I almost cried in my trailer last night. It wouldn’t be the first time; I’ve actually hung an extra towel in there in case the floodgates open. Over the last several years, frustration, depression, and embarrassment have all found an outlet in that tiny tack room.
Wow, I am not qualified for this. How did this happen? How am I suddenly in charge of making sure this really nice horse successfully reaches adulthood and turns into a productive member of barrel racing society?
I’d been flirting with the idea for several months, but with relatively no thought of actually following through with purchasing a new horse. Fast-forward seven months and here I am with a beautiful palomino filly. The only problem is, well she’s 2 and let’s be honest I have no business with a 2-year-old.
