One phone call, £200, and there I was. I stood in the road with a little pony that was shaking with fear. How did it come to this? Had I bitten off too much this time? I try to rescue and rehabilitate horses, but this pony was strong. The fear was holding her solid in the road, and I knew, there and then, to take it slow. What I hadn’t seen coming, however, was that my life for the foreseeable future will be focused solely on this pretty little pony.
So I made my way tentatively towards the gate, with a quivering wreck on the end of the lead rope, attached to a broken head collar that I can only assume had been left on for months, as it had rubbed all the fur from beneath it. We spent fifteen minutes creeping up the paddocks toward the stables that would be her new home whilst in quarantine and while being checked by the vet. Every step seemed to take forever, each one taking longer than the last.
I could see the fear in her eyes, feel the shake along the rope. This pony was terrified. She probably thought I was taking her to her death. Her guard was up, and it wasn’t coming down anytime soon. I was in trouble. Squeezing through the doorway of the shed (it’s an old chicken hut that’s been gutted and stalls built inside it to house the miniatures), I noticed her visibly flinching at the potential of standing close to me. My heart still breaks for this little girl. Only five years old, and she has already learnt the hard way that not all people are kind and caring.
Some are harsh, some are forceful, some are mean, and some are just plain cruel. We make our way down the passage into the biggest stall at the end. It's already set with hay water and plenty of soft bedding. This will be her safety zone. As I begin to walk away I can feel her watching me, questioning my intentions, and wondering why she is here, how long she will stay, and if I too, will hurt her. I close my eyes, smile gently, and draw the big door closed, “I won't ever hurt you sweetie. You are here to heal,” I whisper.
And so begins our journey...
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