A Destiny for Horse Rescue

In my high school year book under my picture is a self prediction for my future. I wrote that some day I wanted to rescue horses. Be careful what you wish for. Although we are still active in the rescue business we are currently housing 12 unplaceable horses and two who can be placed only in the perfect homes due to physical, emotional, and behavioral issues. I also have two of my own.

There are so many horses no one loves. So many who have no future. There are no words to express my sorrow for them. It’s clear we cannot win this war. All we can do is choose our battle and stick with it. Do what you can with all your means and ability within your circle and do not overly grieve for the ones you cannot save. This how I now live my life. I love my horses. With all the breath in my body and all of what is left of my life force, I will care for these 16 horses until I have nothing left to give. I pray we all die on the same day, or are healed and live forever in paradise because, come war, famine, or plague, only death will take me from them. Amen.

Please Give – and Thank You

Don’t forget us. Your tax deductible donation will help with out educational work as well as with the continued care of our current residents at Eye of the Storm. We so appreciate your past support and beg you to keep us in mind during this season of giving. We can continue this much needed work only with your help.

I thank you all again for your immediate emergency response when our stallion, Gabriel, colicked. I am so happy to know we have such a wonderful family as you all. I am so sorry I did not send thank you notes to everyone. There are no addresses from you who donated through PayPal. We love you very much.

On a Happier Note

May you all find peace in the cooler days. I rejoice in the colder days. I rejoice in the lack of bugs, mud, and those horrible summer storms! Though the work is harder in winter, everything is slower and even blizzard conditions don’t carry the horror of tornadoes, hurricanes, and thunderstorms! Our horses seem more content and comfortable. And when they are happy, so the heck am I!!

Happy fall to you all!

Buttons

Two days before Jaime died our friend Jo Newcomb lost her 28-year-old pony Buttons. After looking all summer we found a pretty little mini to be her new friend. (See photo.) Jo named her Snowflake because on her totally black body there is a little white snowflake on her back. She is a perfect little lady and is very gentle. So sorry for your loss of dear Buttons, but I believe this little mare will help heal your heart.

Good Bye Jaime

On May 1, 2009 Jaime died.  She was 38 years old.  Catherine found her lying on her side with her legs tucked against the wall.  She was awake and alert.  She tried to get up, but couldn't.  With the help of four strong men from Astro Crane Company next door (I so appreciate the strength of men), we managed to pull her away from the wall and roll her onto her other side.  That didn't help.  She still couldn't get up.

I don't believe she had been down for long.  Her stall wasn't torn up.  All of her feed from the previous night was gone and there was a normal amount of poop.  I took her temperature.  It was 98.2, which is too low.  When the vet arrived we tried again to get her up.  By then there were six of us there to help her.  After a dose of stimulant (for Jaime, not us, though we all could have used one by then), she thrashed around but still couldn't rise.  It was then we collectively decided she was dying and euthanasia was our only option.  At this point she was thrashing around between episodes of deep sleep.  She was never going to get up again.

I held her nose in my hands and said to her, "You are the only horse that has ever beaten me, the only one who never gave in.  In all our years together everything between us was a fight.  You win, you tough old mare, you win."

And so, surrounded by loving friends, including her best friend Mary O., we sent her on her way.

She was beautiful and fat and slick.  You would never know we was that old.  Without a great deal of fuss, her life ended.

Willie

In the aftermath of so much equine death in my immediate circle I am just not ready to lose Willie. Having been there for three deaths and burials, spending hours on the phone with Laurie from The Vineyard Mini Horse Rescue as one of her ponies, Peppercorn, faded away from some still unidentified abscess infection, my heart needs a rest. The other three were very old, surrounded by beloved friends, and it was just time for them to go. It is amazing how many friends a horse can accumulate in a lifetime, all three were over 30 years old. We had just enough time to say good-bye, and they were gone.

Willie was found unconscious six days after Jaime's death. He was down in his stall and we couldn't wake him, though he was still alive. There were five kids from the Dynamy program and three of us Eye of the Storm regulars present. Thanks to an unfinished sling I had made years ago, the eight of us were able to hoist Willie to his feet and attach him to the ceiling. He hung there like a dead spider. The vet was on his way.

Thinking he was dying, I brought Junebug, his very best friend, in to say good-bye. And - he woke up!

