Hitting Kill Buyers In The Pocketbook

heatherclemenceau

Death came to this horse after agony and fear. How many other horses have been subjected to this new form of “euthanasia” – injected with amphetamines until they are allegedly flipped over backwards? After all his suffering, his bladder was then cut out of his body post-mortem, likely to avoid collection of illicit substances.

Written by:  Heather Clemenceau

Everyone knows that abuse, neglect, and disease are embedded in the trading of horses by unscrupulous buyers and flippers, beginning with the kill buyer and ending with the killing process.   But despite the number of sick or suffering feedlot and broker horses documented on Facebook, few purchasers contact authorities to report abuse, neglect, or contractual fraud.  Some people even choose to protect the kill buyer while praising him (or her) in being so kind as to offer to sell them the horse in the first place.  Quite understandably, many people may reasonably…

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Zelda Speaks Love Without a Sound

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Zelda has never spoken or written a single word in her life, but she writes everyday letters of love and hope on the hearts of those she has touched.  I’m blessed enough to say that I have witnessed it firsthand.

Zelda was born with cerebral palsy that crippled the left side of her body and in response her hands and feet have turned inward, making that part of her body useless.

No one is certain why she can’t speak or why she can’t hear.  But last night she heard the silent cry of a young woman in anguish and she answered it with all the love she has inside of her colossal heart.

Chrissy is twenty years old but looks more like she is forty.  Her life has left her heart broken.  She cannot speak and signs only two words Mommy and Hungry.  Her mom was unable to care for her once she reached adulthood, and she made the difficult decision to allow her to be with adults similar to her.  She found it in a wonderful group home for adults where she is cared for tirelessly by the most wonderful people who truly care about her.

On this particular Thursday she came to equine therapy with a sad face.  She was uncomfortable and frequently picked at her pants.  She was not going to ride because she seemed upset and she would whimper periodically no matter how much we wanted to see her buddy, Buttons, the fat pony.  She would shake her head vehemently and sit resolutely in our comfy Adirondack chairs.

That’s when Zelda came to the rescue.  With her numb leg she drug herself across the yard, which is the equivalent of crossing the Mohave Desert.  She sat in the chair next to Chrissy and tried to speak.  Her lips curled and her tongue puckered as dribble washed down her face.  She didn’t care; she wanted Chrissy to know she cared.  It did not matter that only grunts came out, her eyes and genuine smile said it all.

Zelda looked at me and signed love and then she pointed at Chrissy.  In her poignant and loving way, Zelda spoke the language everyone wants to hear- someone cares!

Zelda, you amaze me everyday!  I am the one who is richer for knowing a champion that conquerors everyday battles that all of us take for granted.  You do it all with a smile or giggle.

Keep loving all the people that you meet because I am the woman you have most changed!

He Moved the Cones for Me!

IMG_3463“Sorry I’m late!” My poor frazzled farrier was Always pompt and though he was more than thirty minutes late, I assumed it was because he got held up by his last farm.

He got out of his car and shook his head. “The cops told me your road was closed. Drove darn near ten miles out of my way to get here!”  He pointed at the top of the street.

In New Jersey it is not uncommon for public workers to congest our streets or for farm equipment to clog roads. But for the past six months they’ve been replacing electric lines.  Because the lines are down, every cop patrols the roads with an iron fist

My newest riding instructor, Angelina, overheard our conversation.

“I had no problem getting here. The cop even got out of his car and moved the cones so I could pass,” Angelina gave a soft giggle.

I guess when you are young and beautiful you can go where no others are able.

Awww, to be young again!

 

Little Did I Know….

IMG_1457Like an Arab, he is smart, discerning, and careful about showing his emotions to one he trusts. Like a Morgan he is handy, fancy, and determined. Little did I know that this little horse would pay me back in a way I never dreamed.

It was a brutally cold day in December when I discovered Chessy standing at the gate. Like all horse women and men, you can read a horse’s body language as a conversationalist does with an audience. I intuitively knew that there was something wrong.

