From the horse's mouth (and her eyes)... Born with cataracts, little filly gains sight, new home at Refuge Farms
By Deb Anderson, Variety Editor
Monday, February 28, 2005 2:24 PM CST
(Diary of a horse: The following story could best be told from the animal's point of view.)
The sun was high overhead and the temperature was in the 50s when I began to make my way out of the barn and into the corral on Feb. 12. Led by my caretaker, Sandy Gilbert, who haltered me, I was sort of still savoring the sweet smell of hay in the stall and the tart crunch of a crisp Macintosh apple in my mouth. Sandy had just squeezed medicine into my eyes, but I was getting used to that.
As soothing country music played on the radio, I left my comfortable surroundings, gingerly stepping past whispering onlookers and Lady, the three-legged dog, to venture out into the slight breeze, albeit with shaded goggles covering my eyes. A debut of sorts, I was being presented to visitors at the farm, but I was also having a major outing.
Sandy said, "It's time to let her remember what it's like to run and play without dragging me around on the end of the line."
A tough beginning
Born in June in northern Wisconsin, and christened Caramel, I had always tilted my head way over to the right side, craning desperately to see around the huge cataracts I was born with. Due to blurry images (if any at all) and lack of light, I never left my mother's side.
I never knew my father. It has been said of him, "The stallion is anybody's guess."
My mother, Ivory, a quarter horse, knew I couldn't see, and I knew I couldn't see, but no one else seemed to know, so they suspected nothing wrong.
Weaned early, and moved to the trainer's in the same day, I was fearful. The pain and trauma of separation was hard to bear. My mama and I hollered back and forth to each other.
Then the trainer discovered the film over my eyes had rendered me sightless. I'll never forget his soft voice telling me, "You are blind little one." A veterinarian confirmed my condition. Then my owners, who probably once thought, "We have big plans for this little foal," contemplated what to do.
Being put in a pen with other horses would have placed me in further jeopardy: They might have killed me in natural herd activity. An auction was mentioned. And talk of "putting me down" surfaced.
But as luck would have it, Refuge Farms in Spring Valley heard about my plight and came to my rescue. Just 48 hours prior to the auction deadline, my owners called Sandy to surrender me to her. Adoption might have been an option, according to Sandy, but that would have required a total rethinking of the farm's entire philosophy and mission.
"The farm was already packed full of horses, but this little voice kept calling out to me and so we arranged her arrival," said Sandy.
A rough journey
Since September, I've lived at the "Home of Horses Helping." Animals here have been surrendered to Refuge Farms at no cost to the farm. They are never sold, bred or traded. They are fed and never abused. And they make this their home until they decide it's their time to cross over.
I have to admit, the journey to Refuge Farms was not an easy one. I was scared. Things didn't feel right and I couldn't get my bearings or any sense of where I was. Traveling alone while confined in a trailer with unfamiliar noises, my other senses were on overload as my heart beat fast. Besides that, I dearly missed my mother.
Then, when I arrived at the farm, new hands greeted me. New smells, new voices, new sounds and new ground -- everything was new. Even the water tasted new.
Sandy said I was "such a small, little unit of a horse," that she came to call me Unit. Looking much like a fawn, I was skinny, shaky and terrified.
Later, Sandy said to me, "You must have been just sobbing inside."
And like I was a big dog, she wrapped her arms around me and scooped me up. I only weighed around 80 pounds. Because of the stress I had endured, my growth was delayed. I was very, very small for my age.
Then, even though I didn't have any teeth yet, in my new stall I munched on hay and a touch of grain and enjoyed the flavor.
And I know now, that I must have been quite a sight: My eyes were disproportionate to my body and seemed to "bulge out of their sockets," as Sandy phrased it. Huge, cloudy globs obscured each of my orbs. My right eye had two growths on it, but I could still see a little light with it. Thankfully, I didn't have any infection.
I was considered delicate, but tough. When I arrived, I heard Sandy tell someone, "She is a fighter and a most friendly and forgiving little thing."
At first, I searched high and low for my mama, calling out to her and using my keen sense of hearing to listen for her response. Days went by and when she didn't answer, I gave up and became depressed.
I lost my appetite and stopped eating. Water didn't interest me, either, so I stopped consuming that, too. Of course, my weight began to drop and I didn't have that much to lose.
Little did I know that my life was about to change for the better.
Even though I couldn't see, I enjoyed running, especially in the direction of friendly voices. Bumping into things along the way became second nature to me.
But due to my lack of vision and lack of horse socialization skills, I had to be separated from the other horses. I grew increasingly lonely for a horse pal, in spite of having many human hands brushing me while calm voices comforted me.
However, one special horse eventually did become my friend.