Since that day Willie has never laid down again on his own. After six days he's so exhausted that for some reason he develops muscle spasms in his "bad" hind leg which causes him to spin in a circle. He continually hits his right eye on whatever it is he crashes into. He's also a very picky eater, although he really wants to eat hay and he just can't anymore.

No one can accuse us of not trying to help him. We had his head x-rayed so the dentist could float his teeth properly, that is, the few he has left. He's had acupuncture, a chiropractic adjustment, steroids, pain meds daily, and buckets of loving care. He's very thin and looks like a plucked chicken. But Willie wants to live! He's really a horse though he's only 13.2 hands tall. He sparkles like a bright red jewel. He glistens with health and he heals practically overnight. His original name was Diamond Jim, we have recently discovered. He had a catastrophic tendon injury to his left hind leg leaving him, basically, three legged. No one in his past wants to take responsibility for hurting him, of course. But now he's with us for the rest of his life, and we love him.

We have become quite adept at plunking him down on a memory foam mattress so he can sleep without getting sores on his poor little bony parts. (See the photo.) After some hours we hoist him to his feet in the sling. In a few minutes he walks off, gets a drink of water, poops, pees, and dives into his food, totally refreshed for another few days. Then we do it all over again. We have changed his feed to Blue Seal Senior, which basically dissolves in his mouth and he's gaining weight.

One day recently I found him lying in the mud mashed up against the gate. He must have slipped and fallen. I ran next door and got three big men to come help me drag him through the gate and out of the mud. These awesome guys just roll their eyes when they see me coming and say, "Oh no, what's happened now?" Other than the horrible and constant noise they make, it's quite wonderful to be surrounded by heavy equipment operators, as there is always someone to come running. They all love animals and have different and very good ideas on how to help at such times. I love them all and can't thank them enough.

Though we again helped Willie to his feet, he had not rested, as he felt very exposed and afraid out in the open. So two days later we laid him down on his mattress in Faith's "cabana," a 14'x14' screen house with rubber walls, floor deep bedding, and his 4 inch memory foam mattress with fleece blankets to lay on.

He still could not relax. He kept trying to get up. Every three minutes Catherine and I would find ourselves standing outside to watch him. Cassie, his stall mate, parked herself just outside. She held vigil, refusing to eat or drink. I said to Catherine, "I feel like he's calling me, I just have to keep coming to him." Catherine said, "Yes, I feel him, too!" As did Cassie, apparently. We didn't want to go in and bother him, we wanted him to sleep. So, after due consideration, we gave him one mg of Xanax. In 15 minutes Willie was sound asleep.

Willie has taught me that undisturbed REM sleep is essential for old horses. They need a place to feel safe and comfortable, where no other horse will bully or harass them. They want to know there are others nearby to protect them from predators. Willie sent us all a clear message of "Help me, I can't get up and I'm alone." Catherine and I went in and lay down on the mattress with him. He wanted us there. We held him and petted him. We whispered to him. He slept surrounded by our love.

Late that night, after Xanax for both me and Willie, who now rested comfortably with his back against the cabana wall, I also tried to sleep. I could not. My mind would not let things go. I decided that if Willie could not get up on his own, tomorrow would be the last day of his life. I just couldn't do this anymore. I prayed, "Jehovah, you entrusted the care of Willie to me, but both he and I belong to you. Let your will take place in our lives and please let us both get some sleep. In Jesus' name." And we slept.

Next morning I found my Willie standing in the midst of chaos. He had eaten most of his grain, drank water, peed, and had just finished pooping on the edge of his mattress on which he as standing! The extra mattresses and blankets were strewn about and mashed into the mess. Evidently he had been up for a while and had been very busy. But he had gotten up alone!

I waded through it all and with tears of joy I threw my arms around him and thanked God for this gift! Kissing and kissing his beautiful old silken, shiny pony face, I feel I experience the resurrection of the dead with him over and over again!

How can we know when it's time to make the awful decision to euthanize them? Often it's obvious. Jaime was never getting up again. Buttons, Pepper and Bess were not going to make it. Snowdrop was living with endless unmanageable pain with no hope of relief. But, what about Willie? He's a tired old man, exhausted at times, yes, with muscle spasms at times, but he's not suffering. I watch him hobble around with his two friends, Cassie and Junebug, tossing his head like the stud muffin he thinks he is and I know he's happy to be alive. It's frustrating and inconvenient for us on the days we have to lay him down and help him up, but how much longer is he going to live anyway?

