New Blog: A husband writes about the fallout from his wife's animal hoarding

Feb 3, 2011 - The First Day.

''Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

How often have you heard that tripe, usually from some bubbly optimist trying to randomly toss a little bit of positive energy into others lives. I heard it today and all it served to do was add to that that energy within me, the negative energy, which took even greater energy to contain within me, created an even greater negative affect.

Sure, today is the first day of the rest of your life, but the rest of your life might only be 5 minutes, or it might be 50 years of hell. Yahoo!

I am, without a doubt, in a foul mood. You see the first day of the rest of my life was a few days ago, and it came totally unexpected, and it sure as hell wasn't the start I would have chosen. As I come up on day 4 I sit in my car, in which I have been living for three days, freezing my ass off because I need to conserve every last bit of fuel, with a completely empty stomach (well two days empty anyways), and not a cent to my name at this moment.
Perhaps I should back up a little.

I have been living with the most incredible woman and her three children for almost 6 years now. I loved her deeply, more than any other from my past. I was confident that this was going to be the woman I was going to be with until my dying day. Sure we had our problems, but then what couple does not. These problems were more often than not complicated, if not triggered by financial stresses (which came first the empty bank account or the problem you are currently arguing about?) but I was sure we would make it through the tough times - unfortunately she was not. The result was the inevitable "I think I need to be alone for a while."

I was hurt, shattered really, and tried everything to convince her we could make it through, and offered to do whatever I needed to make things work (pretty pitiful, eh). As we talked it became evident that her biggest problem was that she could not talk talk to me about her horses and that she didn't have my full support with them. She was right. We (or she) has more than 30 horses. Perhaps not so bad if you have a place to keep them, the finances to support them, the equipment to care for them, and the time to enjoy them. WE DID NOT! Over the past six years we have run up bills for pasture and feed and vets as she desperately tries to find pastures to rent and move the horses to since our rented 3 acres will not support the herd. We have alienated virtually all our friends and family because of problems with the horses. All this why we are struggling to pay for the roof over our family's head, and keep food on the table and the lights on.

Doesn't make much sense, does it? Well it doesn't to me anyways. I can understanding keeping some of the horses, but all of them? Unfortunately bringing up this concept to my wife has resulted in blind raging violence in the past. The last time I saw the rage coming I stopped and said "fine, you won't discuss this than don't discuss the horses at all with me and do not ask for my help with the horses." (I had come to the personal conclusion that continueing to support her with the horses was like handing a drink to an alcholic).

Unfortunately that did not avert the violent rage. I almost left at that point but she agreed to get some anger management counselling. I think she did. But you can see now why she felt that there was a part of her life she could not share with me and did not have my support in.

While we were discussing an impending separation a few nights ago I made the mistake of saying that I was taking my half of the horses with me. NOT SMART! The result was me stumbling out the front door bloodied and bruised, shirtless and shoeless, trying to make it to the car so I could get away. I made it and headed for the police station (probably what I should have done the first time she was like this). When I got to the police station she had already called them to tell them she had beat me and I was probably on my way to the hospital. (A bit of a shock to the police that the person who did the beating in a domestic violence situation called to say so before they heard from the victim. She really is not a bad person.)

After being treated at the hospital for a broken nose and scratches and bruises, victim services put me up in hotel for the night (at least what was left of it) and we have now begun our separation, enforced by the police no contact order given to my wife.

I left the hotel with $20 in my pocket, a few clothes retrieved for me from the house, and my netbook (which I am using to put these thoughts online) nothing else. No cell phone. No money I can access anywhere. No place to go to. And no friends or family that I can look to for help. I put most of the money into fuel so I could get to work (which was in another town an hour away) and so began my new reality. That fuel in the car is still holding out (as I eek it out trying to warm up the car now and then during the night), I have not had any food in two days. And you really don't get much sleep in a car parked in Tim Horton's parking lot.

As I type this I am waiting for the date to change at the bank so I can access my paycheck. There probably won't be much left was the bank takes out their payments, but every little bit counts right now. It's not going to get a roof over my head but it will put some food in my belly and gas in the tank while I try and figure out the next step.

Before I end this for today let me be clear. My wife is not a monster and I am not without fault in this. I am afterall the cantankerous, crotchety old fart I claim to be.

There is something else. There is nothing in my mind that can be more demeaning than being a man having to go to the police saying "my wife beat the crap out of me." The professionals in the RCMP and victims services get nothing but kudos from me for the way they handled this. Thank you.

Read more from "Cantankerous Old Fart": here