I opened the gate and walked towards him and that’s when he turned his face towards me. His eye was literally in pieces.

I grabbed a leadline, fearful to put a halter on his face. In my other hand, I held my phone and shakely called my vet. She happened to be in the area and made a hasty drive to my farm. Upon inspection she did not give me good news. He would have to be transported to the University of Pennsylvania or she could remove his eye. Either way, this was a traumatic injury.

To give Chessy the benefit of saving his eye, I decided to send him. We made the harrowing trip to New Bolton Center and they met me at the bay. They had called in an equine optometrist and she encouraged me to see if they could save the eye by cleaning it and putting it back together.

After two days, Chessy had a roaring fever and an infection that was threatening his life. She decided to do a corneal transplant. He was under anesthesia and not doing well. She called to tell me that he was not doing well. I did what I always do, I prayed.

That night, I crept into the still barn at 9:00. He had tubes protruding from his head, they had drilled holes through his skull to flush continual antibiotics into the eye so that he would not reject it. For days, he was in a precarious position. He would gently lay his chin on my shoulder. I would scratch his funny spot, but he would not react. He was hurting and so was I.

Then I got a call from the vet stating that she felt that he could go home with the knowledge that I would have to give him medicine into his eye every two hours. I quickly gathered volunteers that would be willing to take night and day watches. I cleaned the stalls with bleach and fluffed his stall with soft straw.

It was not to happen. The day of transport I was told that he had double pneumonia and he could not go home as planned. He was moved to the ICU and was in critical care. Again he was administered meds that kept him quiet and comfortable. I went to see him and cried. Now tubes were surgically placed in his neck.

Again, I did what I do best, I prayed.

Within two weeks he had recovered and we planned to bring him home. But then came the crushing blow of them all. He had gone into colic and the impaction was in the small intestine. This was fatal without surgery. They had drugged him with heavy sedatives and were waiting for my reply.

My bill thus far was over $12,000 and I could not go further financially. He had been through too much and I made the painful decision to forgo the surgery. I left work early and went into his stall. His head hung to the ground, tubes hung from every main vein, he stirred when he heard my voice.

He tried to turn and face me, but the sedation made him stumble. I prayed over him. Placing my hands on his stomach I asked God to miraculously heal him. That’s when I heard the leading vet clear her throat to signify her presence.

“Jill, I am sorry. We will keep him comfortable until we cannot control the pain. We will let you know when we put him down,” she placed her hand on my shoulder. Finality was in her voice.

I was not ashamed of my tears, for they flowed like the beautiful Brandywine River that Chessy had crossed when he was healthy.

“I am believing that God will miraculously heal him, I hope I get a call with good news and not bad,” my sobbing took over and I could no longer speak.

“Jill, this colic is a death sentence. I am sorry,” she smiled faintly.

I slept fitfully that night, waiting for a phone call, but it did not come. At seven o’clock in the morning, my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and heard the vet on the end speak with disbelief. My little Chessy had pulled out of the colic.
I got off the phone and sunk to my knees, God had showed up in a circumstance that everyone else said was impossible.

Today Chessy is the favorite mount in my lesson program. He is gentle and kind. Always the gentleman, he is aware of every rider and their needs.

Little did I know that he would pay me back with kindness. Six months later I had accidentally left the main gate open. The horses had discovered my mistake and were peacefully eating in my backyard. Upon opening the garage door, my ever diligent guard dogs went after each horse with a vengeance. The herd took off.

Down the driveway they galloped and onto a major road and ripping towards a very busy highway only feet away. I was devastated. I grabbed grain, buckets, halters, lead ropes, and ran for my truck.

That’s when I heard their hoof beats coming closer.

Leading the herd was Chessy. He took them back down the driveway and into the open pasture gates. He had controlled the herd, comforted me by bringing them back, and showed me that he had never forgotten my kindness of saving his life.

