They slipped in overnight to gather them up. An A Circuit Hunter Jumper, once bought for $35,000.00; several thoroughbreds whose collective winnings topped $1,000,000.00; a Friesian look-a-like with mane and tail descending ground ward; and a cream colored beauty with enormous kind eyes. The large transport had room for the six, all destined by fate to head to Texas on this cold, icy night. Some glanced at the snowbound fields as they loaded, a slow side-glance saying good-bye to all they knew. All trusted the men that loaded them, still believing in the good of all humanity with no reason not to have faith. Each carried a story with them, their tales fanned toward me by invisible wings and punctuated by angelic concern.
The enormous Hunter had won ribbons and trophies for his young owner, given of his talent to achieve her goal. One day he seemed a “little off”; a wee bit sore and his trainer took him to the vet. No fractures, but yet a soreness that caused him to pause before throwing his huge frame over the fences. His winnings slipped from first to second place and his owner was not pleased. Her fond Daddy bought her a new horse, and the young gelding was now only a liability. Not bad enough to be disposed of as an insurance claim, he could be donated to rescue for the tax write off. His owner never even said good-bye, too busy with her new toy to look up as he left. Silent, unseen downy feathers enfolded him as he stared forlornly ahead. Soft hands wiped his tears away and gentle whispers promised safety.
The thoroughbreds had run their races, won the money, earned their way for a year or two. Discarded like last year’s shoes, they had all ended in the kill pens waiting for their trip to Texas. Huddled for comfort, stared at by red-eyed men, poked at for weight estimates, not even their names had been left for them. Though stripped of their labeled halters, anonymous except for auction tags, heavenly hands reached out for them and gathered them close.
A black beauty with feathers, the Standardbred masquerading as a Friesian had faced an uncertain fate. Either meat, or slavery to a whip wielding teenage buggy racer with future slaughter a certainty. Ex-trotters were a dime a dozen, and he had been too gentle to compete. Standing in the auction, he had awaited his fate with silent terror, too proud to voice his horror. An angel passing by heard his silent screams and reached loving arms toward him. Sheltered by her love, he stood silent and waited.
Cream so rich it glistened, colored the coat of the other. A lover of all small creatures, he shook in disbelief as he stood in the kill pen. The men around had cold, small eyes and kept forcing more into the pen with him. Stricken into immobility; he could be mistaken for a da Vinci carving unless one saw the crystal tears flowing from his eyes. Gentle fingers proffered a caress as silver tipped wings pulsed behind. An angel had come to augment his strength; he straightened up and stood proud beside her.
Two trucks left for Texas last night, one full of pain and misery; the other hope. The six had been chosen by uncaring fate to be on the one headed to slaughter. Only the beat of invisible wings stood as a barrier. Animated by love, motivated by heaven, moved by compassion, an angel intervened. Kelly Young from Lost and Found Horse Rescue gathered them safe and put them on the other truck, the one headed here. With deep gratitude and quiet contentment, I await the gift of an angel.
© Carol M Chapman
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