October 13, 2025 
A couple of months ago, I posted my old dressage saddle on Facebook Marketplace.
I measured it, took pictures, and posted it with the brightest colored saddle pad I owned for a little bit of pop. There have been a few messages about it, but for the most part, the dang thing still waits patiently in the back room of my apartment.
The saddle owes me nothing. It was second-hand to begin with and got me through two show seasons and countless rides.
This year, I finally splurged on a saddle that fits both me and the horse. I am never going back. My leg position, alone, is worth the cost. Therefore, it is time to say, “Thank you for your service,” and send the trusty old one on to someone else.
The reason the saddle is still here and the reason I am selling it seem to be the same. It is too small. Too small for me, too small for my horse now that she has a top line, and, apparently, too small for most of the internet. I apologized to my boyfriend about it.
“I don’t mind,” he said, “It would make a cool decoration if we had the space.”
I stared at the other two saddles next to it as he said this. These two I am keeping for sentimental reasons; I did not need a third.
Both of the other saddles are from my childhood. The first is a pretty plantation saddle I rode my first, favorite horse in. A funky English and western hybrid with a wonderfully cushy quilted leather seat. If nothing else, it is in good shape and a good conversation piece.
The other is a big western saddle that many people in my family rode in. The story goes that my grandmother got it the day she got engaged to my grandfather. When she passed away, that saddle was one of the few things I insisted on taking.
I often wonder what the neighbors thought when they saw me pull into the alley behind my apartment building and pull the saddle out of the hatchback of my Toyota. For some reason I can’t quite remember, I also hauled it up two flights of stairs into my studio apartment after the sun went down, my hazard lights blinking in the alley.
At least for now, those two saddles stay, but even those sometimes make me anxious. I moved more than a dozen times in the last 15 years. I prided myself on the fact that I could fit everything I owned into the tiniest U-Haul trailer in the lot and drive it away myself.
Moving that much meant a lot of stuff got evaluated and purged. If I didn’t need it or love it, it got donated or thrown away. I haven’t moved in three years, and sometimes, the whispers of the stuff I have acquired make me itchy—as if some old ancestor who once had to run away at any moment was telling me to “watch out.”
I am anything but a minimalist. Tack, water buckets, box fans, extra saddle pads, winter blankets, and show clothes all take up space with the saddles in the backroom. I also don’t think that my desire to get rid of stuff the minute I am not using it anymore is a virtue in every situation.
If someone runs a training barn or lesson program, a lot of different saddles and bridles are smart to have around. And even I will argue that, often, the old stuff is made of better leather. I also know that downsizing one’s horde of possessions is complicated.
Often, when we look at an old halter, we see the steed that once wore it. When we see that sweat stain on that half pad, we think of that perfect trail ride. We are also a consumerist culture and are often defined by what we own. Have you seen those Hermès Tack unboxing videos?
There is also the “IKEA effect,” where we often think that something is more valuable because we either built it ourselves or spent good money on it. Just go check out the price tags on things at a used tack sale.
Is that filthy bit with the tape still on it really worth 100 dollars? Does it really seem likely to sell for that as it rattles around the bin with 50 other, overpriced bits?
I am not against upgrades or a shiny new treat every now and then. I am also super-pro buying used tack, myself.
In fact, a good friend of mine sells used tack, and buying stuff from her isn’t just fun because I get to see her, it’s also less expensive. I find it significantly easier to part with used things than stuff I have bought new.
I also try to have compassion for people who struggle to throw things away because of physical or mental health issues. For some, hanging on to extra stuff is often the symptom of bigger, scarier things far beyond clutter or memories.
Nevertheless, if I randomly died tomorrow, no one is going to want my crap. I don’t want someone I love who is deep in grief finding my Peruvian rawhide Bosal and wondering what the heck it is between boxes of tissues. They will have real things to worry about. Holding onto things I am not using is a waste of their precious time and my sanity.
If the thought of cleaning out your tack is giving you hives, here is an idea instead: go through and make a spreadsheet of all the tack you own and list what it is for and what size it is. Then put the list with your bill of sale and your vet records.
Tell your best horsey friends where it is. This way, if someone else has to deal with your stuff because you can’t, at least they don’t have to go at it blind. You don’t have to do this all at once; don’t burn yourself out. Instead, set a time limit or a goal, like all of the bridles or the span of one episode of Horse Person.
I bet as you do this, you will discover a few bits and bobs that can either go in the trash or find a new home. At the very least, it will make you more immune to Instagram ads. The other day, I saw a promotion for a fancy half pad that I was sure I needed, then I realized I already owned three.
As the dressage saddle sits on its rack in the back, I came up with a flow chart of what happens if it is not gone by Christmas: Take it to a tack sale, give it away to someone I love, and then, if those don’t work, put it in the take-it-or-leave-it pile in the barn.
One of the things I am trying to learn is that the thing, itself, is not a memory. I can take pictures, write about them, or tell a story to some poor sap who I roped into listening. Neither we nor the horse we love can take our favorite piece of tack into the afterlife.
So, please, get this damn saddle out of my house.
