I have thought long and hard about how I should write this and
even, if I should write this. Time and time again though, I am brought back to
the same place. A place of severe discomfort at the thought of so many horses,
dogs, cats and other animals being put to sleep up and down the country on a
daily basis. The wilful euthanasia of an animal that cannot speak for itself
can’t be right. Or can it?
I will speak from the side of the horse as this is the area
in which I have the greatest experience and quite some experience it is. These
magnificent beasts, charges of our battles, lifeblood of our industrial
heritage are being put to sleep left right and centre and many of them are
perfectly healthy animals that ask for nothing more than basic roughage,
clean water and the occasional visit from a farrier and dentist. Horses give
themselves to us unlike any other animal I have known in my 37 years on
this earth. It is not the meeting of minds like man and dog, two predators,
united through time and convenience. A horse is a prey animal. They are
pre-wired to be flight animals, running from fear and danger and yet, they
fully embrace the companionship of mankind, arguably, the most successful
predator to share the earth's many soils.
It is a unique and complex relationship that is present
between man and horse. We have so many methods of training, so many ways to
bend them to our will or encourage them to comply with the aspirations of our
imagination and they forgive us everything. Even a person who has never enjoyed
the sensation of a half a tonne animal breathing warm air gently against their
cheek will have seen the images that haunt us horse lovers. Nobody can escape
pictures of overworked pack horses in charity adverts or appalling scenes of cruelty
accompanying animal neglect headlines. It is all around us, every day. Wherever
you are now, reading this on your morning commute, or about to turn the page
because you don’t want to read something sad in your short moment of peace and
quiet, there is an animal very close by, suffering. It is not something we can
get away from. There is no escape. We are a nation of animal lovers, but where
is all the love?
I have love. Love for my family, love for my four beautiful
dogs and love for all of the horses and other animals that I have been blessed
enough to share my life with. I have so much love in fact, that I would rather
feel the pain and grief of having one of my beloved animals put to sleep than
subject it to a life of uncertainty. Almost every day now, I am asked how I can
support the killing of animals over the re-homing of them, but it is really not
that cut and dry. I support the euthanasia of healthy horses that could
otherwise go on to suffer and this is a view largely supported by the equestrian
community. There are of course horse owners and lovers that would vehemently
oppose my views, but what I find most concerning is that the vast majority of
the Great British public have very little idea of the realities that befall
unwanted horses nowadays. What have horses got to do with you, reading this? I
don’t know. Perhaps you have horses, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you love them
or perhaps you see them as an annoyance on the roads, slowing you down on your
daily rush to get somewhere. Perhaps you can imagine, for the sake of this
article, that the horse represents all unwanted animals in the UK. What are we
to do with them? So I ask you now, for just a short while more, to continue
reading this article and form your own opinion. Why is that important? Because
surely, to ignore the plight of our countries unwanted animals is to ignore our
own morality.
Before I discuss my personal reasons for supporting the
humane euthanasia of many of the UK’s unwanted horses, I want to paint a
picture for you, in order that you better understand my knowledge and
experience. I want you to understand how my life to date has shaped my desire
to put the animal ahead of my own emotions, desires, wants and needs.
It started when I was only a young girl. Still in junior school
and able to be around horses due to the apparent total lack in those days, over
30 years ago, of any form of health and safety. We were, even as young children
allowed to work for rides at the local riding centres, paying for a proper
lesson once a week which mainly consisted of us doing our own thing. For the
rest of our weekends and many after school days, we were simply rewarded with
rides in return for shovelling the proverbial and doing the hard labour,
cleaning up after these big, beautiful beasts that had entranced us into a
state of near slavery. One of these riding schools took on a little pony one
day. He was only just 3 at the time and had come down off the Cambrian Mountains.
From what we knew, he was sold to an inexperienced family and his new owner, a
young girl, ended up injured, so he found himself in a riding school, with one
chance at life.
He failed, miserably. His name was Mischief and my days, he
lived up to it. My sister and I were regularly, three or ten times a day,
bucked off this little wannabe rodeo bronc, but each and every time, we dusted
ourselves off, got back on and started all over again. My sister, older than
me, was always the slightly better rider. More refined and skilled than me. My
talent lay in the ability to bounce well and get back on, regardless of any
pain or the size of the horse in question. I even broke my pelvis at some time
between the age of 5 and 12, yet I carried on, unaware of this until, at the
age of 34, I suffered my first really bad fall. My youngster reared, not a very
big rear, but enough that her immature frame and lack of muscle could not
enable her to correct herself and she fell over backwards, using me as a nice
soft cushion between her 550kgs and the tarmac beneath me. The MRI showed a not
insignificant break to my pelvis and the consultant was flabbergasted when I
could not recall a single day as a child where I was not up and about, riding,
going to school, walking the dog and spitting on pavements so I could play
noughts and crosses with a stone for a pencil. It’s fair to say, I was a hardy
kid when it came to horses and Mischief, for all of his trying, never dissuaded
me.