When life is no longer fun for him, he'll let me know. It will be his decision, not mine. I'm so glad. I don't know why I think that it's up to me anyway.

My sweet beautiful jewel, Diamond Jim Willie, kisses for his nose, another day, another gift of his presence. Maybe tomorrow will be his last day, but today is not.

Jaime, Warrior Mare

On Dec. 17, 2008 we finally succeeded in trimming 36-year-old Jaime’s hooves. We got Jaime 9 years ago when her owner died. She had spent all of her life, since she was three months old, in the company of cows. She was halter broke, but totally untrained in any other way.

Whenever we tried to trim her overgrown hooves she would throw herself on top of us, willing to commit suicide and take us all down with her before she would ever submit to a trimming. This tough old mare is still beautiful – my favorite color, dappled mahogany bay. She glistens with health. Only her dentist knows she has five teeth missing, as she eats very well indeed. Other than the sway in her back you would never guess she was that old.

The only health issue she ever had was an impaction colic that took four days to pass. We turkey basted mineral oil into her mouth, which she allowed us to do (sick horses are almost always submissive when they feel badly). She sucked down buckets of apple cider as she refused to drink water at that time. On the fourth day she passed a dried out, brick-sized lump of manure and was back to her old self. In those four days she stood in the corner of her stall like a rock, never groaned, never rolled on the floor, never showed any outward signs of the turmoil going on in her tummy. Tough old mare!

I had pretty much decided that if the old girl didn’t want her feet trimmed, so be it. I could barely stand to look at her, though. I felt everyone thought I was neglecting her. So, we tried one more time.

Our vet, Dr. Brett Gaby of Essex Equine in Bolton, came and gave her a tranquilizer and went to work. That old gal, barely conscious and drooling, still put up such a fight - rearing first, then sinking down on top of us - that I feared for us all. I found myself leaning on Dr. Graby as he tried to trim. The poor man was supporting the weight of both me and the horse. He gave her another dose of the tranquilizer.

The battle continued. At one point as she started to sink again, we let her do so. I jumped on her head and held her down. Dr. Gaby had to extract himself and his tools from under her, but she was down and was going to stay there, by golly!

For the next hour I sat on her head and Dr. Gaby trimmed all four of her hooves while she lay flat on the floor. She tried to get up a few times and Dr. Gaby had to step quickly amidst flailing legs. Finally, the job was done!

We let Jaime get up. Her tongue was hanging out on the left side of her mouth, dried out, and covered with bedding. That meant she had been unconscious, but even in her sleep she had fought us!

Dr. Gaby’s only complaint through all that hard work was “this is a very awkward position for hoof trimming.” Thank you, you wonderful man! I add one more hero to my list. Thank you!

On another note…

A friend whom I haven’t seen in ten years called me from Florida and said, “Nina, I can’t believe it – you’re famous!!” Well, in this day and age it doesn’t take much to be famous. Too bad I’m not rich, too. Any you may quote me.

Nina

P.S. Our latest wishlist items: portable fence panels, a round pen, surveillance camera, and a video camera. It's OK with us if any of these items are used. Thanks for any help you can provide.

Pretty in Pink

A new little mare just came to us. She was a camp horse who put her foot through a wall, fell down, and hung there for an unknown period of time, but long enough to do severe damage to her pastern and get a large and painful pressure sore on her hip. The camp personnel and the vet did an awesome job with her care, but time was running out. With months of special care and recuperation time needed, the camp was closing and she had no where to go and no one to care for her.

We are no longer able to stay at our current location and I was determined not to take anymore horses until we moved. But…maybe it was the prayers being answered of all the little girls that love her. I knew she had to come to us.

When she arrived she looked at me as if she knew me. All the lights were on in her eyes and when she jumped from the trailer, wounded leg and all, she trotted straight to her stall. She had just come home. This was where she wanted to be, the search was over. She looked at me and tears began to fall from her eyes. She put her nose in my hand and nickered softly. I think maybe she said, “Thank you.” This really happened! Even now whenever one of us approaches her, she cries.

Her name was Roxy, but we call her Pretty in Pink. This pretty little mare is a sabino pinto with a silver and gold mane. She looks very Spanish and is the kind of horse little girls fall in love with.

