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What Happens To All the Pretty Horses (When They’re No Longer Wanted) – Part Two

Posted on by under animal abuse, animal activism, animal cruelty, animal rescue, animal welfare, horse rescue, horse slaughter

I will never know for sure what happened to Siri, but as the years went by and I learned more about what happens to unwanted horses in this country, I began to put two and two together as I mulled over my experience with the man in the white cowboy hat. And that’s when I came to a terrible realization – that man had likely been a “kill buyer,” someone who made his living gathering up horses from random sources and selling them to slaughterhouses. He had thought nothing of taking an unwanted pony from a gullible child. And I had willingly given Siri to him.

A kill buyer is a special kind of heartless individual whose main goal is to fill up his trailer with as many horses as he can cram inside, preferably healthy equines that will fetch the best price per pound for their meat. Scumbags like him typically frequent livestock auctions, buying mass quantities of horses at unbelievably cheap prices. Whether they’re sleek hunter jumpers, pregnant mares, draft horses, retired racehorses or innocent foals cast off by the Pregnant Mare Urine (PMU) industry (producers of the estrogen-replacement drug Premarin®), he doesn’t give a damn. His goal is to load them up, get them to the nearest slaughter plant and collect his money. So what if the horses starve, suffer or fall and break their legs during the long, stressful journey? He doesn’t care. He’s a calloused jerk.

The terrified eye of a horse headed to slaughter. Photo credit: rtfitchauthor.com

The terrified eye of a horse headed to slaughter. Photo credit: rtfitchauthor.com

I realize that people have to do all sorts of things to survive in this world, but I will never understand the mindset of a person who profits from suffering. Maybe the man in the white cowboy hat thought he was doing an important service, taking unwanted horses off of people’s hands, including mine. I’ve often wondered if he felt any twinge of guilt as he drove away with Siri, a bratty little pony who had done nothing wrong but simply end up with the wrong owner. I doubt it. He was probably just thrilled with his good fortune of stumbling upon a free, healthy pony he could turn around and sell for a bigger profit. Never mind that Siri was only 12 years old and had many years of life left in him. To him, my pony was just another way to line his pockets.

According to the USDA, approximately 92 percent of American horses that end up going to slaughter are healthy and would otherwise be able to continue leading productive lives. While horse slaughter has been illegal in the U.S. since 2007, killer buyers are still out in full force, transporting mass quantities of horses over our northern and southern borders to slaughterhouses in Canada and Mexico, which supply the horsemeat trade in Asia and the European Union. Last year alone, more than 140,000 American horses were slaughtered for human consumption in foreign countries including Japan, France, Belgium and Switzerland, where horsemeat is considered a delicacy.

Where no horse deserves to end up. Photo credit: rtfitchauthor.com

Where no horse deserves to end up. Photo credit: rtfitchauthor.com

The problem is that, as with dogs and cats, horses have become disposable. While most people consider equines companion animals rather than livestock, they are also used for entertainment, sport and financial gain, making them commodities that are only useful if they’re winning prizes or making money. And in order to create that perfect reining horse or racing champion, horses are being overbred, often indiscriminately. But if they don’t perform or race well, or aren’t born with the right color or conformation, those “surplus” animals are simply discarded, thrown out like yesterday’s trash.

As two of the biggest groups responsible for our surplus horse problem, Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred breed associations register over one million foals a year, making it no surprise that the majority of U.S. horses ending up in slaughter plants are Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds. To add insult to injury, these breed groups are often comprised of folks who would rather support horse slaughter – a convenient and profitable avenue to legally dispose of their equine rejects – rather than take personal responsibility for their animals. So these magnificent creatures, who have done nothing wrong except to grow older or not meet their performance expectations, are rewarded with terrible, inhumane deaths at the hands of foreign slaughter plants.