Big Babee Joy took over the role of teaching me how to approach other horses "or at least how not to approach a horse" as Sandy put it. Slowly, I listened and learned. At Babee Joy's side I grew to understand everyday ways and mannerisms of other horses. In the corral, she showed me how to get along in the world. With her big, dark body near my little fair-haired one, onlookers were struck by the contrast and called us "Night" and "Day."
With fresh air rippling through my mane, occasionally I forgot myself and ran headlong into a round bale in the corral. I got the wind knocked out of me more than once, but I backed up, caught my breath, moved over a bit and started all over again to play with Babee Joy.
I am a fast learner, but my time with Babee Joy was limited because I needed constant supervision and I was too small to be outside in the harsh elements of wintertime. Everyone watched out for me because as Sandy told Friends of the Farm, "She is so small that she could fall or lay down and roll under the corral fence!"
Hope for my eyes
In late November, a special letter went out to the Friends of Refuge Farms. Sandy had some good news and some not-so-good news. She told everyone that my cataracts were totally operable! And with enough money, my eyes could be fixed and I would be able to see! But time was not on my side. My retinas were in good shape, but my eyes were still developing because I was still growing and the longer they were without images and light, the lesser my chances of seeing. And the procedure was pricey; but if it was delayed any longer, not only would I risk loss of vision forever, the veterinary staff may not be able to turn me over during surgery if I got too big.
Sandy said the operation was going to be costly and the farm could not afford to take on the expense: $3,129.53 was the high-end estimate. She wanted the best for me and was determined to make it happen. Imploring others during the Christmas season to open their hearts and pocketbooks to an unknown was a bit awkward for Sandy. She related my situation in the letter and ended by stating simply that the money would be well-worth it.
"... the gift would be that of being a horse!" she said.
Did I dare imagine what it could be like to have decent vision in the field, to be able to feel and smell my way around, go to and from the barn when I wanted, find the stock tank and last, but not least, run, play and touch the other horses?
After all, Refuge Farms had 15 other horses to care for. Sandy couldn't afford to put the rest of the herd at risk by spending the hay money for my operation. And purchases like new lead ropes and halters would have to be put on hold, as would the trailer and tractor repairs. Leaky stock tanks had already been patched with tar to make do.
But the surgeon had agreed to accept 50 percent of the fee down and allow the remaining balance to be paid over time. So I grew encouraged.
"I can see that the man is a good man and he sees we have big hearts, just shallow wallets," said Sandy.
Surgery on just one of my eyes was another option being considered. And if only enough money could be raised to do one eye, then I was going to be given the gift of sight in the eye that was already responding to light.
But in response to Sandy's plea for help, donations began pouring in. Sandy cried for joy. She said we'd take the "bucketful of faith that she carries around with her" and go to Anoka, Minn., for the procedure.
Once again, I dealt with the terror of being transported. And I confess that I reacted with fear, "playing deer" as Sandy's calls it, rearing up and using my front legs for protection.
On Jan. 6, 2005, I had surgery on both of my eyes! Dr. Larocca, who had been recommended by the University of Minnesota Veterinary School, was kind and gentle. He was surprised at my size, though, and even asked Sandy, "Do we have a miniature here?" But Sandy reassured him that I was, in fact, a quarter horse, "just a bit behind the growth curve."
Dr. Larocca even contributed to my surgery fund, deducting 10 percent of the cost. That was a nice turn of events. He made a tear come to my caretaker's eye when he said, "We'll work with you, Sandy."
Private donations totaled $2,336. But my total bill sits at more than $5,000 right now, due to the expenses of some complications I experienced.
My surgery was to be the first of several trips to Anoka. I had a sudden scare when a slight cut appeared on my left eye and I ended up spending 10 days in the hospital. Believe me, I was frantic to get back to the best place I've ever known -- Refuge Farms. But the cut was infected. It was an ulcer whose growth needed to be stopped. Who knows if the wound was caused by airborne hay, an oat flake or the cold, we don't take any chances now and I am back in a box stall away from the other horses.
Adjusting to having sight was not easy. In fact, just having things in front of me was overwhelming, then they moved and it was really scary! Sandy noticed I was frantic with fear and she was worried about my panic. I heard her tell a volunteer, "I am deeply troubled by her state." Unfortunately, my situation was compounded by having to be so isolated and I fell into a deep funk again.
Volunteers brought Babee Joy, Pony and Halima down to keep me company and now I'm not forlorn anymore so I don't hang my head like I used to. And I'm so happy that Babee Joy gets to eat her grain in the stall next to mine, that I even "jump for joy."
I can see!
I can now see out of both eyes! My doctor has given me a glowing report. And I can see my pal, Babee Joy, and I recognize my caretaker, Sandy. My right eye is now very good, exceptional, in fact. My left eye is healed with no sign of ulcer or infection. The blister-like thing on my left eye is scar tissue and it may go away or stay. I've had a little complication from time to time, but any way I look at it, I can see. The twice-daily dosage of ointment and drops that Sandy administers keeps me on the mend, just like the hugs and kisses I get afterward.