I will never forget the day that this beautiful little Welsh
Mountain Pony, with his mane that would have made the Wild Woman of Borneo look
salon perfect and his little pink muzzle that was so adept at liberating
carrots and polo’s from loose pockets, was due to be taken by the knackerman.
You see, riding schools are not cheap to run. Horses are not cheap to keep and
when you put the two together, you need to have horses that are safe for people
to get on. Mischief was not such a pony. He was in fact, the polar opposite and
so he had no worth to the riding school and it would have been more expensive
and potentially dangerous to try and sell him on than to just sell him for
meat. £450 pounds was what the owners of the riding school wanted for him if he
were to be saved and that was no drop in the ocean back then. We lived a
comfortable life, but my parents are two of the most balanced and responsible
people I know and they understood that it was not just the initial cost of
purchase that warranted consideration, but also the ongoing cost of a ponies
keep. My sister and I begged and pleaded for days and days. We cried ourselves
to sleep at night, having been the only people to have really bothered with
this little demon bronc. The idea of him being killed was too much for us to
bear. I remember with astonishing clarity, getting home from school one day,
dumping my bag and walking into the living room to find my dad standing there.
My dad worked almost a two hour each way commute from home, often going
overseas for weeks at a time in order to afford us the comfort of a nice home
and the fuel to ferry us to the yard every day. Him being home so early in the
day surely could not be a good thing, could it? Well, when he turned and told me
that Mischief was ours, that he had been to the stables and paid for him that
day, I ran across that room and leapt up to hug him like letting go would have
meant the end of the world. I couldn’t let go and I couldn’t stop crying tears
of relief and joy. I was, for I think the first time in my life, overwhelmed
with emotion.
We moved Mischief closer to home not long after buying him
and my sister and I would make the daily trip to see him. It was about two and
half miles away, but as a child, going to see our own pony, it was akin to
walking from the living room to the loo. It was nothing, on foot or by bicycle,
we did it gladly. Our blissful ignorance was permanently shattered one
afternoon though. We often walked through an industrial estate that had a
couple of fields, home to a few podgy ponies. We would give them a little fuss
as we went through normally, but this one afternoon, a good few days since we
had last walked that way, the little chestnut gelding was lying down and not
looking good. We tried to help him up, but he didn’t want to move. Even then,
as young girls, we knew it was serious and we went back home to tell our
parents. A call to the RSPCA and some door knocking later and we had managed to
get the pony up and safe, into an old farrier’s stable that was not too far
from the field. Little had we realised amidst the freedom of our former
blissful ignorance, that these ponies had all been neglected. Sure, they had
someone going to top up their water and give them hay occasionally, but that
was it. The ponies had been getting no other form of care and this poor little
chestnut had come down with a chronic case of laminitis. Laminitis is well
known of within the confines of the equestrian world, but not so for the
non-horsey of society. Perhaps you have seen notices on the gates of fields
asking you to please not feed the horses? This isn’t an owner being mean or
trying to ruin your fun, it is most likely because the horses are prone to
laminitis, which means, even small amounts of lush green grass or treats can
prove fatal if not managed.
So here we were with this beautiful pony, making him a huge comfy
bed with the nicest straw in the barn, soaking his hay and filling his water
buckets and waiting for the people from the RSPCA to tell us he would be fine. They didn’t. They told us he would be lucky to make it through the
night and they were right. Make it through the night he could not. Instead, at
some ungodly hour the following morning, my sister and I went to check on the
pony, only to find that he had bled out and died in our absence. We were
distraught, but determined and we, even at that age wanted to take
responsibility for the horse and we cleaned out the stable, as upsetting as it
was. In the years since, when I have retold the story, people have questioned
the decision by our father to let us get involved and end up so upset, but I am
eternally grateful to my father for doing what he did and allowing us that
freedom. We learned a very valuable lesson that day about what exactly can
happen to animals that are not properly cared for. We were never exposed to
anything we couldn’t cope with and what it did for us as we have grown into
adults could not have been replaced by stories. That pony died an agonising death.
The only comfort I have is the knowledge that at least the last few people he
had contact with showed him the love he had been so desperately missing.
More recently, the horse that I had cared for over four
years, a big beautiful ex racehorse called Fly fractured her leg in the field.
My mum was with me when we walked into the field to find her unable to walk and
holding her leg off the ground. I had not even looked directly at the affected
leg and I knew deep down that it was extremely serious and that the most likely
outcome would be that I would have to have her put to sleep. I couldn’t speak.
My mum, knowing me better than probably anyone else in my life, knew to do
nothing but just be there. Even she, with no real interest in horses despite
all the horses my sister and I knew through our lives, was affected by the
sight of this big, powerful animal, unable to do something so simple as walk.
The vet came, the prognosis was clear and the decision was made. My partner was
amazing, coming to help me on the day that Fly was put to sleep and I will
forever regret that I hadn't told him to look away. I have been
present many, many times over the years as horses have been put to sleep, be it
by injection or free bullet and it is never a pleasant thing to witness. When
it was Fly’s day, I was in a state of utter shock. Hardly able to believe that
it was all happening and that I was about to lose my baby girl. She had a
bandage on so big that the joint was immobilised and her pain relief was so
high that she could feel little discomfort. She just stood there, head in my
arms as she usually would, just enjoying the touch of my hand and the sound of
my voice. She didn’t know what was coming and I didn’t let on. It was not a
time for me to cry because I didn’t want her to feel my pain and horses really
do feel our emotions. There’s a very old saying that a horse is like a mirror to your soul and it
is so very true. You can’t hide anything from a horse, they pick up on it all
and I was determined that day, not to let her know that anything bad was going
to happen.
I held her gently as the vet gave her the injection and it was all
so peaceful for a few very brief seconds. Then she went down. A 600kg horse
going down so quickly literally makes the ground shake and such was the force
with which she fell that she actually rolled over as well. I looked to my
partner who was holding a little pony that was Fly’s companion and his face
will haunt me for all of my days. It is so very unnatural to bear witness to
the final falling down of such an impressive and magnificent animal that it
shook him to the core. My focus then however, was on Fly. The vet was
wonderful and knew instantly that this was not my first time at the rodeo and
so she abandoned the standard routine of staying with the horse until vital
signs were extinguished, instead, leaving Fly and me alone to have our final
moments together. I talked to her as she gently took her last breaths and I
stroked her face, just how she liked it until she no longer showed any response
to my reflex tests. She had gone. Two days earlier, she had been in the prime
of her life, 12 years old and enjoying the blissful surroundings of the
Gloucestershire countryside and now here she was, extinct.
I was lucky. Most people in my life have an understanding of
what it truly means to put our animals first and so I was not subjected to
hateful comments or pleas to keep her alive and I am very grateful for that.
Not everyone is that fortunate though. For many, making these heart breaking
decisions is only met with vilification and guilt trips. I regularly speak with
people having to make this very difficult decision and on top of the pain they
are already going through, they are subjected to people who think they are
being cruel. People, sometimes their own partners, arguing with them not to
do it and saying that there is no justification for killing a horse. My heart goes
out to the people who have to come up against this kind of reaction, because it
is emotion based on ideals, not on fact and reality.
I have the conversation
about humane euthanasia a lot and what I hear most often is that it would be
much kinder to the horse to just give it to charity or re-home it, even for
free. On the surface, they seem like perfectly plausible solutions, but the
reality is so very different. We are now faced with a situation that sees
thousands of unwanted horses across the country. Horse related social media
pages are littered with adverts for horses, “free to a good home, must be gone
by the weekend or will be put to sleep”. These adverts make my heart sink. From
time to time we read stories in newspapers about a hero, saving ponies from the
meat man at sales, buying them up for as little as £10 each and taking them
home. These stories say how the ponies have been rescued from death and put the
so called rescuers up on pedestals to be applauded for their efforts. Have you
ever stopped to wonder what then happens to these horses and ponies when the
rescuer gets too many to cope with? The grass runs out, the money runs out and
they are overstocked and overwhelmed? In many cases, these ponies end up in a
worse situation than they were “saved” from. Had they indeed been sold to the
meat man, they would have had a humane and swift end to their life. Instead, by
being rescued, they end up in poor conditions, without the correct care, in
some cases dying of starvation. How is that right? Should just anyone be able
to go and “rescue” these ponies and be allowed to slip away into silence after
they have lapped up the applause of a few headlines? Should it not be that the
horses and ponies welfare remains the most important part of the equation? Of
course some rescuers are fantastic and deserving of our support, but many of
them simply fail.
