True Stories

    
           
 

 
           
           

BUZZ

A horse died last night.  Christmas Eve, 2008. His name was Buzz.

Buzz wasn't a TB, or even a FOB save, Buzz, well, Buzz was just a rescue horse, like thousands of others. But there was something special about this Appy colt.

He had never known kindness, or human touch before we took him in, but he never held that against us. He had been forced to eat sand, due to his starvation, but he joyously accepted all we offered. He was so afraid, he trembled, while we treated him for the masses of rain scald, but never a snap of his teeth. I washed his waste from his legs and feet, but never a kick. I found the large masses of scars around his feet where he had been bound, but he did not blame me for the pain, as I washed and treated the old scars. He ate all we gave him to try to remove the sand from his belly.

Buzz didn't act like a horse, he didn't run or jump. He was too ill, but he would stand at the fence for that special nose rub, even if it was just for a moment. He trusted me enough to allow me to take him to a stall ( obviously he had never seen one before) and he stood contentedly while I brushed him and braided his tail. He stood quietly, as I wrapped him in a warm winter blanket.

Buzz was kind, I think he knew there would be no more Springs, no more soft brushings. I I know he knew how special, and short the time was with me, and to me. His eyes closed contentedly, I kissed him and said good night. Buzz's eyes were soft, he understood there are humans that can love, not hurt. He had been drinking and eating well. He seemed to be doing good.

Maybe they needed another sweet, Appy colt on the Rainbow Bridge. All I know is that in the short time Buzz was here, he won his place in all of our hearts.

Maybe while we are celebrating Peace on Earth, we can learn a lesson from Buzz.

Peace on Earth, Bless the beasts, and don't hold everyone responsible for your pain.

My rescues are my "kids". To lose one, no matter how hard you try, takes a piece of your heart. Buzz, your sweet, gentle life. stolen from you by abuse, you will always be with us. Run, baby, run free and strong with the warm breezes blowing through your flowing mane. I will be here, mourning you loss, honored and blessed by knowing you.

Val
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BLACK EYED PETE

There was once a horse.   No time now to tell all his story, but he was a great horse.  He was a black Morgan with a lightning bolt on his forehead and a Star of David on his nose.  There was a little girl who loved him.  His name was Black Eyed Pete.  The little girl cried to get him for years. She was twelve...he was five.  Twice he was sold, but not to the girl.  She searched for him for years.  Then, a miracle happened.

She found him... She was nineteen... He was twelve.  Then, he was hers.  He got older, and so did she... As the years passed his movements were stiffened by arthritis, then the unimaginable... he developed glaucoma.  He was seventeen... She was twenty-four... Surgery was out of the question...  the old horse suffered more every year.... until finally the girl now a woman realized it was time to let him go... She had a friend who said she would dispose of him for her.   Amid much pain and tears they said good-bye.  He was twenty, she was twenty-seven when he went to slaughter.

THIS IS A TRUE STORY.  PERMISSION TO USE THIS STORY WAS GIVEN BY GWEN H. FROM HER SITE ON  "BLACK EYED PETE"


Big Bold Blue

Blue was purchased off the meat scales at an auction last year. He is a Polish Arabian who had injured his hoof in barbed wire.   This gentle giant (17 hands) is very sensitive and has never made any effort to kick or bite regardless of how frightened he was.  He was very underweight and I proceeded to feed him special foods with little results, I could not understand why he would not gain weight no matter what I tried.  A friend took him and put him out in a large, lush pasture to see if that would help him fill out.  He called me a couple of months later to ask me to come get Blue because something was the matter with him.  He was still very thin and when I saw him I knew something was badly the matter.  He would drag his back feet as if it was just too painful to pick them up, but worst of all was the gigantic swelling where he had been gelded.  He looked like a Stallion and he had been gelded over a year before I bought him.  The vet took numerous blood tests and then came back with the very upsetting news that Blue was not making red blood cells like he should, evidently all that was going into fighting the infection that had been there since he was gelded.  Luck was on our side for the next few months as the swelling broke open and began to drain. We kept the area open as long as we could. It has now closed up.

Blue now has a new family and is adjusting well.  They are working with him to gain his trust - he will be a riding horse for the family.

