All new, fresh, creative and innovative, the New Year lies before us like a field of endless possibilities.
Let us commit to loving ourselves more, (because world peace starts with self) to not just tolerate our families but respect them for who and where they are... right now. Because everyone probably is doing the best they can in the moment. Let us celebrate our neighbor's diversity without fear or ignorance, while we reach out to those who are in need and express a kind word, to friends and strangers alike, and please please allow us to see animals as the incredible beings that they are.
I was saddened to learn that horses may once again be slaughtered to be sold for food in foreign countries. Horses have been the most abused animals of all, even though their gifts to man allowed for a huge leap in human evolution.
Their exploitation in racing sports, as transportation in many third world countries and the abject abuse of pregnant mares and their foals, so that millions of women can ingest mare urine as a means of hormone replacement therapy is cruel and unnecessary.
Emma stood in the rain at the edge of the creek that was wild with fast water. Typical for February, it frothed with mud the color of coffee and cream. She looked west to the Serpentine Mountains. Snowmelt flowed down through the narrow canyon and braided its way into the wide, rocky creek bed. She was waiting for Briar, who was bringing the promarin mare any time now. Yesterday Emma and Cat had cleaned out the other stall in Mav’s little barn. She’d gone to the feed store and bought vitamins and supplements for the pregnant horse. She knew Mav would be glad for the company.
The rain let up to a slight drizzle as she walked back towards the pasture and corral area. The bay gelding was standing quietly. She moved against him, scratching behind his ear; his eyes closed and his lower lip twitched loosely.
"You’re going to have a friend," she told him, "won’t that be nice?" He seemed to listen to her, his large brown eyes opening wide as she spoke. "This horse has had a rough time, not spoiled rotten like you, huh, big boy? We’ll give her and her foal some shelter for a while, okay?" She realized then that she could have just as well been talking about Cat and her situation. The horse and foal would take care of themselves, but Cat—that was going to be more complicated, especially with the fiery attitude the girl had shown of late. And then there was Liam and Midnight; what would they think? And how would Cat feel, knowing that the son of one of Emma’s best friends was involved in the rape? The enormity of her commitment to the girl overwhelmed her.
Dark purple clouds boiled overhead as she walked to the corral. She saw Briar’s truck and trailer coming down the road. Mav ran to the fence and whinnied as Briar pulled into the turnaround. Briar stepped down from her truck slowly.
"Finally a break in the weather, huh?" She seemed unsteady on her feet.
"Yes, finally, everything is drenched. I checked Mav for rain rot on his back, but he seems alright. How are you?"
"I’m okay, just really nauseous from the chemo. My friend Marlene didn’t show up until after eleven; guess there was flooding along the interstates." She unlatched the doors of the trailer and Mav called again. This time the mare answered him as she backed out. She stood bewildered, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was pathetic, a large dull brown horse with patches of hair missing, almost 100 pounds underweight. Her ribs jutted from under loose skin, and her hipbones stuck up at sharp angles. Her pregnant belly hung down, as if stretching all of her skin with its gravity.
"Oh, God!" said Emma, "poor thing."
"I know. We unloaded her in the dark, but when I got a good look at her this morning, I was shocked. It’s amazing she still has the foal."
"When is she due?" asked Emma, reaching out to the horse, letting it smell her hand.
"As far as they can figure, sometime in May."
Mav was beside himself, running the length of the fence and calling to the mare. "Okay, okay, let’s see how you two get along." Emma opened the gate as Briar led the mare into the corral. "I’m going to leave the halter on her, just in case," she said, unclipping the lead rope. The mare immediately kicked her hind legs at Mav, warning him not to come too close. He snorted and backed off, taking her in.
The contrast was pitiful. Even at twenty years old, Mav’s shining red coat and the quick flick of his tail radiated health, while the mare had such a low life-force, not just in her body but in her eyes as well.
"What’s her name?" Emma asked.
"Candy; here’s her record," said Briar, getting a manila envelope out of the truck. "Candy Barr, approximately ten years. She’s been at the factory in Canada for five years. Before that it looks like she had one, two, three different owners. This will be her sixth foal. No wonder she’s in such bad shape."
"What are those scars on her withers?"
"From what I understand, the mares are cross-tied with some kind of strap over their withers to keep them in place. The scars must be where the harness rubbed her. Like I told you, these mares are hooked up to catheters twenty-four hours a day. The factory farms are huge, housing maybe five hundred mares at a time. It’s a thriving business, as you can imagine, with women all around the world on estrogen therapy. The drug companies are cleaning up, and here is the end product," said Briar sighing, pointing to the mare who now just stood off to one side, head down. "They kill their foals as soon as they’re born. After four or five babies, they kill the mares too. My friend Marlene knows a rescue group up there, and sometimes they can get a few of the mares out."
"I wonder if women would take the drug if they knew," wondered Emma out loud. "Well, I haven’t fed Mav yet; let’s give them a nice flake." It began to sprinkle, but Emma and Briar stood by the fence watching the two horses eat.
"So you’re having a lot of nausea?"
"Yeah, I just feel like shit most of the time. I’ll have the chemo and just start to recover, and then I’ve got to go again the next week. I’m not complaining; I know I’ve got to do this…I’m just so tired."
"I know, honey," said Emma, putting her arm around her. "It’s awful, but it will end. Have you seen the oncologist, heard any reports on your progress?"
"Not until week after next," Briar sighed. "I’m gonna go home and go back to bed. Thanks for fostering Candy, and I’ll help out as much as I can. Dr. Alice will come check her out next week, and Harry will trim her feet soon. Mav looks happy."
The two horses were eating from the same pile of hay. Emma saw a ripple under the skin of the mare’s belly. "Look at that!" she said, "what do you think? A little foot, maybe?"
"Maybe," said Briar, getting into the truck.
"Briar, you’re coming for lunch Friday, right? Everybody is; we’ve all got cabin fever. It’s potluck, but don’t you worry about bringing anything. Take care and rest, alright?" Briar nodded and pulled herself up into the truck.
Emma turned and left the two horses in the corral. It had started to pour again; she pulled her hood closer around her face as she walked through the pasture. Back at the creek she squatted down, spread her hand over a round stone, and picked it up. She rose and aimed. The rock spun into the air and landed with a splash. She threw another and then another. Something about throwing the rocks into the dark water and knowing they were being carried away made her feel better.
"The measure of a culture's humanity and conscienceness is based on how they treat their animals."
Peace be with you,
Melinda
