No green pastures

“A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse,” cried Richard III famously in his final hour at Bosworth Field. History might be different had the royal mount survived.

All of man’s history would have to be rewritten had it not been for horses. At what primitive stage would we be, indeed, without camels, asses, elephants, oxen, yaks, llamas, water buffaloes, and other “beasts of burden” we have conscripted to serve us in exchange for a few oats, boundless abuse, and unceremonious execution when they exceed their utility.

Enter domestication 5000-or-so years ago. Since man first stuck a bit in the mouth of a shackled pony ... or jumped on the back of a broken mare ... or hitched the spirit of freedom to a heavy cart, mankind has forged ahead at the expense of equines.

Our condition would not be appreciably different in a world without giraffes, lizards, or foxes because they are not equipped to supply what man lacks in strength and speed. What sealed the horse’s ill fate, however, is their ability to turn puny homo sapiens into fearsome centaurs. Imagine two soldiers charging against each other across a field: one on foot, one on a horse. Laughable, isn’t it?

Without the cavalry, without horse power, neither the Roman empire, Eastern horde invasions, Arab Jihad I, overtaking the New World ... ad infinitum ... would have happened. Pointless quests, one and all, to which man has sacrificed millions upon millions of equines. In WWII, despite 20^th century mechanization, more than 6.7 million German cavalry horses and mules were killed between 1941-1945 alone!  In this as in every other human conflagration since the Sumerians and before, wounded equines were butchered; survivors were also eaten or pressed into harsh service helping man rebuild what he had destroyed. No honors, mercy, or “post-traumatic syndrome disorder” consideration for these soldiers.

Wild horses fare no better. About one million horses – hardy survivors of Spanish and British conquerors – roamed the Western United States early in the 20^th century. Steadily, and with mounting urgency, they have been decimated. The Bureau of Land Management, the Department of Interior, the White House, and other dens of greed and incompetence, bowing to the demands and under-the-table incentives of cattle ranchers and other all-powerful lobbies, instituted the “roundups” aiming to eventually eradicate wild herds. contact@wildhorsepreservation.org.

At any time, there are more than 30,000 “mustangs” and burros languishing in government stockades that make Vietnam POW camps look like “Sandals” resorts. Some bona fide horse people and rescue organizations buy these frightened creatures at auction. Most, however, are snatched by the meat-men for $10 a head.

Nor are the animal’s troubles over if she goes to a good home. Aging, lameness, a change of the owner’s fortunes or mind will bring about another sale. The long and winding road of most equines leads to a Mexican or Canadian slaughterhouse, and since November 2012, with a stroke of Obama’s pen, in US slaughterhouses, too.

Standard practice south of the border is that the horse is stabbed in the neck repeatedly in order to sever the spinal cord; she is then quickly hoisted and eviscerated while still alive – sometimes a colt comes tumbling out amidst intestines and is also stabbed. In the US, Animal Welfare Act provisions for “humane” slaughter are consistently ignored by depraved slaughterhouse employees. “Humane slaughter” is an oxymoron.  Visit a slaughterhouse or http://www.care2.com/causes/second-state-silences-whistleblowers.html (see "Farm-to-Fridge") and

http://www.mercyforanimals.com (see "Investigations"); then let’s discuss how the so-called Animal Welfare Act fails the animals or, for that matter, how man fails to act “civilized.”

Reckless overbreeding of horses by any Tom, Dick, and Enrique creates a lucrative surplus. Americans don’t eat horses; not yet; not knowingly. Marketing will soon change that. Many other countries have no qualms about eating the “sweet, lean, and tender” flesh of the children’s pony or the Triple Crown winner or the last-leg carriage horse from New York ... sometimes, as in France and Japan, raw.

Inconsistent with my indictment of man’s crimes against horses and of domestication in general, I envy equestrian ability. Growing up where only the Polo-Club rich could afford riding lessons and the only horses I saw were being gored by bulls in the ring, my minimal exposure to equitation was on draft horses, mules, and burros during my much anticipated annual vacation in rural Berceo. Not until my 60^th year did I gain access to riding lessons at the Dhahran Arabian Horse Association, under task-master and gin&tonic aficionada Jayne Bettelley.  The greatest thrills of my live –and it had had many—were in store on the back of a loaner Arabian.

“Stardust” belonged to the McDermotts, a British couple whose daughters were learning dressage and jumping also under Miss Bettelley’s whip. From the moment I first inserted a quivering boot in the stirrup, Stardust sensed he would not have to work hard for me. He was lazy and I was afraid; ideally symbiotic, we were both satisfied just standing still, going nowhere. He dozed off, lulled by my singing “Stardust over the rainbow, Stardust looooove, Stardust over the dunes, and into my heart he goes....” until Jayne emitted a shrill “Will yuuuuuu kick that bloody horse and mooooove!!!!?”

Chris and I left Saudi Arabia in 2007. Parting with Stardust was as painful an experience as I have endured. Had he been mine he’d be in America with us.

Until departure, I continued taking him coolers-full of apples and carrots, washed-halved-and-chilled to perfection. While he contentedly crunched on his treats, I kissed his velvety nose, assuring him that he wouldn’t be sold “down” when his owners’ iqama expired; that he would go graze on green English pastures the likes of which he had never seen. I cried and cried, and lied and lied.