‘Horrific incident’: Family Speaks Out after Pet Dog Killed by ‘Cyanide Bomb’

Straight from the Horse's Heart

By Shelbie Harris as published on The Idaho State Journal

“While at first glance this sad story might not appear to have much to do with wild horses and burros but it most certainly applies, with spades.  Some time ago, myself and fellow investigators from Wild Horse Freedom Federation were documenting BLM Contract long term holding facilities when we came across one contractor’s property, used to house former wild horses, with prominent signs indicating that like poison devices were in use on the very same property that captive wild horses were grazing.  To date, this finding haunts us as we continue to seek ways and means to stop the barbaric removal of protected wild horses and burros from their congressionaly approved, rightful range.” ~ R.T.


Signage on BLM contractor’s property housing former wild horses. (Click to Enlarge) ~ photo by R.T. Fitch of Wild Horse Freedom Federation

POCATELLO — As…

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Barbie and Her Best Friend

palominoBang!…Bang!…..BANG!….BANG!

The dogs go into a furious rage of barking, Dan and I leap out of bed.

“What is that?” he asks.

BANG!…..BANG!

“Dan, someone is banging on our door!” As a horse owner this can only mean one thing- OUR HORSES ARE OUT!

Dan I racing downstairs to be greeted by the State Police with a flood light fixed on our fields.

“We got a call, loose horses on this street, we are asking all horse farms to check and see if their horses are secure,” a boyish-looking-fresh-out-of-college officer stated in his best officer voice.

Dan ran out in the fields, our horses and ponies were all accounted for, phew!

Then my attention turned to we-have-to-get-these-loose-horses.

What got me was the officer’s description-

“One is real big and looks like a Barbie and the other horse is orange with a blue jacket.”

I tried not to laugh- he was describing the big palomino across the street and her best friend, a chestnut with a blue blanket on.

After wrestling the loose horses back into the barn, I said a silent prayer of thankfulness.

We climbed back into bed, thankful that our horses were safe, always had been.

Why?

Because we believe in the power of prayer, and the God of heaven and earth has my farm under his careful watch! THANK YOU FATHER!

 

Nothing Better- Loved by Great Pyrenees

 

Snowball watching over his kids!
Snowball watching over his kids!
Timmy and the boys- Frosty and Snowball
Timmy and the boys- Frosty and Snowball
Sweet Frosty greets even those that are afraid of big dogs
Sweet Frosty greets even those that are afraid of big dogs

Living in the country is full of excitement.  Skunks that have made their home in my barn, and I was inadvertently sprayed because I reached down to pet what I thought was one of my cats.  There was also the time that the bulls from across the street decided to stampede down my driveway and into my horse pasture.  Lest I forget the time that the horses got out and decided to stand in the middle of the road, stopping traffic.  This is my life on a glorious horse farm, named Raise Your Dreams Farm.

Unfortunately there are some people who also enjoy perusing the country-side searching for an easy target.  My neighbor heard noises coming from his basement only to find a bad guy hanging out.  So when our neighbor had her barn broken into, my husband and I began in earnest to find a dog that would be intimidating enough to scare any would-be robber into thinking twice about coming to our farm.

As luck would have it, we were watching the Animal Planet TV show and they were featuring the Great Pyrenees dogs.  They were excellent guard dogs and would defend their “family” even to the death.  Their size was intimidating enough, 150-180 pounds, standing about 3 feet in height.  We had the land, and of course the livestock that needed their protection, so we concluded that these might be a good dog to invest in.  We ordered two fluff ball puppies on the internet, brothers that we named Frosty and Snowball.

I could not imagine any puppy cuter than these rather large bundles of white downy fur.  They slept all the time, played with one another, ate, and then slept again.  Unlike my labs, these puppies enjoyed laying around more than being up and getting into mischief.

