The Lonely Pony

The Lonely Pony

In my seventeen years as an RSPCA inspector I have seen some truly awful things. Dogs that have been beaten black and blue, cats squished into tiny metal cages, sheep that had never been sheared and were slowly being crushed to death under the weight of their own wool. Cases like that are why I chose this job, to try and improve the lives of as many animals I can. We’re the reason behind animal suffering, the effect we as human beings have on their lives is astonishing; it’s a power we do not deserve.

In my first week of the job I was called out with my partner Jeff to attend to what we thought was just another stray dog. Well the dog may have started out that way but unfortunately for him, he ran into some bored school kids. By the time we got to him, his thick brown fur was matted with dry blood, the bones in the front right shoulder were so smashed it felt like a bag of marbles, and his left eye lay severed and bleeding just a few feet away. Jeff was a sensitive lad, just as new to the job as me, it troubled him a lot that first stray dog. Witnesses had seen three teenagers run off just before we arrived, but they were never found by the police.

Just a year later I was working late with a new partner Addison, Jeff had gone back to university, he couldn’t take the kind of things we were seeing pretty much every day on the job. We were called out to a woods where three cows had been abandoned. All three were tied to the same tree; shockingly underweight, barely able to support themselves, but unable to lie down because of the length of their ropes. The effort of standing was making their legs visibly shake and they seemed dull and listless. Luckily, some condition and rest was all they needed and all three were successfully rehomed.

Sometimes media coverage shows the public just how terrible things can get in the animal world. And it shocks them, sometimes to the point where they will donate or rehome one of our rescued animals. But although the occasional rescue is deemed newsworthy, there are always worse cases that not only go unreported to the public, but unpunished too.

The worst case I have ever seen, we call it ‘The Lonely Pony’. The outrage it would have caused had it been revealed to the public. Some RSPCA inspectors who were part of it can’t bear to discuss it. Those who heard about it afterwards cried tears of shock, anger and grief. I was the first inspector on the scene; I still have nightmares to this day.

The call was from a tourist family who had wondered too far in the woods and found what they described as a small pen full of horses and mud. Addison was ill that day, so I was alone but close by so I was the first to arrive. I’ll never forget the sight that greeted me when I got out of the van. The paddock seemed to be fenced properly but it was only really large enough as a grazing area for either two small ponies or one large horse. From where I first stood I could see six horses, all lying down. Not one of them had moved at the sound of my van. I remember taking just two steps before the stench hit me like a big, brick wall. What the tourist family had assumed to be mud was actually just piles and piles of rotting waste.

With considerable effort I forced myself to move forward despite the overwhelming scent of decay and waste that attacked my senses, leaving my eyes watering. Reaching the fence I could tell immediately that the closest horse, a small chestnut, had been dead for a while. Flies buzzed round the sticky mass that had once been a head and sharp ribs were visible through the skin and hair. The combination of the smell and this sight caused me to double over as a wave of nausea hit me, who had left these horses in such a state?

I took a red handkerchief out of my pocket and tied round the bottom half of my face in an attempt to block out what I now realised to be the stench of death. I clambered over the fence and waded into the middle of the paddock, checking the bodies I found as I went. A large piebald horse lay sprawled out close to the middle; its body had not started to decay yet. It couldn’t have been dead that long but I could see several bones poking up through the skin; shock and revulsion filled me at the thought of this animal starving to death. Near by a tiny Shetland
lay curled up, head tucked onto its legs.

For a moment I felt hope spring up in my chest, this one could be alive! But as I drew closer I felt that tiny ray of hope drain slowly. The poor animal was not in as bad a condition as the others, but kneeling down I could see the headcollar it still wore was far too tight and covered in dried blood. Tears of anger filled my eyes as I looked into the Shetland’s mouth. I knew enough about teeth to know this pony could not have been more than four years old. A soft snorting sound suddenly caught my attention and I spun round looking for its source.

A thin grey pony in the far left corner caught my eye. Its head was lowered and it lay just the same as the little Shetland had, but to my delight its sides were moving slowly up and down. This little mud-covered pony was still clinging to life despite the death of its pen mates and awful conditions.

