My daughter volunteered at the farm a few times when she was younger and always enjoyed interacting with the various breeds in their senior years though some were not in very good health. On the Farm’s website, carrots were advertised as the entry fee, and we had picked up a huge bagful at Publix, large and small ones.
We were surprised when we arrived at the farm to see a huge crowd of single people and families who had come to spend their Saturday petting, talking to, and feeding elderly horses. Cars were parked all along the entrance driveway and the parking lot overflowed with family vehicles spilling out laughing and rambunctious little ones. There was a festival atmosphere.
On our way in we had noticed three forlorn-looking horses standing at the rails of a fenced paddock, one with a fitted mask over its eyes, so we made it our priority to walk back to see them as soon as we had parked, thinking they had very few visitors. They were gentle and seemed to know we had carrots although their teeth allowed them to eat only the baby ones. The plaque on their fence told us they had been there a long time. We lingered awhile petting and talking to them then moved on into the farm and the crowds.
There was a sort of entry point where you could make a donation if you wanted to, buy t-shirts and calendars advertising the farm and its horses, or pick up some carrots or sliced apples if you forgot to bring some. We followed the sandy path appropriately called the “Mane Concourse” that led between the many different fenced pastures. Plaques adorned the board fencing with information about all the horses in that particular field. Each one had its own story.
Rainy was the first elder we met. She was a white quarter-horse mare that was found abandoned and luckily rescued by police. After two months of rehab on a ranch in South Florida, she came to Mill Creek to live out her final years, never to be worked or ridden again. She was attentive and loved carrots. Her information told us she had an old injury to one of her hind legs.
We meandered on, pausing to pet, talk, and feed any horses waiting patiently at their fence line. The pastures were still a lovely green. We noticed covered hay feeders and water containers scattered about. Motorized carts passed us carrying volunteers going or coming from whatever work they were assigned for the day.
Even though the parking area was filled with vehicles, the sanctuary’s 335 acres quickly thinned out the crowd of visitors, and with 140 horses in residence, everyone leisurely roamed around and interacted with the animals. We crisscrossed the sandy lane from fence line to fence line, visiting and feeding the eager participants, occasionally chatting with the other animal lovers.
We stopped to read about Ginny, a 14-year old mare, who had been a dressage horse. She was following us along the fence enthusiastically, switching her tail, nodding her head across the top board, almost speaking to say she wanted a carrot. She seemed a little feisty so my daughter carefully gave her the longest carrots, which she ate quickly. As we turned to go on, Ginny suddenly bumped against Erica’s arm, maybe thinking her red shirt was another carrot. Erica got this “what happened” look on her face and pushed up her sleeve to see blood pouring from a bite shaped just like Ginny’s mouth.
It was a shock at first because all the other horses were so gentle, eating the baby carrots from the palm of her hand. Luckily I had a pack of tissues and some Hand Sanitizer. Erica poured that over the bite to some wincing and held the tissues tightly to stop the bleeding.
A couple other visitors looked in disbelief and offered help. One directed us toward a barn and said someone there would give us a Band-Aid, which unfortunately I did not have. We told that person that Ginny was aggressive and should be moved to an inaccessible pasture until she learned better manners, and she agreed that she would have someone do that. We felt the very small children would be at risk of injury, maybe even some of the big children like us.
So that sort of put a damper on our day at the horse retirement farm, and after getting the Band-Aid, we made our way back to the car. Erica insisted she felt fine and we continued on to High Springs for a late lunch and a visit to some of the many craft and antique shops on Main Street. When she returned home and took off the Band-Aid, it was still bleeding so she poured some peroxide over it and re-bandaged it. It still hasn’t completely healed as of last night, but it is improving.
The lesson we learned was that just because an animal is old, it remains an animal and cannot be trusted to do what you think it should do. From now on, we’ll keep this in mind and act accordingly.
