago. One random Sunday in March, there it was. That feeling. Abby sent me a listing of a lovely coming two year old filly. She is out of a Holsteiner mare by a Clydesdale stallion, registered AWRSS with some blood on her dam's side, and placed first in her inspection last year. I messaged her owner, got more information and her price, and... decided I really don't need a horse right now. Her price was more than fair for the quality of the filly, but it was at the top end of what I'd wanted to pay later in the year when I'd had more time to get finances together and hadn't JUST rejoined the workforce. So I thanked the lovely owner and moved on. 

Since his passing, I've dreamt of Goose often. Sometimes I'm reliving that awful day, sometimes I'm in a field riding with friends looking through the ears I know so well. I try to be grateful every time he visits me, even if it hurts. That Sunday night, I dreamt of Goose in a field with a little bay filly with a big white blaze who looked an awful lot like the horse in the ad. 

I called the owner that next morning, went to see her in Georgia that Sunday, and was entirely smitten. She vetted just as well as a baby could and I said I'd take her. 

The Thursday before I brought her home, I had an appointment with an animal communicator. If you just rolled your eyes, listen, I get it. I'm a natural skeptic too, but I'm also a believer in things we cannot see, and things that cannot yet be explained by science. I'm also a believer in chasing happiness, and if things make you happy and help with closure, whether or not they're real really isn't relevant. 

Through Devon, Goose spoke to me about his favorite days, cantering down sandy lanes in the pines, of how at peace he was as he napped in my lap on his last day (something she had no way of knowing). He also said how glad he was that I remembered him visiting in my dreams, and that he hopes I like the bay filly he sent me because he knows I'm sad and need someone new. That I should be gentle with her because she's a baby, and that she will be so different from him but he's confident she is what I need. As she told me this, I had chills. There were only a handful of people who I'd told about buying this new horse, and Devon wasn't one of them. 

Whatever is real and imagined, I don't care. I'd like to introduce Chantilly Sky, Tilly. Thank you Goose for finding her and sending her to me.

As my Goosebackriding journey closes, a new chapter begins. Many of the bloggers I still follow have documented their baby horse journey, and now that I've had Tilly a few months, I feel like I'm missing out. We'll see if it sticks, but Goosebackriding means even more to me now that Goose is gone. It's such an excellent chronicle of adventures we had, both great and terrible, and I like the idea of having the same for Tilly. 

So if you're still here, feel free to join me and Tilly on our adventures on Chantilly Tales.

"And just wait until I tell you about my big brother, Teddy" Tilly, probably.