As they got older, we realized these were no ordinary dogs.  A baby in a stroller was something for them to protect and they would even block the mother from attending to her infant, a toddler learning how to walk, they would walk next to them slowly allowing the child to balance themselves off of their broad backs.  A loud truck driving by, now that was something to be chased unto its death.  Occasionally the township worker would blow their horn to incite total havoc in my yard amongst my fierce dogs.  We have an electric fence around our home and thankfully they respect it because I think a lot of joggers and bikers would be in serious trouble if they ever got a hold of them.

If you are visiting the farm for the first time, expect to be stopped immediately and then escorted down the driveway to the parking space where they want you to park.  Get out of the car and expect to be sniffed and nudged until satisfied.  They will never wag their tail, until they feel that you are an accepted part of their “family”.  If they find you suspicious, they will bark until my husband and I are alerted.

Their favorite activity is to bark, dig, and chase anything that should not be riding down the road.  This is their property and they will not have any shenanigans here.  But their soft side is always shown to all that come here.  They beg for pets, high-five the kids, and lay on you if you happen to lay down on the soft ground.

They are now eight years old, still extremely active, and somewhat celebrities in our town.  If someone is not sure where we live, all we have to say is the farm with the big white dogs.  “Ohhhh, I know exactly where you are.”

Wouldn’t you want to be loved by a Great Pyrenees?

 

The Amazing Suzanne

The amazing Suzanne
The amazing Suzanne

The one constant in Suzanne’s life, is her camera. She snaps pictures of the horses, clouds, her kids, moments, and all of these memories spill out onto her Facebook Page, Twitter Account, or Snap Chat.

One day my students were having a hard time trying to get one of the horses to go into another field. That’s when Suzanne told the kids she would get the horse to move and she did not even need a halter or leadline.

The kids stood back, as she walked into the field, complete with purple hair, high heels, and spiky red fingernails. They smirked as she waded into the mud. She tiptoed, pirouetted, and hopped over the big puddles. My seasoned students wanted to see this and a small crowd gathered at the fence to watch this larger-than-life parent wrestle our 1500 pound Hershey into the other field.

Hershey eyed her, and that’s when she grabbed her ever ready phone camera out of her back pocket.

“What a handsome man!” she coyly cooed.

The horse stood at attention and she started snapping pictures. He turned from side to side, enjoying her accolades and the snapping of her camera.

She slowly walked into the other field and he followed her like a big dog.

“See kids, that’s how it is done!” she flipped her hands through her purple hair and smiled broadly.

This woman just “schooled” my kids in how to get a horse to become putty in her hands.

Refreshing Faith

Mother's Day 2015
Mother’s Day 2015

“Why can’t you breathe?” my father ushered my mother into a small room where all the hymnals were kept. The service had already begun. She clung to my father deeply, almost piercing his skin through his thick wool overcoat and jacket. It was Christmas Eve and he had a lot to do at Church. His focus was now on his wife who gasped and wheezed.

“Judy, I am calling 911!” She shook her head for him not to, but he grabbed his archaic flip phone and dialed. He described the incident in great detail, his face now burdened with concern.

Within three minutes, the ambulance was there and they ushered my mother onto the gurney. The trip to the hospital would take minutes, but this journey would last the rest of her life.

While driving to the hospital, my father called each one of his children. I was the first to be reached. I had just finished cleaning up our Christmas Eve meal and getting ready to go to my neighbor’s annual celebration at her home. My husband and I climbed into our truck and took off for the ICU at Christiana Hospital. My mother was in congestive heart failure.

Within five days she had two open heart surgeries, put on dialysis, and was in grave condition. Though my mother was a regular church goer, it was not necessarily because she wanted to grow in her faith, it was a social club of sorts. My mother loved people and people loved her. She enjoyed volunteering at the church bazar, driving flowers to shut-ins, driving those that couldn’t to their appointments, volunteering her nursing knowledge to anyone that needed it, and of course attending the church where she was the most popular amongst all the parishioners.

