03/01/2023
Imagine you are 80 years old.
Your family is gone… either they died, or left for other interests. You kept yourself in shape, but even so, your back is sore all the time, and you try to pretend otherwise but your sight, hearing, and comprehension are all fading, too. Your caregiver loads you in the car one day, and drives to a strange city, and gets you out of the car and into a tall grey building. There is bustling inside, the activity of a business in full swing, and off to one side, a row of chairs, where other seniors sit, listless, vague. You get nervous, but are instructed to a chair, where you sit and try to smile at the clerk, who does not meet your eyes. Your caregiver goes through a door, muffled sounds, papers signed, and without a word, they are gone. You sit and wait. And wait, as anxiety rises and you realize you have soiled yourself, and you don’t have your pills, and wasn’t one due an hour ago? As the sun sets, a van pulls up, and a brisk team in white outfits begins getting everyone to their feet and shuffling them out the door. One has a clipboard as they review who is being dropped off where. You try to speak up, “Excuse me, there must be some mistake…”, but your arm is supported to stand you up. ”I need to go home”, you sputter, “I have a home and a family!”. One of the aids pauses to gaze at you, and you detect some pity behind the brusque response, “not anymore”. And it sinks in. Head reeling, without out so much as your overnight bag, or medical instructions, or even proof of your name, you slowly climb into the bus.
This is the experience of every old horse dumped at auction. Stripped of their history, their dignity, their sense of worth, they know they have been abandoned. If they knew it was for just a few dollars, a rage might fill them, but usually they are far too heart shattered, and an equine brain does not process that way. They are spared full knowledge of the cruelty of men.
Many of these horses endure a holding pen, then a crowded ride out of the country, where they are slaughtered for consumption. A few, a very few, are rescued.
Our boy Bailey is one such senior horse. We don’t even know what his name was, or who owned him, or how he spent his years, so we must piece it together clue by clue. And now, after four months, his depression is lifting. His worried eyes are relaxing…just a bit. We are working to restore what health and happiness for him that we are able. It appears he did not have dental care, and was locked up for long periods, and was ridden. So. Much. Damage. And likely, the former owner proclaimed to love horses.
We can’t save them all. We can share their stories, so maybe a few owners will rethink their decisions. Because despite whatever care or lack of it you have provided, that horse loved you.
Now Bailey is at Rosemary Farm Sanctuary where we hope to convince him that it’s ok to believe again, and change the end of his story. It can take a long time to get over wanting to die when the one you love left you for just that.
