Horse hunting is not fun. There, I said it. I thought it would be exciting, but it is not. I'm already tired of the whole process and it's only been a week or so. But I believe I've contacted everyone in the lower half of California who has a horse I might remotely be interested in. I scour the bulletin boards at the local feed stores. I network among barn buddies. I haunt the online horse selling sites until my fingers ache from tap dancing on the keyboard. I continually refine my online searches, altering the options, just to see if some new, different horse pops up. While my original search criteria was "aqha or paint/dun, grulla, buckskin, palomino, roan/gelding/3 yrs. or older/15-16 hands/trail use" I'm now resorting to "any breed/any color/ any sex/any age/any size/any use." When I begin seeing photos of 20-year-old mules pulling a cart it's obvious that I've widened my online search parameters a little too much.
My horse hunting frenzy may or may not be news to my husband. Either he is oblivious to the pad of paper next to my laptop where I've scribbled notes about this buckskin mare or that roan gelding or he has chosen to ignore it all. But who does he think is calling me at all hours of the day (or evening)? He doesn't even seem remotely suspicious when I answer the phone and then slink away into another room to chat. Can he not overhear me interrogating sellers in a hushed whisper? Then again, maybe he is eavesdropping but he's just ignoring what he hears. After all, he did tell me not even to start looking for another horse "for a while."
But what does that really mean to a horsewoman with an empty corral? "A while" could translate into a few days.
Wait until I inform him that I want to make a 3-hour trip to look at about a half-dozen prospects on this one ranch. That ought to thrill him.
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