Why can't we save all the horses?

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.