How many of the racing industry's

How many of the racing industry’s “losers” will end up going to slaughter? Too many! Photo credit: clockworkhare.com

Hopefully, all of that will change with the Safeguard American Food Exports (SAFE) Act, which, if passed, would prevent the transport of American horses across U.S. borders, thus keeping them out of the slaughter pipeline. One of the arguments supporting this bill is that since American horses are not raised for food and are often given a wide variety of drugs and veterinary treatments over the course of their lives, their meat poses a risk to human health. While SAFE, which was introduced on March 12, 2013, in a previous session of Congress, was sadly not enacted, it was just reintroduced last week under bi-partisan support.

So once this bill becomes law (fingers crossed), and once slaughter is no longer a convenient “dumping ground” for unscrupulous breeders and owners, what does our country do with all the unwanted horses? While there are a plethora of amazing horse rescue organizations tirelessly working to save as many homeless equines as possible, can we really rescue our way out of this problem? I doubt it.

Then there’s the option of human euthanasia. If given no other choice, most loving, responsible horse owners would rather put their horses to sleep than have them end up at a slaughter facility, right? Certainly, I would rather have had Siri put down by a veterinarian rather than give him to that poor excuse of a human being with dollar signs in his eyes. But what do you do when euthanizing one horse can cost upwards of $300-$800 and you’re stuck with a stable-full of old, chronically injured or unwanted animals no one will buy and no rescue can take?

Horses crammed together in a livestock auction holding pen. Photo credit: markamerica.com

Horses crammed together in a livestock auction holding pen. Photo credit: markamerica.com

Since I’ve been out of the horse world for many years, I figured I should get an educated perspective from someone who understands the current state of affairs when it comes to this topic. So I consulted with Darrith Russell, a long-time horsewoman and rescuer who is also the co-founder of Bearfoot Ranch, a non-profit therapeutic equestrian center and rescue facility for abused or neglected horses here in Georgia. Needless to say, I got quite a reality check.

“It’s literally a war,” Darrith said. “The recession hit us really hard and a lot of horses were misplaced, with not enough homes for all of them. I was glad to hear there were no longer slaughterhouses in the U.S., but after going through the recession and seeing what happens when there are no places for horses that are broken, old and nobody wants, it really does sort of change your mind. You start looking at it and going, ‘what’s worse, death or starvation?’ So it really has presented a problem with the horse industry and a bad one, and the ones that are suffering the worst are the animals themselves.”

She continued, “I can’t tell you how many people have called me in tears because they have this horse they’ve raised from a baby who they absolutely love, but they’ve lost their job, their home, they can’t feed the horse and they have no recourse. So you know what happens to those horses? They go to auction and from auction they might go to some breeder who buys them for a bargain and thinks they’re going to breed them and make money. So now you have crossbred horses that aren’t worth anything, basically just dog food on a hoof. Horse slaughter is sad but I have to say I’m not totally against it, I’m against the cruelty of it…that just horrifies me.”

A typical livestock auction. Which of these fine people are

A typical livestock auction. Which of these fine people are “killer buyers?” Photo credit: regardinghorses.com

While Darrith said she absolutely agrees with stopping the pipeline of American horses going to slaughter in Mexico and Canada, she does think there needs to be a more humane alternative for unwanted horses, especially for economically strapped owners who don’t have the financial resources to euthanize their expensive pets.

“Another problem is the chemicals that are used to stop a horse’s heart are not exactly environmentally friendly and make (the meat) unusable for anything else,” she said. “So what are we going to do? We can’t just be burying a bunch of horses everywhere. It would be better for us to come up with a different system for humane slaughter so that we’re not scaring the animals, so we can put them down gently and then recycle – that would be a perfect scenario. A lot of people won’t be able to do it, it’s not for everyone, but it’s a better scenario than what we’re doing right now. None of it’s good, but the thing to do is to try to have a better solution so we can do the best we can with a bad situation.”

While I may not agree with this line of thinking – I personally don’t believe there is or can be such a thing as “humane slaughter” – I respect Darrith’s views as an experienced, passionate and dedicated horsewoman and rescuer and can understand how those on the front lines of the unwanted horse predicament might have more pragmatic views. But instead of coming up with a “gentler” way of killing these animals, why not prevent the problem entirely? She couldn’t have agreed more.

