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Interface
Horse Screams
by Michael
Ahles
I have made it
a habit of late to once a week travel the 20 miles out to
the BLM wild mustang gulag out in the Nevada desert and take
these magnificent creatures some carrots for a treat. It
seems the horses have been deemed in need of management by
the management of our federal lands for the reason of
humanness we are told. As mankind gobbles up and fences off
more and more of the horses natural meadows, and drain the
water, BLM captures the horses with helicopters, places them
in segregated holding cells or pens, tattoos or numbers
them, sells off some into servitude or for slaughter, and
for the rest, to remain in captivity on the starkest of
lifeless dirt, with no shade from the summer sun and no heat
or barn for the winter cold. They are fed well, but with the
economic trouble we are in, there are plans to exterminate
them soon.
Today I went out and as usual, bought some organic carrots
with bright green tops to throw to the horses their fear of
mankind is so great that only with extreme patience will
they even approach. But today was different, many of the
horses, perhaps a hundred or so were being held in a central
pen and the others ran from me as I approached. The screams
of agony from that central pen was beyond anything I had
ever heard. Normally I only walk around the perimeter of the
prison to avoid contact with BLM employees who had lied to
me in the past. I walked around the compound and hurriedly
threw the carrots to the horses. But I had to know why there
were so many horses screaming, what was wrong. So I went
into the compound and then into the main office and was told
that today the mother horses were being separated from their
children. I asked why, and the woman said because they had
to. It was so sickening outside, the sounds of terror,
horses trying to get through the metal fences that separated
from their families, other horses hysterically trying to
control the insanity, and the young ones running around in
circles crying or screaming for their mothers.
I lost my children in much the same way some years ago, but
to hear and see it being done again by people who do not
feel, sense, or know was beyond my capacity. And in such
great numbers, the terrible energy was beyond me. I left in
such a hurry and raced my motorcycle home. I called the news
companies. and humane society, but most I think were only
interested in me, my name, and my address.
I don't drink anymore, but today I needed to get drunk. It
was so wrong and so sad for me, but much much worse for
those poor creatures I had brought carrots to today.
They were screaming in pain.
A horse
foot-note: I went out there again last Monday and saw
something quite extraordinary, there was a large herd of a
hundred or so wild antelope moving along the hillside coming
from the alfalfa field just to the East of the horse prison.
The irony of a herd of antelope running free next to a
concentration camp of imprisoned once wild mustangs was well
beyond the simple justice of me.
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