She spent four excruciating months in and out of the ICU. Her body was shutting down. This little dynamo of a woman who could do anything was now incapacitated. Her zest for life, family, and friends was reducing to just surviving.

Prompted by the Lord, I woke early on a cold Sunday at the end of February. Get her saved. I heard the Holy Spirit begging me into action. I got out of bed and asked my husband to come with me. We had been praying for months for an opportunity to share the hope we have in Jesus.

The beauty of knowing the Lord is that He already knows how it is going to work out. I came into her room, and her face was rosy and she was alert.

“Jill! What are you doing here? Dan, I am so glad to see you!” and she genuinely was excited. With her many surgeries and lack of oxygen her memory was horrendous. She actually thought that she hadn’t seen me for months.

We both gave her a hug, and feeling immensely aware of the gravity of the situation, I asked her if she wanted to get saved.

“I would love to get saved!” she was giddy with excitement.

“Repeat after me- Jesus, I acknowledge that I am a sinner and need your grace. I know that you took the punishment that I deserved on the cross. You are the Son of God! Come live in my heart, dwell with me forever!”

Then she clapped her hands in excitement. “That was the best prayer! Let’s say it again!”

I stayed for an hour and during that time, she kept telling me that the prayer we had said was the best thing she had ever heard, and we probably said it a dozen times before she fell back to sleep, with a smile upon her lips.

It was June 3, my birthday and mom is now on hospice. Her time is limited, her breathing labored, and she no longer responds to us. It is 7:30 in the morning, I stand by her bed and rub her arm.

“Mom, today is the day that you will walk on streets of glory in the splendor of heaven. You will see the Son and the Father. You will hear the voice of angels telling you to come and see the mansion Jesus has built for you. No longer will you be in pain. You will be dancing on strong legs, with a heart full of love. Yeah though I walk through the valley of death, your rod and staff comfort me….Go mom, you’re free! Go!”

That’s when the room crackled with the Holy Spirit. Jesus was there ushering in his beloved child, my mom.

She had peace on her face, and I began to jump and praise the Lord. My excitement was uncontainable and it spilled out into the room like a palpable blanket. Everyone came into the den, and felt the Holy Spirit and His peace. My mom had done the impossible. Rejecting Jesus Christ as her savior all of her life and thinking that church would save her. But at the end of her life sensing her need, she accepted the gift of eternal life- Jesus Christ. My heart rested in faith, I would see my mom again. This time she would be walking on streets of glory.

This greatest birthday gift my mom has ever given me, she is sitting sweetly on the side of the Father, making pies, and I am sure helping others decorate their new mansions in glory. Hallelujah!

 

 

Is That Steve?

I think I see Steve! Timmy pointed to a little dot flying high in the sky.

Hmmm, you think that’s Steve?

Yup, that’s him! He has come back to say thank you.

The bird descended slowly as it rode the thermal air stream. Was this my imagination?

See, that’s him!

How do you know? I asked.

Because he loves me. Timmy’s smile said it all.

Well, by golly I do think it is Steve. I patted Timmy’s back in agreement.

And with that the bird let out a piercing scream as if on cue.

Steve is a hawk that Timmy and I rescued after its parents had died. We found it on the ground and Timmy became the bird whisperer that day. He calmed the very big bird down by wrapping his arms around it and cradling it like a baby. We took it to a bird rescue and the woman was incredulous when I told her that Timmy picked it up. She told me it was a miracle. Most people would have been torn up she said and showed me a few nasty scars. That day Timmy named this majestic animal Steve. A few months later I got a notice that Steve had been freed into the wild. Ever since then Timmy has scoured the skies searching for his beloved friend. I guess today he came back to say hi to his human friend and rescuersteve-rescuer, Timmy.

Timmy smiled broadly reassured that surely Steve had come back. I’m always amazed at Timmy’s faith and simple belief that surely God would give him this sweet gift of knowing the simple truth- WITH GOD ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE!