In my last post, I mentioned the new home I had picked out for Sammie, in Clancy's backyard. Amazingly, though I live in a community with loads of equestrian zoned real estate, bridle paths that wind through the streets, miles and miles of trails into the foothills and mountains, and even a public park with two large arenas and a round pen, when I bought Sammie, I had only three public board options within 10 miles, and none of them would be suitable.

There was one nice facility, with a dressage trainer, about 10 miles from my house. Problem: not only would I have to give up training with Lisa, who had already become an integral part of mine and Sammie's budding relationship, but I would have to train with the barn's trainer, who was not too affectionately referred to in local circles as the Dressage Nazi. Don't get me wrong, she is a talented trainer, and even judges many local shows. But she's a screamer, and I just don't do well being driven to tears in a lesson. I'd like to enjoy my time in the saddle. Crazy, I know.

Then there was a small family-style barn, run by a single woman who kept her board prices very reasonable, so that her boarders could really enjoy their hay-guzzlers without being driven to the poor house. Unfortunately, this good-hearted philosophy turned out to be a short-sighted business decision, and when hay prices and other costs soared in recent months, Miss Bigheart could not keep up. The property fell into disrepair, and in my mind, looked unsafe. There was whispering among some local busybodies that she was short-feeding horses on a rotating basis to save money. Probably a lie, but a chance I just couldn't afford to take.

That left Hoity Toity Farms. A former private Arabian training stable, the owners had to relent and let the great unwashed into the gated facility on the top of the hill overlooking the city. I guess it's hard to be exclusive when the economy is in the crapper. Their trainer was not versed in dressage, and try as I might, I could not get permission for Lisa to come train me there.

So, when Clancy's situation fell into my lap, I thought it was manna from Heaven. I soon discovered it was more like Purgatory. As I post about the honeymoon period with Samba, where we both struggled with the "getting to know all about you" phase of our partnership, you will probably yell at your computer: "C'mon, Kelly, why are you putting up with this garbage?" Not thinking I had any other choice, though, I kept putting on my big girl panties and trying to tough it out. When you don't think you have another choice, you can endure a lot.

And besides, Purgatory is supposed to be a temporary place of suffering, right?

From my blog: Green on Green