Thanks to the security I now have and the relief I feel for having sight, compounded with the good feed, supplements and deworming, I am now considered normal size and weigh in at 200 pounds. Stress is becoming something of the past and not only can I see, but I can see a future now, too.
So, during my debut, Sandy removed my halter so I could run free. And I was free -- free to be a horse in the sunshine. I tossed my head, kicked my heels, whinnied, ran like the wind to burn up energy and even slid on the crusty snow -- I love the snow and just love pushing my head in it. The sensation of cold penetrating my skin is indescribable.
Sandy marvels at my courage, but I am just so excited about the world I didn't know existed. The ground beneath my hooves is something I can actually negotiate with anticipation.
When Babee Joy joined me, I greeted her with a nuzzle and a sniff. We romped and frolicked until she slipped and fell. With her huge head, big knees, and short, stocky neck, she's not exactly what you call coordinated and we all felt embarrassed for her. But she recovered. And a day in the sun made everything right with the world.
My protective headgear shields my sensitive eyes allowing them to continue healing. I feel lucky to be alive. I take Sandy's advice and smile inside: "Now is the time to rejoice!"
Just as Babee Joy seemed to have come to the farm for a reason, and was considered a "breath of life" here, apparently I am an inspiration, too.
I heard Sandy say, "She found her way to us and is safe with us and has very quickly won all of our hearts over to her in a big, big way." I feel secure and happy. I understand now, that this is where I will live out my days until it is my time to cross over the rainbow ridge. I've got a family I hadn't expected and a life I wouldn't trade. Sandy tells me that I am loved and I'll be just fine.
Sandy's fond of quoting the Bible: "I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the crippled, and I will strengthen the weak... I will watch over. I will feed them in justice." -- Ezekiel 34:16. That about sums up what she and the volunteers at Refuge Farms did for me.
A steadfast mission
Everyone's heard of the State of the Union Address, so Sandy just held "The 2005 State of The Farm Address." She shared financial and program details, special aspects of the mission and the current state of things at Refuge Farms.
Like 2004, it was a leap year at the farm. Giant strides of progress were made in this nonprofit organization that was formed in the summer of 2002. More than 1,100 visitors stopped and walked down the gravel driveway, came into the barn and listened to stories about rescued and recovering horses. Like a poet, Sandy said it best: "But soon we smile through our tears and tell those stories of how this one touched a life and how this one taught us even more."
We have a Board of Directors, and manage solely on donations of money and labor. The time and talents of numerous volunteers have made a huge difference. Sandy says their good nature and cooperation made a real impact.
"We have so many more to help with these glorious creatures ... and so many more creatures to save," she said.
Because of the farm's motto of "horses helping," she's venturing into relationships with abuse shelters, detention centers, half-way houses. Sandy believes it's a way for those of us who were once abused, neglected, lonely and scared to help people who feel the same way. Rescue, recovery and sharing to help others heal remains the mission.
I believe that Sandy understands horses. She relates to us. Like a poet, she said, "For you see my life, too, has known loss and pain. But these creatures are my salve. I only want to share them with you -- they are all that I have."
The circle continues: Sandy and the volunteers help the horses. Babee Joy helped me. Now I'll help someone, too.
And while sacrifices have been made on my behalf, Sandy said she wouldn't have it any other way.
"This faith of mine tells me we did the right thing for all of us. And it's not just my heart talking," she said.
She still thinks about those who need her help, wondering, "Can we heal it? Can we help it?" adding, "It is our purpose and our mission to heal all creatures that come to us -- human and equine alike."
It's a win-win situation.
The farm's wish list continues, the "to do" list grows and chores are never-ending, yet Sandy insists, "But my soul is singing!" So the rest doesn't matter. Gloriously happy, she added, "This is why my life journey has been as it has been. This is what I was created to do. I know this for a fact. This is why the tears flow so readily -- I am living my life's purpose!"
And now, so am I.
***
Through April, Refuge Farms is open the last Saturday of every month from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. then in May, visitors may stop every Saturday between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. Admission is free. But donations (including carrots and apples) are always welcome.
Remember to mark your calendars. The fourth annual open barn event is Saturday, Sept. 18. Unit will be presented and her story told again. She and Sandy will be happy to share the miracle.
To see Refuge Farms for yourself, wear your barn clothes and stop at 3035 Highway 29, west of Menomonie, just before Spring Valley. Or e-mail refugefarms@hotmail.com. Sandy guarantees you'll leave with more than a little horsehair on you. And just maybe you'll be touched by the magic of the farm. |
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