I hurried over clutching the first aid bag and quickly squatted near the ponies head. Its eyes flickered open as I touched its neck. A quick check told me it was a mare around six years old, she too wore a headcollar but this one appeared to fit properly. As I opened my bag, her head lifted and she attempted to nuzzle something in the mud next to her. Turning, I gasped in horror. A tiny chestnut foal lay scrunched up next to her, half covered in mud, its blank dead eyes staring out into nothing. Tears that I had managed to hold back so far spilled over my cheeks as I watched the mare nudge the foal. Despite her clearly exhausted state, she viewed me as a threat and was trying to protect her baby.

After a moment of grief I pulled myself together, I could still save the mare. I pulled the radio off my belt and put in a call for back-up, demanding a vet to be sent out straight away. Once I knew help was on its way a new determination filled me, I left the mare for a moment and quickly checked the remaining two horses. Both were dead, but from the looks of things neither had been that way very long. This time I could not give into the anger bubbling inside me, I needed to stay calm for the mare; I had to get her on her feet.

I carefully felt along her legs, making sure there were no breaks. Then, I gently took hold of her headcollar and tried to encourage her to stand. After several long, torturous minutes I felt her body quiver as she collected herself and slowly struggled upwards. Finally she stood, feet splayed like a young foal just learning to use her legs. Her head hung low against my chest, the effort had completely exhausted her. After just a moment she wobbled, she wanted to give up, she didn’t have the strength.

“No!” I cried loudly, rushing to her shoulder so I could support her frail body more. The sound of an engine suddenly filled my ears; they were in time, thank God! I called to my colleagues and the vet from where I stood. There was nothing else I could do, I was the only thing keeping the mare from the ground.

As people rushed around me and the small mare time seemed to speed up. The vet checked her eyes, mouth and temperature, felt her legs and listened to her heart. His face was set and I guessed he was just as appalled by the situation as I was. Within minutes he declared her to be dehydrated and severely underweight, but there was hope, as long as they could get her to the surgery in time. He’s confidence installed hope in me and my colleagues, who had been checking the bodies of the other horses.

With me still at her shoulder for support the vet encouraged her to walk forward out of her muddy prison. She did not move. The vet put more pressure on the mare’s headcollar, while making clicking noises and I pushed gently on her shoulder. Still she would not move. Worry had returned to the vets face, he instructed some of the others to gather round the mare and carefully push, he hoped the pressure from all angles would cause her to move. Nothing happened. Despair started to creep into my mind, time was crucial, we had to get the mare to move. We tried moving her legs, assuming she just felt weak and unsteady, one colleague of mine even tried treats as a temptation.

As each idea failed to make the mare moved I remembered how she had tried to protect her foal from me. Perhaps fear for herself and her baby was what prevented her from moving. I explained my theory to the vet and he told everyone apart from me to back away. I would try to encourage her to walk forward alone because I was the only the one the mare knew, plus her fear was probably intensified by the amount of people crowding round.

For ten minutes I stood at the frail mare’s head, trying everything I could to get her to move. When I paused for a moment, hoping for inspiration, her head lifted and we stared each other in the eye. A realisation hit me. She wasn’t too afraid to move, nor was she too weak. She was simply defiant. Some people don’t believe animals to be intelligent or capable of emotion. Something I had learnt in my line of work was just how wrong this view was. This was the mare’s last stand against the cruelty in her life. She knew human beings were the cause of her hurt, she only associated us with pain, is it any wonder she did not want to come with us?

I imagine this mare was once full of cheeky, stubborn character and would have been a good riding pony for children. I could see it now as she stubbornly refused to walk, whether you believe animals are capable of emotion or not, I could see the pain in her eyes.

I let go of her headcollar and stepped back, she was never going to move. Seconds passed and nothing happened. Then, slowly, her legs wobbled and she lay down heavily next to the dead foal. Her head rested against her baby’s and her eyes closed but her sides continued to move, it was as if life wouldn’t let go. The vet stepped quietly forward and administered the injection, the last and quite possibly the first act of kindness this mare had experienced.

Luckily, some justice was achieved in the case of the Lonely Pony. The owner of the land was found and successfully prosecuted, the judge gave him a lifelong ban on owning animals. It turned out he hadn’t owned a single one of the horses that died in the pen, they were all stolen. We never found the owner of the little grey mare and her foal, somewhere out there someone is still looking for their lost pony.