It’s Sunday and time for a little respite from the fight; but today our story actually takes you to a small skirmish within the battle to save our wild horses and burros, a story right to the heart of the problem and the soul of those who are fighting the battle.
As all of you equine advocates are aware, the past several weeks have not been the best for our companion, four-legged friends, the American horse. Between the roar of helicopter blades and the gavel of Congress there has been a full-scale war waged upon the benevolent friend of all Americans, the horse, but please take heart…we are NOT going away. In fact, we are becoming more galvanized by the second, hence, the lack of a lot of news coming out of SFTHH. We are busy.
It is Sunday and once again time to catch our breath and reflect on why it is we do what we do as we charge forward in our battle to better the welfare of our equine companions, both domestic and wild. And being that we have rushed into the Holiday season, with little fanfare or warning, I would like to submit for your reading refreshment a story that appeared in my inbox, this morning. Likewise, we published this story last year and it, too, was submitted by another kind and caring reader.
John Holland’s 2010 Epic Holiday Film
It was like any other evening feeding of the horses, yet it was not; or not quite, as something was different. The air was crisp and cool as Christmas was only a week away in South Louisiana, but the feeling had little to do with temperature or barometric pressure. There was an electric buzz in the air; the feeling of white noise just outside the audible range of the human ear. There was something tangible and moving in the barn that night.
He checked the time again. Not an easy maneuver as he had to take his right glove off, shove the left cuff of his parka up, peel back the wrist band of his left glove and then hit the backlight button on his Casio $19.99 special. Only bought the stupid thing because of the digital thermometer feature it offered and now he wished it didn’t have it as it chilled his insides just looking at the numbers, 33 degrees inside the protection of his parka.
I don’t know how true this story may be; I only know how true it could be. As the Holidays approach, we should be filling our hearts with the appreciation, warmth & kindness of our fellow humans. Instead, we find ourselves fighting bitter battles for those who cannot fight for themselves against such a monstrous enemy.
But as the Holidays approach and as we fight the Fight, please, remember to be thankful for the human Alpha Mares and Stallions Fate has kindly brought together, bonded in friendships old and new.
I am going to need your help, here. There seems to be some sort of mix-up over how the Bureau of Land Management defines the term “Holiday.” Maybe it’s just me but observing the BLM, first hand, I sure have become one confused American tax payer.
“Mommy, Mommy, it’s Christmas time, you should not be crying. Why are you crying, Mommy?
You have been crying since Christmas eve day, the day you read something in the newspaper about the wild ponies. It was something about a judge saying OK to round up the wild ponies but I don’t understand, Mommy.
You and daddy never let us run our ponies in the snow, you say that it is bad for them that they might trip and fall. When it is deep they can work too hard and hurt themselves so how come the bad men are chasing the wild ponies through the snow, Mommy? I don’t understand.
Twas the night before Christmas on our public land
Not a Mustang was stirring, knowing what was at hand.
They huddled in fear hoping someone would care,
In hopes that the advocates soon would be there