They're in Wisconsin, did I mention that? So I get to move the horse from Wisconsin to here. Only, that would be too simple, so let's complicate it a bit. Let's get a third party involved, so now we're moving him from WI to IL, where we can make some reasonable sort of assessment about his fertility (or lack of same, the horse *is* twenty-one), and then shipping him from IL to here.
But wait, he isn't coming straight *here*, I really want to send him to my trainer for a few months (and a few quarts of blood--damn, CW's rates have gone up. Not like he's not worth it, but whew.) So *he* has to have a stall free at the right time.
Or I could just get the side paddock fence repaired, put him in it, and watch him eat grass. It would be lovely. Thing is, I already have a horse to watch eating (or three). The purpose of buying Palisades is to a) breed him to my mares, and b) make him available for other breeders to breed to their mares.
Which means... he needs, at *least*, training in basic ground manners. Putting him under saddle would be ideal, in terms of being able to show him off to people, but I may not be able to afford it up front. Additionally, I get to learn all about equine artificial insemination, and right now. (Let's see, can't count on having a patient jump mare available, so I need an $1100 phantom -- in addition to a $250 AV, a 40x microscope, and a few other incidentals. That, or I find some farm locally which already *has* all that, and I play let's make a deal. Better brush up my Monte Hall impersonation.)
Did I mention I'm starting a business? No, it hasn't a thing to do with horses. I seem to be starting a consulting business. I hold a business license, and have published Ambar Consulting as a business name, and so on. I am reading, may all the gods help me, books on marketing. (Some tiny part of me is deeply appalled about that last.)
I don't think I've felt this energized since, um, since that first month I was on Atkins. But I still find this Joe Jackson song popping up in my head at the oddest moments.
Could be worse. Could be rabid weasels in my shorts, I suppose.