My blog today is very
different to the ones I usually write. No mention of history or books
but my post today concerns something even closer to my heart.
This is Picard in his
younger days. He is a Welsh Mountain Pony, the most well-mannered little man
you could wish to meet, which is surprising considering his history.
We first met Picard
when he was a foal. We were at a horse sale in West Wales, buying buckets and
lead ropes for the ponies at home. We were horrified when a large over-crowded
livestock lorry turned up and men with large sticks began driving yearlings from the
back. They were terrified. It was a horrible sight, the sort that makes you
shamed to be human. Every year the surplus wild ponies are rounded up on the
mountain, they are squeezed into trucks and sold for silly prices at sales
around the country. The low prices often mean they are bought on impulse, go to
unknowledgable homes, or end up as fodder for the meat man, shipped to Europe
for the horse meat industry. It seems a sorry waste of life for these beautiful
ponies to end up as dog meat.
Needless to say, when it was Picard’s turn to
be hounded into the sale ring, frightened with whips to make him prance and
show off his good points, he was the last of a very long queue. The few people who had come
in search of a cheap pony to rehome had already bid, their pockets were empty and the only person (I use the term lightly) bidding
on Picard was the meat man. The meat man never bids high so I took my hands
from my pocket and decided to take this wide eyed, terrified baby home.
My daughter already had
a Shetland she was growing out of so I thought maybe Picard would turn out to
be a good second pony. I won him with a £12 bid – a muddy, dark grey pony with
burs in his coat and terror in his eye. He didn’t want to get in the truck;
there was no way to load him without scaring him even more but with great
difficulty we managed to get him safely home.
He trembled in the corner of his
stable for days, freaking out each time we went in to change his water and replenish
his hay. The burrs and mud had to remain in his coat while I sat on a bucket
with my back to him and sung nursery rhymes and lullabies so he'd become accustomed to my voice and presence. This went on for
days and still he wouldn’t look at me. Each time I turned round he stuck his
nose in the corner and put his head down. He was so unhappy in those early days but eventually we
noticed a change. He no longer tried to scale the stable wall when we went in;
he began to trust the bucket and snatch a little hay from the rack.
When he was ready to
emerge from the stable his first friend was Rudolph, the Shetland, his second
was Jazz, another Welsh Mountain Pony, and Cynon the cob cross. His time was
spent with them in the field where he could gallop about, kicking his heels,
happy in their company. It was a brilliant thing to see.
Whenever we rode or
groomed the other ponies, Picard watched from a distance, ready to flee if we
so much as took one step toward him. But, slowly, he came to realise we were
never going to wallop him over the head with a pole, or force him to do
anything he wasn’t happy with. Little by little he grew calmer, we were allowed
to brush him, we could lift his feet one by one, scratch his hind quarters but
never his head. He remains head shy to this day and getting a head collar on
was a nightmare but by degrees, we managed it. My eight year old daughter could
lead him around, sit on his back, tack him up but he was never really happy
with it and we could only progress so far. After a year or so, we desisted but he
remained with us, a companion to our other ponies.
That was twenty years
ago, hopefully things have changed for ponies like Picard but I don’t think
they have. There are far too many greedy, unkind human beings and too many
unwanted ponies. One by one our ponies died of old age and now Picard is the
only one remaining.
Age is catching up with
my husband and I now. Our children have left home and, due to health issues, we have had to give up our beloved smallholding. We sold it at the end of last
year and the new owners kindly allowed Picard to stay until the new home we had
sorted for him was ready. He was due to move to a lovely home next week but to
my horror that has now fallen through and the new people who now live in the lovely
smallholding want him moved.
So this blog is a plea
for a good forever home for a much beloved veteran who requires gentle handling
and understanding. He lives out all year round, survives on air and doesn’t
require lush grazing. Picard is very gentle. He has never kicked or bitten and will follow you to the moon if you wave a bucket
under his nose and he is good with the farrier. We are happy to help with his
costs and essential veterinary care. Most of all we want the last years of his life to be
as happy as the last twenty. He needs a safe, secure, caring home, preferably
with other horses.
If anyone can help or
knows someone else who might please contact me on silentwhisper1@aol.com
or message me on facebook. Please share this blog widely so that we might find reach a good Samaritan.
Thank you for listening.
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