“We need to do the same thing the European Union has done and register breeders,” Darrith said. “You need to have a permit to breed, so it costs you to breed and you have to be a recognized breeder or you don’t breed, period. That money would go directly to support rescue organizations, and there would be a pool of money for people to pull upon if they (need help with unwanted horses). So I think stopping the river at the source by passing legislation for breeders and limiting the amount of breeding going on would be the best place to start.”

What should be the fate of all horses - a safe retirement.

What should be the fate of all horses – a safe retirement.

As with our dog and cat overpopulation problem, irresponsible, indiscriminate breeders are indeed at the heart of this equine crisis. Ultimately, stopping this cruel cycle of abandonment, abuse and inhumane death is about holding these individuals accountable for the animals they are mass-producing and discarding at alarming levels. Like puppy mills, there is nothing humane about churning out mass quantities of animals for profit without any regard for their health, welfare or future wellbeing.

But until things change, if ever, the unwanted horse problem will persist. Too many horses will continue being born, too many will become homeless, and too many will end up on foreign dinner plates. Those industries and individuals who use and discard horses for their own gain, all while calling themselves “horse lovers,” should be ashamed.

Like dogs and cats, horses are considered companion animals deserving of humane consideration. They may play important roles as working and sporting animals, but they are not commodities and they are not bred or raised for food. Horses are living, breathing, sentient beings with a high degree of physical and emotional sensitivity and we have an ethical and social responsibility to protect them from neglect, pain and suffering. And when it’s their time, we owe it to our horses to help them leave this earth with grace and dignity. Certainly, my long lost pony deserved the same.

Forgive me, Siri, for not knowing any better, for not doing enough to protect you from what I believe may have been your terrible fate. You were a bratty, pain-in-the-butt pony, but you certainly didn’t deserve to suffer or die because of it. Had I been more aware I would have done anything to make sure you were safe, even if that meant keeping you for the rest of your life. But I don’t have a time machine, so all I can do now is try to warn other people so they don’t make the same mistake with their horses. You were a good boy and I’m sorry for my childish ignorance. Many years have passed, yet the image of you being driven away in that man’s trailer still haunts me. I can only hope that your last hours were tolerable and that your death was swift. I hope you never knew what hit you.

Photo credit: stophorseslaughter.com

Photo credit: stophorseslaughter.com

Want to help stop horse slaughter? According to The Horse Fund, you can:

  • Support organizations working to end to horse slaughter.
  • Be a responsible horse owner.
  • Sponsor a horse in a rescue or sanctuary.
  • Think before you breed. Adopt from a rescue or sanctuary instead.
  • Set up a special bank account to pay for humane euthanasia by a veterinarian and disposal of the remains.
  • Say no to Premarin® and Prempro®. Take a safe alternative that is not made with pregnant mare’s urine.

And lastly, pick up the phone and urge your U.S. Senators and Representatives to protect America’s horses by supporting the SAFE Act!

To learn more about horse slaughter and what you can do to stop it, visit the HSUS and check out their Horse Slaughter Facts page.

“People don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

What Happens To All the Pretty Horses (When They’re No Longer Wanted)? – Part One

Posted on by under animal abuse, animal activism, animal cruelty, animal rescue, animal welfare, horse rescue, horse slaughter, pet parenting, responsible pet ownership

Siri was my first pony. With a shaggy white mane, striped hooves and a blanket of roan spots covering a solid, well-muscled body, he was a handsome little devil, with fiery eyes and typical a pony demeanor that said, “I may be short, but I’m a force to be reckoned with.” He was the quintessential POA, or Pony of the Americas, a pony breed derived from Appaloosa, Arabian and Shetland pony stock. I probably fell for him not only because he was beautiful, but also because my dad said if I wanted him I could have him, right then and there. I was just a month shy of my 11th birthday and could hardly contain my joy – my lifelong dream of having my own horse was coming true!

Still, there were warning signs. Siri’s current owner, a little girl a couple of years younger than me, was afraid of him. Temperamental and stubborn, he had a charming habit of trying to run away when he realized it was time to be ridden, then running off with whoever was riding him. I was a beginning level rider, with only four months of lessons under my belt, while Siri was a wise, spirited gelding with a stallion-like attitude and a mind of his own. He was the kind of pony that behaved best under experienced hands.

But despite all that, experience told me to jump on my dad’s offer before he changed his mind. My father was a freelance studio musician, so money came and went very quickly in our household, and I had learned at a very young age to take advantage of those brief windows of opportunity whenever they presented themselves. Knowing this and blinded by the excitement of fulfilling my dream, I said yes to Siri before even taking him for a ride. Had I known better, I would have taken my time and shopped around, even if that meant waiting a little longer for my dad’s generosity to return. But I was young, impatient and couldn’t bear the thought of waiting another day to have my own horse. And that’s when I made my very first – and biggest – impulse buy.

Lot-A-Dot Siri Kid.

Lot-A-Dot Siri Kid.

Predictably, Siri and I were not a match made in heaven. Thrilled with his new, more spacious digs on our ranch, the independent pony had no interest in doing anything but grazing off by himself. The only time he seemed to show any favorable interest in me was when I was holding a feed bucket or offering him some treats. When it was time to take him back to the stable and groom him for a ride, the crafty pony would watch me appraisingly until I’d get a foot or so away, then dash away snorting, tail in the air.

For the first few weeks, I found myself chasing that damn pony around and around his half-acre paddock, tears of frustration falling from my eyes until I’d either manage to corner him or give up from exhaustion. I finally resorted to leaving his halter on at all times so he was easier to grab, but even then he’d still manage to get away from me. I even tried luring him with carrots, which would work sometimes, but soon enough he learned how to grab his treat while bolting away, crunching as he ran.

If and when I managed to get Siri to the stable and tied up for grooming and tacking up he was usually cooperative, but once I was in the saddle all bets were off. What followed usually entailed a series of well-rehearsed pony tricks designed to intimidate, frighten, and unseat me if possible, including spooking at random objects and lurching violently from side to side; stopping suddenly, spinning around and bolting off into the opposite direction, or grabbing the bit between his teeth and taking off at a full gallop, usually downhill or toward a clump of dense shrubbery. All the while I would cling on for dear life, praying that if I fell I would be able to walk away unscathed. Most of the time I did, with just a few scrapes and bruises, but it wasn’t just my body that was taking a beating.

I had hoped that with time Siri would calm down and get used to me, maybe even learn to love me, and while things did gradually improve between us, I was never able to completely trust my pony. I learned to anticipate and thwart his antics most of the time, even get tough when I had to, but I wasn’t a patient child by nature and no matter how wise and skilled I became at managing him, Siri still knew how to get the best of me. I rarely came back from our rides in a good mood, and there were times I’d get so mad at him, I’d just turn him out in the large pasture at the far end of our property and leave him there for days.

I took Siri’s bad behavior personally and because of that, I began to resent him. I knew there was no way we could return him (the little girl’s dad had made it clear they didn’t want him back under any circumstances), and even if I could find Siri a new home my father wasn’t about to shell out more money to buy me another horse. I would have to make the most of the situation and accept that I was stuck with a problem pony I was too inexperienced to handle. And so it seemed I was no closer to fulfilling my dream of having the perfect horse than I was before I’d bought him.

A year and a half later, I had outgrown Siri and was barely riding him anymore. My aunt had given me her friend’s aging Thoroughbred mare and I was completely enamored with her. Tequila was an ex-racehorse who had clearly been neglected for a while, and I found a great sense of purpose and pride in bringing her back to health. It felt wonderful to watch her bony frame become strong and well-muscled, her dull chestnut coat turn a shiny copper red. Riding her was an absolute joy, and she could run like the wind with a rocking, flowing gate that was easy to sit. With her sweet, gentle nature and calm demeanor, she was the total opposite of the spotted little hellion who still wouldn’t let me catch him if he could help it. So naturally, I wanted to spend most of my time with Tequila. But so did Siri. When I’d take his new stablemate out for a ride, leaving him behind in their shared paddock, the pony would whinny nonstop, working himself into a desperate lather and pacing the fence until our return.

