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February 1, 2019

PTHSD

I'm not sure what is tougher, losing a loved one or watching them suffer until you ultimately lose them. For months, I had watched, stressed, and researched Doc's condition- trying everything from modern medicine to voodoo tricks to make him feel better, all to no avail. 

A few days after losing him, I found myself lost. We'd welcomed a new equine beauty to our farm, partly to help our unicorn with his separation anxiety...partly to help with my own. Harry, the beautiful, gentle giant with the sweetest brown eyes I've ever seen- partnered with Tristan, the equally beautiful, scared of everything, majestical unicorn. My hope was they would quite literally be the yin to each others yang, all while helping to distract my brain.

The loss I felt was not just in sadness- I literally felt like I was forgetting to do something. I over-checked everything, retraced my steps, etc. but it was only a loss felt in regards to the horses. I began somewhat obsessing over their health- are they drinking enough? do they need extra supplements? the weather is changing, I need to make sure they are wearing the right blankets... I was waking up in the middle of the night, or not sleeping at all, because I was obsessively worried about my horses. As a horse person, this isn't exactly abnormal. 

One warm evening at around midnight, I couldn't sleep. I tossed, turned, and finally decided to go outside and check on the horses. (Because at midnight, certainly, they needed me...and I would absolutely be able to fix anything that ailed them alone, in the dark. Stop judging me.) I peep out the back window- Tristan, goats....no Harry. Granted, Harry is black as night, so he isn't as easy to spot as the unicorn.

I check the barn. No Harry. My heart starts beating in my ears. I call his name....nothing. #yourwelcomeneighbors

I'm sweating, nauseous and tears are welling up in my eyes...borderline about to lose my shit.

Tristan approaches me, calmly, as if to say mom, you're losing your shit. I give him a treat and walk around the back side of the hay-hut, where there is absolutely no light. My gait somewhat brisk b/c again, I'm losing my shit. My foot catches on something and I'm tossed into the air. Treats fly in the opposite direction...Tristan takes off, the goats start yelling...and I land on a startled Harry- who is now scrambling to get up from his slumber with me sprawled out ontop of him.

"Well there you are!!" I squeal, hugging him. #maybecryingalittle

"Ugggggggh" Harry lets out an aggravated sigh, while stretching.

Tristan continues to prance and snort as far as possible away from the hay hut- certain a monster had taken both me and Harry out. #cautiousunicorn

After we all calmed down, I returned to my bed- laughing a little at myself. I hadn't expected Harry to be curled up like a cat sound asleep. I guess it's good he didn't trample me, considering no one else in the house was up. 

Is Post Traumatic Horse-Stress Disorder a real thing? I wondered.

Probably. All cowgirls are high-maintenance in the most unconventional of ways. PTHSD would make perfect sense. 

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