Update on Blue
Big Bold Blue

Due to a wonderful twist of fate and the love of Erin, Blue is now
living with his siblings and his Father Budapest in Florida.
He will undergo training for hunter jumper.
From the Slaughter to the show
ring,  Blue has grown into a beautiful, loving horse.  His registered
name is: Fokas Silver Ghost.  We are so proud of the work Erin did
with "her baby" and the wisdom to know he needed to pursue his
destiny.  Her unselfish act of love will allow Blue to fulfill what
he was born to do.  Thanks Erin!

Cinderella Horse

The following is a true story.

He was a glorious colt, born in the lap of luxury.  His beginning far different from so many horses. His mother, a beautiful registered Arabian, from a long line of Champions.  His Sire a tremendous, and well known Champion in his own right.

The little colt live out his first year without a care, and played his baby games with others of his kind. That was soon to change.  We don’t know for sure when he was gelded or why, his bloodlines and beautiful conformation should have kept him as a fine sire to future champions.  However, that was not to be.

Around two years old, he began his saddle training, and due to a cruel twist of fate, his trainer was arrogant and abusive.  The colt was not ready for the demands that were made.  He was terrified and withdrawn.

Again fate struck and his foot was caught in barbed wire, inflicting such a disastrous injury, that the decision was made to sell him.  But he didn’t go to just any buyer, he went to auction.  A kill auction, teeming with kill buyers looking for a large, well built horse.

Now fate begins to turn again.  There was a woman from a rescue, who had spent hours looking through the kill pens, trying to decided who to take home.  It was a horrible choice, she could only take a few and there were so many.

In one of the kill pens she noticed a dark gray, scruffy dapple with an injured foot.  He was friendly, but she could tell his foot was giving him pain.  She made up her mind she would take this one.

As the auction went on hour by hour she waited for the dapple to come through, she had bought some other rescues and was waiting for him, knowing he would be the last she could afford to take home.

Finally, he walked through the door, painfully limping around the small sale ring.  Without hesitation, she bid and bought this big, injured horse.  As she was getting up to leave, another dapple gray stepped into the ring.  It suddenly hit her that she had bought the wrong horse.  Since only one dapple had been out there, she had assumed it was him, evidently the one she bought had come in just before the auction started.

She was sad about the one she couldn’t get, but knew the one she had was just as injured.

The gelding was big and he was terrified of those who tried to push and manhandle him.  Due to his large size, no one wanted to bother with him.  The lady, calmly, approached the big boy, put on a halter and led him to her trailer, where he loaded without hesitation.

The next day, she was able to get a good look at him. He was thin, and very tall. He had a dark gray winter coat that she knew would shed out lighter. His foot was oozing pus, and the cut was severe and damaging. On top of that, he was terrified.

In order to calm him, he was placed with an old mare, who promptly took him under her care.  She seemed to understand his hurt.  He began to calm down, and accept his new home.

The mystery of this gelding began to deepen as she found he was registered to a very exclusive Arabian organization. So she had much to learn about him and his ancestry.   She made a trip to his former home and saw his beautiful mother, and pictures of his Champion Sire.

The hoof injury had destroyed his chances for dressage, and the abusive training had decided his fate.

I named this poor boy, “Blue”, and I was the person who rescued him.

The training problems became apparent, when he was first saddled up.  He was in a panic and ran into the barn, where he stood shaking. I  wanted to cry.  His eyes dilated in fear, he hardly knew me. I could only guess at what had been done to his young mind.  So we began at the start, first with halter training and building trust.

A friend of mine, who was a very good trainer and non-abusive, volunteered to take Blue and see what he could do with him to help his confidence.  Under the kind and gentle training, Blue began to trust people.  He started to demand affection and attention instead of running away.  Just as we were hopeful that he would be on the road to being a good saddle horse, fate stepped in again.

I received a call from my friend asking me to come and get Blue that something was wrong with him. We left immediately.  When I saw Blue, it was evident he was in severe pain.  His genitals were severely swollen and he could barely walk.  An immediate trip to the vet, informed us that his gelding job had been done badly and he had a cord infection.  After a long period of cold baths and antibiotics, we lucked out and the infection was stopped.

About that time a young woman came to see our rescues.  She had been online and seen Blue. She had been a quarter horse person , all her life, but wanted a change.  “A big, tank of a horse” is what she was looking for, she fell in love with Blue.

Blue spent the next three years with this wonderful lady, who patiently brought him out of his shell. Her tank was over 18 hands and 14 hundred pounds.  This horse was the love of her life, and had been with her through some hard times.