What about those free to good home horses? Are they any
better off? Sometimes they are. Some of them end up being loved and cared for
until the end. But do you think that there are enough willing and experienced
homes, with the funds to support what are often injured, ill or old horses to
take them all in? Of course there are not. Horses are not easy animals to care
for. Something as simple as feeding them a little too soon after exercise or a
neighbour giving them grass cuttings can see them die within hours. They
require a great deal of knowledge and a huge amount of money to care for
properly. Even if you are lucky enough to have your own land and stables, you
still have to fork our huge sums of money on feeds, farriers, dentists and
sometimes physiotherapists to keep them healthy. That’s not even getting
started on insurance, equipment and vet fees, which, with horses, are always
high. A horse should never be taken on lightly and the bare fact is that there
are not enough safe and experienced homes available to house all of the
unwanted horses in this country.
However, there are always people ready to make
a quick profit at the expense of an animal. There are dealers that will give a
horse drugs to mask lameness or behavioural issues in order to make a quick
sale. Why should those dealers go to the expense of buying a horse, when they
can just scour social media, looking for those that are being given away? All
it takes is the promise of a forever home and people, usually in desperate
situations, give away their horses, losing all control over what will then
happen to them.
I applaud the owners that re-home responsibly and I would
never condemn a person for taking on a free horse that does so with honest
intentions and that can care for the horse properly. I think it is absolutely
worth trying to find a good home for every horse, but the reality is that there
are simply not enough homes available and there are many horses that end up in
the wrong hands. If you wonder what is so bad about a bad dealer drugging a
horse to make a sale, think not only of the horse, but also the people who buy
it. A dream is coming true when a person tries out a horse and falls in love
with it. Some people are sensible and get a horse vetted where bloods are
taken, but these bloods are not tested unless asked for and many people don’t
know that. So the vet passes the horse as fit and the new owners hand over the
cash and take the horse home. If they are lucky, when the drugs wear off, they
have bought themselves a lame horse that will cost them a fortune and what if the horse can never recover? Possibly
these people will be responsible enough to make that hard decision to put the
horse to sleep rather than pass it on to another home, but maybe they won’t.
Maybe they’ll take it back to the dealer who will do the same thing, over and
over again until the horse literally breaks down. Yes, that is the lucky buyer, they are unlikely to get hurt
.
The unlucky horse is the one that has some sort of behavioural issue. Perfectly
safe when drugged up, but when in its new home with its new owners and the
drugs wear off, reverts to its natural state. This is when people can get hurt
or even killed. Horses are very big and very strong and it doesn’t take much
for them to seriously hurt or kill a person. A dangerous horse should not be in
the hands of anyone bar the very highly skilled and experienced. What happens
to these horses? I can tell you that a lot of them get beaten. Rescue centres
up and down the country house horses and ponies that have been beaten to within
an inch of their lives. It happens. It isn’t just stories or the occasional
exception. It is real and it happens. Another alternative is that people just
give up. Give up and leave the horses in a field or stable and never go back.
Again, this happens. The welfare charities go out to cases like this every
single day, up and down the country and all of these abandoned horses and
ponies belong to someone who chose to leave them and neglect them. Perhaps they will just be sent back to the dealer as well, setting the cycle in motion again, each time increasing the risk to horse and human.
So, my reason for writing this isn’t to say that we can’t
try and save some of the horses, but that we simply cannot save them all. I
would like to ask you to really think about what I have written and ask
yourself if a humane, peaceful end to a life is really that bad when the
alternative is a future that is at best uncertain and at worst, unthinkable.
We can’t bury our heads in the sand. We can’t pretend this
isn’t happening. It is happening right now, in every part of the country and in
every part of society. It’s not just horses either. I see free to good home
adverts for dogs and cats as well. They have a better chance at finding good
homes than horses do, but there are still massive issues with overcrowded
rescue centres being constantly filled up with the results of back yard
breeding producing too many poorly bred animals.
Please, if you are thinking of giving your horse away
because you can’t face having it put to sleep, just stop and ask yourself what
future you want for that horse. A future that is guaranteed to be free from
pain, or one where the horse could end up anywhere, in any state, where you
can’t do a thing to help it? If you really want to avoid putting your horse to
sleep, at least do your best to get references for any new home, check it out
thoroughly or better still, use a re-homing charity. If you know a friend or
loved one making this decision and having their beloved horse or other animal
put to sleep, try not to burden them with guilt or plead with them to change
their minds. As I have explained, there are good homes out there and wonderful
people for taking some horses on, but they are few and far between and the fate
of the unlucky horses is surely too horrible to take a chance on when a good
home can’t be found? We, as a nation of animal lovers must take responsibility
now and not allow the thousands of unwanted animals to suffer because we can’t
face making the tough decisions.
Please don’t condemn the decision to put these horses to
sleep. There really are worse fates than a premature end to life.