On the hard days sometimes I forget why I’m doing this, why I come out here in the cold and the wet and the mud, to fix another fenceline or to try and hand-roll a round bale into place because the fields are impassable to vehicles. “I hate horses” I proclaim, as they throw another shoe. “Hate them! Never want to see a horse again.” I declare as they immediately destroy something I just built in their pasture. Sometimes horses aren’t magical, mysterious beings. Sometimes they’re just large animals breaking things, and sometimes I’m I just plain tired. I feel that I was so naive before, when all I knew was the consumer end of “horse.” Before I was caring for them in not only their emotional needs, but also partially in charge of their basic physical needs. Volunteering for feed shifts is one thing. You can stop doing it and someone else will fill in for you. Being one of only a few people trying to board from scratch is another. There is no backup.
Here’s to all of the boarding barn owners and managers who don’t get enough time standing in a field with horses because they’re too tired from caring for them. Here’s to the veterinarians, farriers, dentists who wish they could go slower with their clients’ horses but can’t because they have to make enough to pay bills. Here’s to the trainers trapped between what’s best for the horse and losing the client. All of the ideals sacrificed to the clawing feel of desperation.
If we want better for our horses it can’t just be us. We have to bring the whole community along, and unfortunately most of that community is struggling to make ends meet, bone-weary and frustrated most days. I thought I was a patient person until the pastures started being eaten down too far and the UTV needed repairs, and the hose sprang a leak… and there’s not enough money or energy to keep up. I’m learning just how much good horse boarding costs the ones keeping things running. Most boarding barns barely break even, if not lose money every year, unless they’re doing something else besides board. It’s bleak. Something needs to change. Something is always sacrificed when there’s not enough support to function, whether it’s the well-being of the horses, the barn managers, the vets, the land… In a world where to own a horse on the east coast in the US costs ~12k/year already, despite that not being enough to squeak by, how do we form relationships with horses where no one is suffering on the regular? I don’t have answers, but it is unsustainable. To stand in a field with horses should be everyone’s right. Not one person drowning for the other to find peace.
Maeve Birch Home 