Hopeful Hearts for Pippi

Six of them came tumbling off the trailer, one after another into MVHR quarantine pens.  Each a little different - color, body type, but each showing their own signs of years of neglect….one older gelding and a beautiful black mare severely emaciated, with hip bones jutting out; two with grossly overgrown feet on which they staggered into their corrals, one with the discombobulated hind end movements of a horse with neurologic issues; and one unique gray mare with a smattering of perfect freckles on her nose who headed straight to the back of her pen, as far away from people as she could get.

We called her Pippi, with hearts full of hope as they always are when we meet new intakes. Her leery eye and defensive movements as we began to care for her were no deterrent.  We were confident that with love and time she would come to trust people again. Sure, the deep scarring across the bridge of her nose and the burns below her ears indicated extraordinary trauma at the hands of humans. But we had seen it before, the profoundly resilient nature of these animals, to put their pasts behind them and find ways to blossom in new surroundings.

So love and time, that’s what we started with.  We moved quietly and respectfully around her with never a hand raised that could be mistaken for violence.  We cared for her, with food and water that were always available to help allay her uncertainty;   With quiet words as we cleaned her pen so she always knew where we were and that we came with love. And with moments of peace and quiet too, free of any human expectation, in hopes she would fully absorb our kindness in those quiet moments.  We did this all with the deep hope that she would find comfort in our care and eventually grow into her name…she already had the freckles, and the bravery, and we were confident that in time a lighthearted adventurous spirit would re-emerge.

Slowly, very, very slowly, it began to happen.  Pippi started to look and eventually turn towards people as they passed by or worked in her space.  Her ears pricked forward, carefully tracking your every movement.  Her eyes became bright and curious.  And she started letting us take tentative steps towards her.  In time, her most regular care givers were able to gently stroke her shoulder or offer her a cookie in an outstretched palm, all while continuing to talk to her of care and love and the bright future that could be possible for her.  So we continued to hope, and it seemed so did she.

As months passed and Pippi seemed ready to try, we began to ask simple questions of her.  Would she be willing to be haltered, to be led, to have her grossly overgrown feet handled.  “Could the vet check you out to be sure you’re healthy?  Could the osteopath put hands on you to help your body feel better? Could we brush the tangles out of your mane?”  And even when asked gently and when her eyes were bright and her ears were forward, these questions were too big, too hard, too reminiscent of awful things that had happened in the past.  Her ears would go flat back, the light would leave her eyes, and she would strike out in fear and anger at being asked, determined to defend herself at any cost.  There was a distinct line that Pippi could not cross, that threatened the very core of her being, that shut down her hope and gentleness and the softness in her movement.  And we began to understand that our hope and hers might be different: that we hoped for a world in which Pippi could live with people and let us love her, and she hoped to live in another one entirely, a world where she would never be asked to overcome her past, one in which she could go back to before it had ever happened at all.

It took us time, and the rephrasing of questions to be sure we understood her answers,  but we finally listened, and with the most excruciating heartbreak we as caregivers experience, we gave Pippi what she hoped for.  Final peace and rest from all that this world and us people had done to her, final freedom from fear and hard questions and release into the truest form of freedom we could offer this beautiful mare.  On February 12, eight months after she arrived, Pippi was laid to rest and buried on the hill overlooking the river.  We wish we could have seen her here on earth, galloping across a pasture, free of pain and fear, knowing love and trust and back scratches.  But after severe neglect and physical abuse, some bridges are too big to cross, even with all the love and hope in the world.  Pippi, on behalf of all people…. We’re so sorry; please forgive us; we love you; thank you…..Run free beautiful, your freckles will always be in our hearts.

Picture by Justin Deutch IG: @justintime.jpeg

Picture by Justin Deutch IG: @justintime.jpeg