Pretty is supposed to be 15 years old, but upon inspecting her teeth I found bottom front teeth missing and top teeth broken. She appears to have broken ribs on her right side and asymmetrical shoulders. Upon examination by our own vet it was discovered that she is much older than 15, but it’s difficult to tell how much because of her damaged teeth. I estimate she’s over 20. She eats well and now that she’s off antibiotics she’s gaining weight. Her wounds are healing well and it appears no permanent damage has been done.

Her spirit reminds me of my precious Stormy, the reason Eye of the Storm exists. I have received an incredible gift in this horse. I thank all the powers at work that brought us together.

Moon wants his Mommy

Little Moon is the pretty - but naughty - little stallion who came to us last year. He had spent all six years of his life with his mother. She taught him to be respectful of mares and unlike the stud colts that are separated from all other equine contact at weaning, he was socialized in a herd situation. The herd consisted of his mother and himself.

He has been gelded (thank GOD)! He has settled in well with our group and is turned out next to Butterfly and another mare in adjoining areas. He’s not good with the other boys yet but that’s okay. He probably won’t ever be a child’s pony either! He has a beautiful little peach ice cream colored face with huge dark rimmed eyes – eyes that tell it all. He is often very agitated, almost frantic. He thumps around in his stall until I can barely stand him.

One day I went over and put my arm around his neck. I made myself be calm and I asked him, “What is it Moon-Muffin? What is it you want?” He leaned into me and put his nose so gently into my hands. I felt the most profound feelings of sorrow, a longing and sadness that made me cry. Translated loosely from horse to human, he wanted his mommy. I felt him become calm. The tension left him and he relaxed against me. I know somehow we had just communicated and he was at peace.

Knowing how Nessa grieved for her daughter for ten long years, I’m aware that permanent bonds are formed between mother and child when they spend years together. If Moon wanted his mommy, so be it. I promised we would get her. The only problem: Mommy was on Martha’s Vineyard and also as wild as a deer.

Laurie is the founder of Vineyard Miniature Horse Rescue where Cocoa, Moon’s mom, lived. Laurie is another woman running a rescue entirely on her own and is both very busy and under funded. She and nine of her friends took three hours to corner Cocoa and get her into a trailer. In the process one friend was kicked and another dragged over the fence when Cocoa jumped it. No doubt Cocoa was not as excited about seeing her son again as he was about seeing her!

After an uneventful trailer ride Cocoa arrived at Eye of the Storm. Moon was so happy to see his mommy again! They immediately began to groom each other. Cocoa has a grubby lead rope attached to her halter as she is still difficult to catch (what an understatement). But they are together again, that’s all that matters, forever.

Eye of the Storm on NECN Cable News

The New England Cable News Network interviewed Nina Arbella of Eye of the Storm for a segment on the high cost of horse ownership in today's economy.

View the news segment.

Crazy Nina

Two days after Nessa’s death, my friends Delaine and Becky came all the way from Illinois to visit me. Their horse D’Amigo is doing well on our Bess’ Choice herbal for the Cushings horse. They wanted to meet me in person as we had talked only on the phone.

I have concluded that in the event of the death of one of my horses something odd happens to me. Though I know I’m doing and saying things that might be strange, I can’t seem to stop myself of “fix my problem.” I know that sounds vague as I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to say.

I used to think it was as if “who I am” is shattered like a piece of glass, but that’s not exactly accurate. It’s more like a drop of mercury. It spatters in all different directions, but gradually, bit by bit, the drops are rounded up until it all becomes whole again. The spattered bits of personality and spirit eventually become the reasonably sane and sensible being that is me again. I guess it’s some kind of coping mechanism. We all probably have a form of it.

Throughout Nessa’s six weeks of illness I found myself feeling very calm. Maybe Nessa herself had a bit to do with that. She just wouldn’t let me worry about her. Or, it could have been the peace of Jehovah that excels all thought.

Maybe the loss of her spiritual help made me spatter after her death. Who knows?

I just want to apologize to Delaine, Becky, and all others who had to deal with me at that time. My drop of mercury is me again.

Nina

P.S. Delaine and Becky, I hope you still managed to have a good time. So sorry again. It was just too soon for met to cope with life as normal, though I did try very hard for you. Postponing my grief took its toll.

Good Bye Nessa

On March 22, 2008 at 9:30pm my Nessa died after a six week long illness. She was 36 years old. I could write pages and pages of things about my Nessa, but what it all boils down to is she was one of the best things that ever happened to me. She was brave, she was tough, and she took better care of me than any human ever has. She gave her all without ever taking. It was an honor to care for her in the last weeks of her life. That meant I could finally give something back to her.