She called me one day telling me that she had to find a new home for Blue.  He had learned everything she could teach him, and she didn’t know where to go.  He was learning at such a fast rate that she knew she could not give him what he needed to grow.  This was the hardest decision she had to make, she loved and wanted him, but she didn’t want to hold him back.  His ancestry was asserting itself and he needed more.

Fate again stepped in.  For the first time in years, the association that Blue was registered to was having their annual meeting in Nebraska.  Blues owner contacted one of them and to her great surprise the person not only owned Blues father, but also a sibling.  She was ecstatic to find Blue and had the training facilities for dressage, hunter jumper or endurance training.

Blues owner watched, with a heavy heart, as Blue headed on his way to Florida. She loved him enough to let him go, and that is a rare gift indeed.

The poor, terrified and injured gelding, that had stood with so many in the kill pens at a killer auction, had been saved by the same fate that put him there, the same fate that brought three people to his rescue, and the same fate that sent him to a great future.

Some horses, are born under a dark star, and nothing you can do can save them, and then there are others, like Blue, whose guardian Angels stepped in, when he needed them most.

From slaughter line to endurance horse, Blue, whom I registered as “Fokkas Gray Ghost”
has found his place in life.
 

Mothers Tears

The black and white paint mare screamed in terror as they drove her onto the stinking filth of the double-decker trailer.  There was no air, and no room to raise her head.  The screams of the other horses, as they jammed into her, terrified her even more.  The stench of blood, from a small horse crushed against the blood smeared walls of the metal trailer, permeated the air.

The mare was confused.  Not too long ago she had been standing in her favorite pasture, her humans bringing her treats.  Their grandchildren running and playing around her feet.  Her humans, whom she had loved for over 20 years. Where were they?
Her foal rolled over in her abdomen, as if it sensed his dams fear.

The mare would have never understood that her humans had sent her here.  She had served them well.  Bearing a foal every year, she was run down and tired, and never seemed to get enough food to keep her once glossy coat shiny and bright.  Her dull coat was stretched over her ribs, outlining every one, and arthritis had given her a swollen knee.  She had injured her leg years ago, but her heart still carried the desire to chase the cattle that had made her name famous.

Tired, hungry, and very thirsty after miles of misery and death, the trailer door opened.  Not once, during the terrible ordeal, did she connect the misery she was in to her once loving humans.  She turned her head at every voice, waiting to hear the voice of those she had loved and served for so long.  She was waiting for them to come and take her home.

The long cement chute they forced her down was covered in filth, smelling of blood and fear.  The horses crowding behind her forced her into the cement wall, she struck out, trying to protect the foal she was carrying.

Fighting for her life and that of her unborn foal.  She tried to avoid the knife that slashed at her spine until the agony and numerous stabbings paralyzed her.  The mare crumpled to the gore covered, cold floor, still trying to protect her unborn . Unable to move she was strung up by her hind leg.  Agony seared through her, as her aged hip was pulled from its’ socket.
She was still trying to struggle, when they slashed her throat.

She was still alive when the bloody blade sliced open her abdomen.

For the first and the last time, she saw her perfectly formed foal fall upon the kill floor.  The foal struggled weakly, but was killed by a kill floor worker.  Just another piece of garbage and muck to be hauled to the large dumpster.

The mare cried.  Dark red tears of blood falling on his silent, tiny body.  Tears of grief, despair, death and betrayal.

In Loving Memory of all horses that have died in the slaughter houses.

Valerie Mitchell Ream Hinderlider
Dec. 12, 2008

 

THE HORSE WITH NO NAME

A  TRUE  STORY

She was a beautiful mare.  A blue roan, with a ebony main and tail.  She was well bred, her breeding showing in her fine head and exceptional confirmation.

I was called by a concerned young lady, who had seen the horse.  She had been told the owner had no intention of feeding her, and the mare and a young Appaloosa stud colt with her would more than likely starve to death.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have pasture available, he didn’t want to waste it on these two forsaken animals.  The mare was lame, and having problems getting around.  The young lady was concerned about their well being, and it was a concern well founded.

When we arrived to pick up the horses, we were appalled at the bony Appy colt.  No one seemed to know his age, but by his looks he was young.  He was terrified by human touch, but showed no aggressive behavior.  He loaded fairly easily, and I was able to gently touch him, to find he was covered in rain scald.  He was very underweight and wormy.  He had suffered some bites and kicks by a mini-stud that was kept in with him.