My father began talking with me about finding Siri a new home. He didn’t see the point in having two horses to feed when I was only riding one of them, and Siri was too wild and unpredictable for my younger sister, who was afraid to even get near him. In many ways, I had already emotionally divorced myself from my pony, so it didn’t take much to persuade me to put him up for sale. Since the horses were my passion and hobby, my parents let me handle the transaction, thinking it would be a good experience for me. Little did I know that what could have been a positive, educational experience turned out to be one of the cruelest lessons I’d ever learn, one that still haunts me to this day.

A beautiful, clean Siri after a bath.

A beautiful, clean Siri after a bath.

I placed an ad in the local paper. Five hundred dollars wasn’t much to ask for a strong, healthy, 12-year-old pony, yet the ad went unanswered. Weeks turned into months and I was getting frustrated. The attachment between Tequila and Siri was getting stronger and becoming more of a nuisance, with the mare becoming more and more resistant in leaving her buddy behind on rides, often pulling to go home and get back to him as soon as possible. Again, the pony seemed to be an obstacle to my happiness, my fantasies of having a horse that loved me and would do anything for me, just like in the Black Stallion and Marguerite Henry novels I had read over and over. I felt I could have that magical connection with my mare, yet that bratty pony was getting in the way yet again.

The day my “Free Pony to Good Home” ad appeared in the paper, the phone rang. A man said he was calling about the ad and asked if he could come out that same day. He didn’t ask any questions about Siri, just for directions to our property. A few hours later a two-ton truck pulling a slightly dented horse trailer pulled up in front of our house and a man in a white cowboy hat jumped out. He appeared to be in a rush and was all business, opening the trailer door, asking where Siri was and could I please get him. I couldn’t help but notice that he wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

I had put Siri in the stable earlier that day so I wouldn’t have a problem catching him. For months I had dreamed of not having to deal with him anymore, yet as I led him up to the strange man waiting by the trailer, I felt apprehensive, even sad. The guy didn’t look Siri over, ask any questions, or even pet him, just took the lead rope from my hand and turned to load him in the trailer. Siri didn’t like horse trailers and tried to balk, but the man was obviously experienced with loading difficult horses and after a short struggle had him inside and tied securely.

I asked the man if he wanted Siri’s bridle and saddle but he said he didn’t need it, which surprised me. Good tack is valuable and anyone buying a horse usually expects some tack to be included. I then offered him Siri’s registration papers but he said he didn’t need them, either. He must have seen the confusion in my face because after a moment he nodded and took them anyway, reading Siri’s registered name out loud in a sarcastic voice, as if to humor me, “Lot-A-Dot Siri Kid, huh? Okay, Lot-A-Dot, let’s go.”

“He goes by Siri,” I said to the man’s back, feeling a catch in my throat. I was almost 13 years old and already had good instincts about people. I suddenly knew that giving Siri to this man was a mistake. He didn’t seem to care about anything but taking my pony away from me as quickly as he could.

The man in the white cowboy hat turned and glanced at me. He must have noticed my reddening cheeks, the look of doubt and concern on my face, and maybe he worried for a moment that I might change my mind, because after a second he winked at me and said, “he’ll be fine, don’t worry.” And with that, he jumped into his truck.

I watched the rig pull away, Siri’s thick white tail hanging over the back of the trailer door. As they headed up the driveway, through the front gate and down the road I could just make out the distinctive roan spots on his small muscled rump. Then my little spotted pony was gone forever. And standing there, looking down at Siri’s bridle in my hand, I couldn’t shake the strong feeling that I had done something very wrong. It had all happened so fast I had forgotten to ask the man any questions about where he was taking Siri or if I could visit him someday. The whole experience had left me breathless and confused.

I went into the house and tried not to think about it. I don’t remember my parents asking me how it went or telling them what had happened. I just pushed the whole experience from my mind and went on with my life. It wasn’t until many years later that I began to put the pieces together. And that’s when I realized a horrible truth.

Siri and me.

Siri and me.