She was so sad when she came to us ten years ago. Her beautiful little face showed it, her spirit, too. When she found herself in her very own stall with lots of bedding and food that she didn’t have to fight for, she was very appreciative. Slowly, little by little, her tentative spirit grew stronger. A fire came back into her eyes.

For ten years she carried me, fearlessly, on her bare back because a saddle hurt her. She led the way. All other horses were confident in her presence. Her spirit soothed their’s.

Please keep an open mind here. Nessa gave me the message she was never going to die. Obviously I misread the message because she did, in fact, die in this system. But, when we found her on that last night of her life, she was deeply in REM sleep. We could not wake her, but we could tell she was galloping in her dreams! We finally managed to wake her and get her on her feet, but with great indignation. She would lay back down and fall asleep again, only to gallop back to that place in her dreams, a place where she was young again; galloping alongside the daughter she referred to as “Baby.”

After getting her on her feet again and out of the barn (we wanted to avoid the last indignity of dragging her dead body out of her stall – very hard on all of us), she just wanted to lay back down to sleep again. It was like the country song “I was almost there.” In the song a homeless man is awakened and says, “Why did you wake me: I was just swimming in Calico Creek, was just sitting under a cottonwood tree, just got stung by a honey bee, I was almost there.” I think that’s what Nessa was telling us – “Let me go, I am almost there.”

For six weeks I waited for her time. It was now her time. She was going to die that night with or without our help. The vet arrived just as she was going down for the last time and we sent her on her way.

My precious Nessa.

She galloped off into the future to the field of grass where her daughter “Baby” met her sometime after the resurrection. Six days later at 9:30am as I was watching “Ellen” on TV I got this profound feeling of peace, love, and gratitude from somewhere. I recognized Nessa’s message as she had been sending them to me for the last en years. She was there. She never died after all. My Nessa.

The Tragedy of Horse Slaughter

More than 60,000 horses will be thrown away in the U.S. this year. These are the ones who are not loved, who don t have friends to make tiny braids in their manes so they will always be remembered. These are the horses who have no one to walk their stable mates down to their graves to say good-bye. There s no one to cry on their faces as they are given the last gift of a peaceful death among loving friends. What will happen to them?

There are already old, starving horses being found turned loose on public lands. One old gelding was left tied to a tree by some idiot, left to die. The horse was found by hikers days later. The stupid owner didn t even leave him loose so he could eat or drink.

Though this is only one example, many reports are trickling in of such abandonment on public lands. There are horses whose spirits no man knows, nor cares about and horses who gave so much or more than our Snowdrop. There are horses who are used up and worn out, tools of the trade. When they grow old or broken they are thrown away and replaced by new ones. Where under heaven will these unloved throw aways go? What about the thousands of high maintenance, shattered, ex-racehorses (thoroughbreds and trotters)? Some are as young as two years old, lame beyond repair, who could live another 25 years. No one wants them, no one loves them, and no one wants to be responsible for them. Where will they go? The list goes on and on.

Those of us running tiny rescue shelters weep for these horses. We cannot help them. We do this job for love. We have so little money. We are all exhausted as we slave for the few in our care, those that we can help. When it is time for them to die, we rejoice in their lives and the time we had with them. They die in our arms. We grieve over the loss of every single one, because we love them. There are so many that no one loves. So many.

This year (2007) it appears the radical animal rights groups succeeded in fulfilling one of my greatest fears. They have shut down the last three slaughter houses for horses for human consumption in the USA.

Let me first say: I hate slaughtering horses. Hate it! But even God says it is okay to eat horses, to eat any animal. But he also points out that they must never suffer. He is aware of their spirits. Not even a sparrow can fall from the sky that He does not know it. Horses are mentioned many times in His Word in the company of angels, being ridden by angels. I suspect horses are very special to God.

Horses are loyal and true. They are the greatest and most useful partners the human race has ever known. We owe them something. Being dead, with no more suffering or starvation, is definitely not the worst possible scenario. Pain is a terrible thing, especially when there is no hope that it will ever end. I saw the pain go out of Snowdrop s face when she fell asleep in death.

