One of the deepest friendships I’ve ever witnessed—the friendship between a tiny pony who survived a grisly arson and an old, blind horse named Buddy.
Blind horse Buddy and 30-year-old Shetland Pony Dino...
Twenty years ago, Catskill Animal Sanctuary opened our barn doors and welcomed Dino, a Shetland pony close to 30 years old. Tiny Dino, at 300 pounds and 36” tall was our first rescue.
Dino was the sole survivor of a horrible fire set by a teenager at
Brooklyn’s Bergen Beach Stable. Twenty horses died immediately; two more
later succumbed. But according to the firemen who dragged tiny Dino from the
burning wreckage, he kicked relentlessly at his stall door as the fire raged
until it gave way. Dino was saved—badly burned but alive.
Though we welcomed him with warmth and excitement to our brand new
sanctuary,, it soon became clear that Dino’s psyche had suffered even more
harm than his body. Day and night, he stood alone in his pasture,
indifferent to his pasture mates (companion ponies who lived on the property
loaned to us): the inferno, and the sudden, violent loss of all of his
friends, had left its mark on this tiny being. He ate. He drank. But that
was all. He refused to engage with other ponies. He stood, still as a stone,
for hours on end. He was unresponsive to grooming, to touch, to gentle
words, to music. His eyes were flat, and his head hung low. The fire, it
seemed, had taken not only his friends but also his spirit.
But then, like a gift from God, the phone rang, asking if we could accept an
old blind horse named Buddy.
“His owners don’t know how to care for him now that he’s blind. He’s hurting
himself. He’s terrified. He’s depressed,” explained Susan Wagner of Equine
Advocates.
“Sure,” I said. “We’d be delighted.”
When Buddy arrived, he was quarantined for a few weeks (standard practice
for all our new rescues). Once we knew he was healthy, he and I would take
long walks each day to build both his confidence and our bond.
On one of these days, to my disbelief, a gruff, entirely unfamiliar whinny
filled the air. Buddy and I were walking past the pony pasture…and Dino was
trotting eagerly towards us, calling to Buddy!! He trotted through his pain,
severely arthritic shoulder and all, his head held high, because when he saw
Buddy, he saw a friend.
For his part, Buddy tugged me toward the whinny, and I witnessed absolute
love at first “sight” as the two, nose to nose, took each other in.
Was it Buddy’s spirit? Buddy’s need? Maybe two broken hearts recognizing
each other? Other horses had walked past Dino’s paddock and he’d ignored
them. All I know is what I witnessed: as soon as Dino and Buddy met, they
loved each other.
For the next seven years, his psyche healed by the steadfast companionship
of an old blind horse, Dino, his story, and his friendship with Buddy stole
the hearts of all who met him.
Observing Dino’s journey from psychological devastation to complete recovery
was a life-changing experience for us in the infancy of Catskill Animal
Sanctuary— one which shaped us for the next twenty years. Dino’s grief was
every bit as real, as palpable, as human grief. And, just like humans, Dino
recovered with the devotion of a trusted friend. In fact, it was impossible
to miss the parallels with a human journey from trauma to healing. So while
hundreds of experiences with animals over the years are what allow us to
say, unequivocally, that “in the ways that truly matter, we are all the
same,” the words first came to consciousness exactly twenty years ago when I
watched the unfolding of one of the deepest friendships I’ve ever
witnessed—the friendship between a tiny pony who survived a grisly arson and
an old, blind horse named Buddy.
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