Helloo...

Helloo…

At 53 years old there are very few things, and even fewer people, that can piss me off. Sadly, I am a stupidly nice person… yep, so nice I’ve been told by friends that my forehead has glow in the dark lettering that reads “D O O R  M A T”,  or maybe it’s footprints from being used as a doormat. I don’t know, I just am who I am and I don’t plan to change. I strive to be nice. I chose to be kind.

In a world filled with strange and unique people, most things do roll off my back like water off a duck. I believe life is too short and I chose to not waste my energy getting worked up over the rude things people do. So it comes as complete shock to me that I cannot, for the life of me, get over this incident that happened at the barn.

I’m new to this barn; I had been at my last barn nearly 5 years. The people at the old barn were kind and respectful. They were the type that if they needed a kidney I’d gladly grab my hoof pick and fetch mine for them. This was part of the reason it took so long to find a new barn when we had to move. I wanted no drama, a quiet little place, with a group of diverse riders all doing their own thing and respecting each other.

I was living the dream for nearly 8 solid weeks. The new trainer is amazing, the mare and I are growing and advancing by leaps and bounds. I’ve made new friends. OK, I only know two by name and yes I know everything about their horse; name, likes, dislikes, health issues and more, and yes I would not be able to pick any of the humans out of a police lineup without their horse next to them. BUT, the mare and I had settled in, she seems very happy and I am really enjoying my barn time again. It was bliss…

Until the new boarders arrived….

Being a Corporate controller with a MBA, I kind of have a sound sense of financial reasoning, and I totally understand the need for more boarders. Without them the barn goes under. There were a lot of empty stalls at the barn and as enjoyable as it was to have the place to myself many nights, I knew and understood it wouldn’t last.

I’m so embarrassed to confess my ire, and I really need to understand why this bothers me bad enough that I am looking for a new barn. Here are the details:

I arrived at the barn after work, like I do every night. Change from my dress clothes into my breeches. As I cross the viewing room I see jumps up in the arena and a lesson going on. I’m kind of excited because the norm is by 6 pm the barn thins out and either I’m alone or it’s me, the mare, Image and his mom –  yeah, I don’t know the rider’s name but she is really nice. (Secretly I am hoping they leave the jumps up, I really want to sneak a jump or two when no one is around.)

Several people begin to tell me… ‘They are the new borders’ and not one person I meet on my way to the tack room has a nice thing to say about them. For heaven’s sake! They have not been here but a day or two, people… really?!! No one likes change. I know firsthand a few people were irritated when I came here, but now those people have become friendly. All will settle in and be fine…

I walk into the tack room to get my grooming bag and all of my stuff has been moved. YES!!! Someone had shoved my tack trunk, bridle rack, everything into a corner and then piled other stuff on top. In the little spot I had occupied was someone else’s stuff taking up over twice the space I had. I don’t care they are taking up more space. THEY MOVED MY STUFF!

What possesses a person to think they can just come in, take over and shove someone else’s valuable tack around? They did not ask. They did not even move my things in a respectful manner. They took my personal belongings, shoved and piled and dumped everything in a heap. Then… they piled garbage and moldy rags and bags of feed and tubs of supplements on top of my gear.  It brought me to tears.

I’ve tried to tell myself I’m being childish, not to let bad breeding and poor etiquette ruin something I enjoy so much. I’m trying to convince myself that I should be nice and just turn the other cheek. I’m good for that kind of crap.

After a sleepless night of stewing it over and over, I don’t know what to do.

Cheryl
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