Refuge Farms (www.refugefarms.org)

One day this past fall when the flurry of media was first discovering Refuge Farms, a long-time volunteer chided me that “maybe this is why you do this – to get on tv!” I accepted the comment as razzing and humor. Sincerely, I hoped it was intended that way. My response was poor. I said something to the effect that there were much simpler, less labor intensive ways to get on television than to rescue horses. So obviously that wasn’t the reason for my rescue efforts. I even added a laugh to bring humor to the moment.

Last evening, I had the privilege of being the guest speaker at the Annual Meeting of the Bit ‘n Spur Saddle Club based out of Eau Claire, WI. I came to the event with my laptop and my stories and my newsletters and the borrowed LCD projector ready for what I anticipated to be a “normal” presentation. Little did I know how deeply this evening would impact me......

I spent a bit of time setting up the equipment and connecting the mass of wires. Setting up the screen and adjusting the height. Trying to get a focus. Even pre-screening the photos I would be presenting with the club president to insure my photos were not too graphic for the audience. It was then that I began to truly see and soak in my surroundings. It was then that I realized that this would not be a “normal” presentation.

In this room there were forty people, I would guess. Some as young as toddlers. Some as experienced as in their 80’s. But all of these people loved and appreciated the horse. I knew I had an audience here unlike the local club or society that I typically present to. I knew I had people here who would understand my worries. I knew I had people here who would take on some of the worries that plague me. The worries of the unwanted horse.

Dinner was potluck and I was thrilled. Deviled eggs! My dinner was three meatballs, two deviled eggs and some carrots. I wanted to take the entire platter of deviled eggs and run in to the restroom to devour them, but I found the self-restraint to only take two - the largest two.

After dinner there was a brief meeting and then I was introduced. I began by explaining my observations of this club. This club had history. The land owned by the club was 40 pristine acres and the building on the property was built in the 1940’s. A log structure with the most massive of stone fireplaces that I have ever seen. The building needed repairs and restoration and the discussion was everywhere. Do we invest money we don’t have in this building to retain our history? Do we replace the building for a more functional structure? What about a barn? How do we make use of this asset of ours in order to support our goals of riding and showing for all ages? Who will maintain the grounds and where will that money come from? And how do we do all of this work while still having time for the enjoyment of our horses?

I found myself identifying with this club. I knew each and every question intimately. I felt strangely comforted that the answers were evasive for them, too. But I saw that we both were continuing forward because we had to. We had no choice. It was in our DNA to continue. Collapse and defeat were not options for either of us.

The first picture was one of “magic” here at THE FARM - Slim with the nine year old girl touching his face. The girl who ran in to her house screaming if a butterfly came near her. The girl afraid of animals. Standing and stroking the head of the 20+ hand big Belgian. The horse whose mouth had been beaten with a lead pipe until his jaw and teeth were so mangled he could not even drink water to survive. Magic. That’s the only was to explain these two. Pure and simple magic.

The next picture wasn’t so pretty. Trempealeau. Then Spirit. Then Hannah’s feet. Then baby April. Then Big Guy's scars. Then Handsome’s eye.

From the first word, I had abandoned my intended script and spoke purely from my heart. I talked about people who weren’t mean people. Just overwhelmed people. Or inexperienced people. Or people who had been taught by the wrong kind of teacher. Or people who were too busy. Or under pressures we cannot even imagine. People like all of us with horses who had issues. Issues that these people did not have the know-how or the patience or the time or the money to deal with. And so the issues grew. Some exploded in to rage. Others just festered in to cancerous tumors. But the issues continued even though the human did their best to ignore the issue and ignore the horse.

Then I spoke to them face to face. Looking them right in the eyes. And pleaded that this group become involved with the plight of the unwanted horse in Wisconsin. Put pressure on the Wisconsin State Horse Council to at least recognize their plight! Put pressure on the county boards to sub-contract Humane Officers! Put pressure on the law enforcement leaders to enforce the laws already on the books! Become engaged and use the power you have as a group! Help the horses standing out there just waiting…..

And from out of nowhere, I verbalized for the first time what should have been my response to the volunteer who chided me that “maybe this is why you do this – to get on tv!” This is what should have been my response. I should have told her about the old horse who comes to bed with me each night....

“People ask me why do you rescue? What is it that drives you to rescue? Why do you do this when it is obviously physically and emotionally and financially so consuming? Why not just take care of your horses and be happy with that? Why have you let this rescue business take over your life? Shorten your life?

My answer is simple: I rescue because each night when I go to bed, I still see him. The old horse…..

He is looking old on the outside although he really isn’t that old. Eleven or twelve or so. Really not an old horse. Just aged beyond his years. His life has been anything but easy.

He is standing with his butt to the north winds and using a poplar tree truck for a wind break. It’s the best he can find. The poplar is maybe eight inches across, but it at least gives him the sense that there is something to break that brutal north wind as it attacks him and attempts to freeze his flesh.

He has been standing in this spot for quite some time now. The packed snow around his feet tells the story of time and his body. The red tinged urine stains are on the ground under him. Signs that his kidneys are failing. His hind quarters are streaked and coated with frozen, runny manure. Signs that his liver is failing. His coat is blotchy and iced over from the recent freezing rains and snows. His belly is large from worms and the final stages of starvation. His mane is sparse and his eyes are becoming cloudy. Signs that his body is eating itself to survive. His head is hanging low because it is easier for him to breath that way. Signs that his lungs are filling with fluid.

He dozes a bit but awakes with a start. Always on the guard for dog packs or coyotes or even the random pair of wolves. This past brutally cold week has had him on full guard and giving his all – every last ounce of energy and will that he could muster! – to fight the freezing temperatures and the deathly winds. The worst of the cold has finally passed and it is actually a bit calm with the temperature around zero. The horse thinks that maybe he can relax a bit now. Maybe he can let his guard down a bit....

The thought of laying down comes in to his mind. His mind stays there for a moment and he thinks of how relieved his legs would be to have no weight on them. He thinks of how soft the snow would feel. He thinks of how glorious it would be to actually allow himself to sleep. Just for a moment. To let go and not be on guard anymore. Just for a moment.... Just to sleep....

Then he fights and through a will of pure steel brings himself back to reality again. No, he must not lay down! Relief will need to wait. This horse knows. He knows that if he lays down he will never, ever get up again. Laying down would bring the relief but so it will also bring the end. And his will to live is still strong within him. Strong because he has hope. A shred of hope is left in this old, dying horse.

Hope that someone will come. Someone will come around that corner in front of him and come to take him to a barn where there will be water and shelter and maybe a bit of grassy hay. Someone will come, he hopes. He knows he could find the strength in his legs to walk again. He would certainly do his best to try! If only someone would come. If only someone would remember him. If only someone would brave the cold to come and get him.

And so he endures yet another night of cold and unrest and pain and guts that won’t calm down. He endures the hurting head and the throat that is swelling. He endures the cramps and the pain of urinating. He endures the numbness of the cold and the muscle cramps in his chest and flanks. He endures because he has hope. Hope that someone will come.

Why do I rescue? I rescue because each night when I go to bed, I still see him. He comes to bed with me as I lay down myself. I shut my eyes and ask for his forgiveness that I have not yet come for him. That I have left him waiting. I pray that he lays down soon and allows the rest to come. There aren't enough of us to find him, I'm afraid. Again, I ask for his forgiveness and understanding.

Until I no longer see him - until he no longer comes to bed with me each night - I will rescue.”

My presentation was over. I left them as I leave you - hoping the old horse comes to bed with you tonight, too.

May this day be filled with hope,
Sandy and The Old, Dying Horse