For the most part, only healthy horses are slaughtered for human consumption. Those that are destined for European tables are of a standard size and weight. They are very seldom older grays, as the ones that develop melanomas in any quantity are rejected. They are seldom ponies or full grown draft horses. The EU rules are strict concerning both health and humane care of the horses. The slaughter houses in both the U.S. and Canada fall under these rules. Probably those in Mexico owned by European countries follow the same guidelines. The problem lies in the fact that Mexico has few, if any, humane laws.

Horses are going to be slaughtered. The Europeans are going to eat horses. All that has been accomplished in closing U.S. plants is that the horses will have longer distances to travel through terrible heat under unimaginable conditions. After they cross the border into Mexico we have no control over their treatment. The small, independently owned slaughter houses are deplorable.

Those who were so unlucky as not to be killed outright might be put to work for awhile instead. Picturing poor precious Snowdrop worked to death leaves a horrible picture in my mind. They also  play with slaughter bound horses down there. Read Ernest Hemingway s book  Death in the Afternoon. What happens to these horses in the bullrings in both Spain and Mexico where they are drugged and blindfolded is so horrible that I can t allow my mind to dwell on it. The atrocities go on and on.

The anti-slaughter groups protest, raise money, and rally against slaughter. They pat each other on the back over a job well done when they achieve success. Then, they abandon the cause and go on about their lives, leaving us rescue people in stunned disbelief because we know what will happen next. Instead of the anti-slaughter people continuing to raise money to support the horses they  saved they move onto some other cause in which they choose to interfere, leaving the horses to their fate. There just aren t enough rescues or individuals who can afford this many unwanted horses. There is no money to support them and no where for them to go.

I have spent most of my working hours seven days a week for the past nine years caring for our horses. I don t get paid. I am not alone. Those of us who rescue horses for love are forever rewarded by receiving love in return from them. Unfortunately, love does not pay for their upkeep, nor does it help other horses in need. This country is now full of horses that have nowhere to go.

It is not a horse's fault that it was born; yet almost every single birth is planned. This is a human problem, not a horse problem that needs to be solved. Every single horse born in this country should be guaranteed care for its entire life by its original breeder and all other responsible parties in between. Every horse deserves a humane death at the end of its life. Until the racing industry stops throwing away the unfit or crippled, the Premarin business dies by the wayside, the backyard/color/etc. breeders stop  list goes on and on, unwanted horses need a place to go where it can just be over. Until then, we must keep our horses out of Mexico. For more information, check out The Horse from April, 2005 at http://www.thehorse.com. See the article  Welfare in Mexico. See the article  Abandoned Horses from their February, 2007 issue. Also see the article  Slaughter: Are Voices Uniting? in Horse Illustrated from December, 2007. These articles are incredibly disturbing. The pictures are graphic. Be prepared. Then, you decide.

Snowdrop - So Many Ways to Die

I rescue horses. At Eye of the Storm we have lost three horses this year. The third was Snowdrop. Unlike the first two, Noogie and Sun, it was not sudden but planned.

She was a beautiful little gray Arab, 27 years old. She had serious, unmanageable laminitis and had taken a turn for the worse. On the day that I found that blood serum had found its way out of a three inch crack along her coronary band, I knew it was the beginning of the end. She had the tender little spots that would soon become pressure sores all over her body from lying down so

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much. I was no longer able to manage her pain. Her spirit had retreated to that gray place where the wounded go when there is no hope. I knew from the look in her eyes that it was time to let her go.

We loved her so much. We all took time to fuss over her. If love could have saved her, she would still be carrying children on her back and loving us all in return. She had an incredibly powerful spirit that, until now, had shown in her fiery, dark, beautiful eyes. She was so brave in all those years of pain, she never whimpered.

She was born at Vantage Point Farm in Washington State and registered as VP Juhlie. Her father was El Hilal. I guess he was some kind of fancy guy (see his photos and impressive show record) and I guess she was once a very fancy girl. She had five foals. She had a freeze brand on her neck. Years went by. I have no idea how she finally ended up as a camp horse. What happened in all the years in between? I know only when I found this tattered little soul that she had finally made it home. She stayed with us for the last seven years of her life. She was loved, honored, and cherished. She never worked again. She was  all paid up. She didn't owe the human race a thing.

On the last day of her life we made seven tiny braids in her mane, wove in silk flowers, and took her picture for the last time. She looked like an exhausted fairy princess pony. There was almost no light left in her eyes. We snipped off the tiny braids to keep and to remember.

