July 3, 2016 
Let’s be clear, I acknowledge this is a first world problem. It’s even an upper echelon first world problem.
I have a horse, Rose, that I bought as a not inexpensive five-year-old. Over the last six years, I have put thousands of hours and six-figures of dollars into developing her. The point was to have a 1.40m horse.
We did get there, but it wasn’t a linear path. Rose’s show jumping career had various peaks and valleys from an assorted variety of training and health issues. I think a part of me always knew “the end” would be brought about be some seemingly innocuous injury. Turns out, very small eye problems can become very big eye problems, despite early intervention by many vets and ophthalmology specialists. For Rose, that eye problem was stromal abscess with secondary uveitis.
I want to be angry that this happened to my horse. I want someone to blame. But ultimately, it was just bad luck.
One day, soon I hope, I’ll get to the “acceptance” stage and acknowledge that no one was negligent. The vets did their job even if they missed the diagnosis in the beginning. And I know that I’ll always appreciate the six years I had with a quality mare who taught me a great many things as well as the fact that most people, working just as long and just as hard, may never own a horse as nice as Rose. (Athletic-wise—I *know* she wasn’t the nicest horse, but she was *my* not-the-nicest horse. Also, she’s spooky AF, even with two eyes.)
The point is that I don’t have a show horse anymore, and this is how I’m coping:
1. Eat. Everything.
I’m pretty sure I have not denied myself a single morsel of food that I have craved since this whole ordeal began. Don't judge me.
2. Do. Anything.
It started with the vet work, which included a lot of travel (Hey there, New Bolton!) and a not-simple surgery to try to save as much of her eye as possible. That naturally progressed into spending a small fortune on online shopping and No. 3...
3. Buy a Mini Horse.
Not that I think you ever need to justify buying a Miniature Horse, but I discovered that self-pity is actually the perfect rationalization. Meet Nannie! The semi-feral Mini who just found her forever home.
4. Buy the Mini Horse stuff.
Turns out impulse shopping is a pretty consistent coping mechanism for me.
5. Look at old pictures of your horse.
While sad music plays. *tear marks*
6. Remind yourself that your horse isn’t dead.
And that you’re being ridiculous.
7. Buy all the photos that any photographer has ever taken of you competing with that horse.
What’s with me and the buying of stuff?! I have got to get a handle on this problem.
8. Refuse to write about it.
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9. Write about it anyway.
Granted, this is the way that anything I do for anybody usually happens.
10. Pick baby daddies.
No point in letting a nice mare like this go to waste. Rose gets to have babies now, and that also means that she stays in the family for the rest of her life. But also, BABY HORSES!
I won’t pretend that I’ve found any kind of peace with the abrupt end to my horse’s show career, but I haven’t had to go through this ordeal alone. I’m lucky to have both a very fancy broodmare and friends and family who have been an amazing support. Even with the whole Mini thing.
*Editor’s note: The title of this post has been changed in light of recent tragedies over the weekend. One love.
About the Author
Heather Struthers runs Ontario’s hippest tack shop, Performance Horse & Rider and writes about important issues like dating, pretend boyfriends and Scott Brash.
