By Lisa Friday, Witness to the BLM Butterfield Wild Horse Cruelty
I close my eyes at night and still see all the horses suctioned deep in the urine soaked manure.
I see that little emaciated mare whose eyes just cried out to me, “please take me out of here.”
I could almost hear her screaming from inside, begging me.
I cry as I type this.
I cry for the downed mare by the hay that tried and tried to get up with out being able to get her feet under her because they were suctioned in the mud and manure.
I cry for the other mare who tried and tried to protect her, not understanding why she had to. Each night I see the horses being run into the rusted chutes,placed in the metallic box and turned on their side, kicking and screaming. I had never heard a horse scream before and now i hear it every night as I go to sleep.
I cry for the condition of their feet, the thrush that was barely odorous over the manure.
I cry for the foals I did not see and their Momma’s who want them to have a better life.
I cry for the unanswered prayers for these majestics to be living with their families where they are free to run, play, and feel safe with their stallions.
I cry for the burros who look so sad, dazed and confused as to why they are there.
I cry for the one baby burro who had no one to play with.
I cry for each and every pair of horses’ eyes that followed me when I personally walked through the urine soaked manure to see them. Those eyes that were sullen and depressed that followed me as I walked away. almost screaming to me, “please don’t leave me here! Don’t walk away, no one can see us, no one can listen to us screaming” Their eyes spoke volumes. I cant even begin to explain it, but I know you know. I cry for the ten horses that had a bobcat come toward them and were unable to free their legs from the manure to get out of the way.
I cry for the horses who were moved from pen to pen by that bob cat and a four wheeler while their friends were suctioned in the manure and mud.
I cry because of the numerous phone calls from Lily Thomas, the BLM, the PR folks and I cry because they blame me for not reporting it earlier. I cry when I tell them that I DID report each and every horse, each and every tag number of the horse that was in trouble while I was there although many were un tagged or I was unable to see the number because of the filth.
I cry because of the thousands of dollars I donate each year that doesn’t seem to be making a difference.
I cry because the legislature just refunded.
I cry because I bother Ginger and Anne Novak and don’t want to say the wrong things to the BLM who keep me crying.
I cry for you who have to witness this over and over again and will continue to cry until every last horse is free.
I cry for the aborted foals and their Momma’s who cry for them; little foals they would have raised and taught, and loved every day of their lives, cut short because of the BLM.
I cry for all those set free not wanting to leave their families behind.
I pray for those left behind not understanding why their families left them there.
I cry for the sale horses who’s fate is unknown and I cry for those horses who’s fate we do know.
I cry for Rain who misses her mother Velvet and her father Cloud who both, I am sure, cry for her.
I cry because I cannot do more.
I am tired of crying.