A Girl and Her Horse…

On Friday Batialo will leave for Australia. My mum, who is the only person who truly understands my relationship with horses, has decided that the only person in the world besides me who will give that horse the life and partnership he deserves is her. Mum, besides being a very gifted rider and trainer, is the person who understands that Batialo is much more to me than just a horse, and I feel so incredibly lucky that he will have the life he deserves.

I keep imagining what I would be like right now if he was heading off to some unknown place where they could treat him badly, or resell him to god knows where, and I feel so relieved that my mother understands this, and beyond her own belief she will get a lot from Batialo is her fear that if he was sold I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, and I know that she is right.

Batialo is not just a horse. He is the reason that I stayed on the other side of the world for so long. He represented my childhood dream, and he was the horse that if I had a shot at it, would have given me that chance.

I laughed with him ,and cried with him, and this week has honestly been the hardest week I have had in Portugal for the very real reason that it’s over. That voice in my head that says one day you will get back on him, and you will get back doing what you love with the horse with that very special personality , and that freedom and pure joy that comes with that will return, is having to face the reality that I have known for a long time, but that still keeps me dreaming of it everyday…hope.

I feel a mix of many things, but most of all I will miss my friend.I haven’t seen him much in the last year, mostly because I worried that one day we would have to sell him, and I couldn’t bear to think of it.

Also because I thought if I dedicated myself fully to my recovery I would get back on him more quickly, and this would just be a very important learning curve, that was in the past.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, and I can honestly say they were and are my best efforts as I did absolutely everything I could, I am still not back riding, and I am not sure when and if I will be.

What I do know is that it hurts me to think of a Portugal without a Batialo in it, but I smile to think of an Australia that has one 🙂

For him of course it’s the best life possible, a huge paddock to roam in everyday, and my mum who rides the same as me but with far more tact and knowledge.

But it’s always hard when a horse that has changed our lives leaves it, for whatever reason, and I have honestly never been this upset about any man ;)… but Batialo isn’t choosing to go, and in a perfect world I would still be riding him everyday, but…well…that’s life.

I will love sharing his journey with my mum as she has shared mine with him over the last 7 years, but this week I am reminded again that there is something very special about the love between a girl and her horse.




2 thoughts on “A Girl and Her Horse…

  1. Dear Sarah, I can feel your pain but you must be very happy with the outcome of this terrible dilemma. You know where he is and that he will be loved and looked after and there for you to ride when you come to Australia. You can follow his progress every day. Best wishes for the future to you. Much love, Carol xxx


  2. Dear Sarah, Such a hard, heart felt decision but knowing where he’ll be in the arms of your mum and a place where he will be as special to them as he was to you is the very best you can ask for and receive. Hope you truly get to fulfil your dream of riding Batialo once again pain free. Safe travels beautiful man, see you in Oz xoxox


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.