The pasture they were in was barren, except for the head high dried weeds you could barely walk through, then you had to be extremely careful of the sharp metal, broken glass, and barbed wire.  It was a death trap, that no animal should be exposed to.

We asked about the mare, and at first was told she was gone, given away to a girl to ride. Knowing the extent, and seeing a pictures of her injury, we knew we were being lied to. Pushing the issue, we pressured the man until he admitted the mare was in another pasture. We were terrified that she was down, and could not get up.  After some time, we could see her limping, painfully through the high weeds, garbage and debris.  It was obvious she was in great pain.  We learned on her slow trip towards us that she was not halter broke.  We had tried to get the trailer closer to help her, but the treacherous metal, cement and re-bar kept us from helping her on her painful journey.

We were told it was a recent injury and that a farrier had worked with it three weeks prior.  All of us was aghast at what we saw.  This was no 2-3 year old filly, but about a seven year old mare, and she had had the injury for sometime possibly years.  The injured leg had atrophied from lack of use,  there was no muscle.

She let a halter be put on her and with us all helping and encouraging her, she made it to the trailer.  She had soft brown eyes and loved the rubs and attention, but she would not load, no matter how hard we tried.  The exhaustion and the pain in her foot and leg from her journey must have been beyond enduring.  She began to close down and stress.  I realized she was fading.  I ran to my first aid kit and pulled out some bute to help the pain.  It seemed to help her tremendously, and she was able to load.  Once loaded she relaxed and began to eat the feed we had brought her.  Her poor hip bones were sharply evident.  What little food she had been able to find, had cost her, and could not sustain her.

Both of us rubbed her and stoked her until she began to relax.  The little stud colt, already loaded was quietly eating his hay.  The bute was working its magic and we enclosed her in a slant to help support her weight and reduce any movement on her injured foot.

Just before we left, the man who owned the stud colt, told us he wasn’t gelded, because as a man he didn’t feel right about gelding the horse.  I had never heard such an idiotic reason for refusing to geld an animal.  I hoped the mare was not pregnant, but we were quite sure that with her poor body condition, we would have noticed.  Carrying a foal to full term would have put her through hell.

I was never so happy to leave such an awful place.  I think the horses felt the same way.

Since we went through Grand Island, I called ahead to see if my vet, Dr. Brunk, could look at the poor mare.  No amount of wishing was going to change the outcome, but I needed his professional opinion.  I could see it in his face, even before he said anything.  There was no help for this beautiful girl, only the mercy of a humane passing with us beside her.

We had named the mare Brandy on the way to the vet.  It didn’t seem right that this poor girl had no name, no identity, as if she didn’t exist at all.  She did exist, and it summoned up questions about where this mare came from, of a beautiful little filly playing in the sun, running with the other horses.  A horse full of promise that turned to neglect and abuse.

John, the young lady, who went with me and had told me about the mare, and I, stood next to her, stroking her neck, soothing her as the fluid was injected into her vein.  She didn’t fight the needle at all, as if she understood.  Then without warning she whirled staring into the setting sun and crumpled to the ground.  A last goodbye.

This never gets easier.  The gruesome injury had caused the coffin bone to start to come out of the bottom of her foot.  There was no choice, but I knew this mare had been cheated of a wonderful life by humans.  How long she was in unbearable pain was just a guess, but no animal should have to endure such pain.  We had no choice but to help her pass.

Why do people let this happen, when sometimes all it would take would be a timely visit to the vet to make them whole again?  I will never understand, but do understand these people have no hearts or souls, to watch an animal in pain day after day with no attempt to help shows lack of a moral responsibility, and a lack of heart.

The horse with no name, we called Brandy.  The horse that no one cared about, was surrounded by people that did.  She did not pass alone, or die of starvation in a barren field.

There are more horses like Brandy out there.  Sometimes rescue, means a rescue from pain and suffering.  The best we can do.  However, I ask anyone, who sees a horse in pain, or need of food, or if abused, to please step forward.  They depend on us to speak for them. Are we such cowards that we expect others to come forward? If so, do it anonymously. Don’t let a horse starve, slowly to death, or go day after day in pain, because you don’t want to get involved.  Contact your nearest rescue and give them the information needed to help that poor animal.  The young woman who called me stepped forward, and though the horse could not be saved, there is solace in knowing we saved her a horrendous, and inhumane death.

 VALERIE HINDERLIDER     NOV. 2008
 

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