The day was perfect. There was warm, soft rain pouring down upon us as we took our last walk together. We took Solomon and Junebug, too. We made a sad procession down to the grave site. Junebug was the only horse friend Snowdrop had - the only one she ever had, the only one she had physical contact with as they groomed each other. Solomon loved her, too - probably loved her the most.

As she fell asleep in death I held her face as the last of the light went out in her eyes. The soft, warm rain fell upon us all as we watched the pain leave her body forever, as she received the last gift - the end of a life of pain in the loving arms of her friends. Even the sky was crying. Solomon and Junebug came to see and touch her, to know that she was never coming back.

And so ends the life of one sweet, beautiful little horse. So many had been touched and changed by knowing this shattered little gray mare. So many loved her. Most of us love our horses and can imagine their end of life care in no other way. Unfortunately, in most facets of this industry, there are horses who are not beloved family members to be cared for despite illness, disability, or old age.

 

Frogs

At the farm we have a puddle with 23 frogs. I love frogs. The puddle is right in the middle of the driveway. I blocked it off so no one can drive through it and I have kept it full by dumping the horse’s yesterday’s water buckets into it all summer. Last year we had one frog living in a tire. I would rinse it out every few days and replace the water. The year before, a frog lived in a cup just outside the door. I kept the cup full all summer. And the year before that, a toad lived inside the barn. I made it a little door to the outside and gave it a bowl of water to sit in. 

Horses, frogs, we love them all!

Skinny Sun

September 10, 2004 was a good day. It was the first cool day all summer. I had no help this day and was afraid I could not care for the fifteen horses alone, but I did. I even had time for a few little projects like dragging all the bins of winter blankets out of storage. Before we know it, it will be winter.

This was was the day that Sun came into my life. Sun is a quarter horse palomino, about twenty four years old, starved almost to death. This was his reward for having been a slave all his life.

I don’t know much about his story, only that he was a school horse no longer needed and growing old. This kind old soul, perhaps, taught scores of people to ride, maybe hundreds. From what I can tell he was probably a pretty handsome guy. I pray I can bring him back to that. He is small, maybe 14.2 hands, but sturdy (he probably packed a lot of muscle in his day) and a bright golden color. What, I wonder, brought him to this?

You can always tell if a horse has been abused or not by handling their ears. Almost every abused horse I have ever known won’t let you touch their ears. Stupid people use them for handles, restraint or punishment. Make note of this: never, under any circumstance, grab or twist a horses ears. They never forgive and they never forget. Sun lets me touch his ears. He has probably never been abused. He is almost comatose from lack of nutrients, he is certainly extremely weak and unsteady. His left rear leg seems to bother him but I don’t yet know why.

Sun is a horse that is completely used up and thrown away. When his useful days were over instead of being retired on the farm where he worked, he was given to people who had never owned a horse, for their daughter, who soon lost interest. Evidently she also stopped feeding him. What really disturbs me is the MSPCA went to see this horse and did nothing. Do you know that the MSPCA has one hundred seven million dollars in assets? Yet with all that, they didn’t do a thing to help this horse. Did you know that they are doing a nine million dollar overhaul on Nevin’s farm? That they are fundraising to do this instead of using the money they already have? And they are getting it. It saddens me that the small rescues that are saving animals for love are barely getting by while a huge multi-million dollar organization couldn’t save this poor old Sun. I know of other horses as well.

The point I am getting to is this: if you can’t commit to a horse for its entire life, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part,’ do not own a horse. Sun could be your horse. But Sun is a lucky one, he came to me. He will never suffer again. I promised him that I will care for him until his last breath. He will never be hungry again. There are thousands of suffering horses that will never come to me. I will never be able to help them, but I can help Sun. The horse you give away to a non-horse person will in all probability die because of that person’s ignorance. Or, end up being passed on to someone else, maybe end up at an auction to be bought by a killer. Being dead is not so bad, it’s what leads up to it that really sucks.

In a perfect world all my wishes would be fulfilled. No horse or child or even a frog would die by violence or neglect. Not all stories end horribly, but Sun has made it painfully clear by reminding me of how rough the world is for such innocent ones. We can’t fix the world, we can’t make everyone be responsible, but in the small circle of you all receiving this newsletter, do your best to keep your own circle safe, and know that you are a hero by doing so.