Darla’s Messagefeatured

Author’s Note:

The horse’s name and image have been changed in respect of privacy.

I went to a ranch to check on a horse recovering from an abscess. After a recent rainstorm, I heard he’d been relocated to a paddock below. As I descended the weathered wooden staircase, another horse grabbed my attention. She had a long, flowing mane and appeared quite regal, but it wasn’t her looks that struck me most—it was the palpable sadness she was emanating from a distance.

My body flooded with despair, and I wanted to cry. 

The last time I saw Darla, she was vivacious and had a spritely foal in her paddock. Today she looked dull, skinny, and grey, a life-less statue standing alone in a mixture of mud, piss, and poop. A messy forelock covered her eyes, and the braids in her mane hung in loose disarray. She was standoffish, disconnected. I could feel how deeply she was grieving and missing her foal’s presence. 

“Where is your baby?” I asked. 

“He’s gone.” She replied. “They took him.”

Now, for those readers who are wondering: Wait… Horses don’t talk. What do you mean, “she replied.”

As a child, I heard spirits, yes, ghosts. And I also heard animals, similar to Dr. Dolittle. The same gift of listening that opens the door to communicating with spirit is the same ability I use to communicate with animals because every living being is made of spirit. Every soul uses a shared form of communication, whether they are in a physical body or not. It is a universal language. However, some humans have forgotten they have it and how to use it. Spirit transmits and receives through consciousness, utilizing the senses; this includes seeing pictures, feeling empathically, strong gut knowings, and, yes, hearing voices that, through the grace of love, are translated into a language anyone can perceive. With Darla, I emphatically felt her and listened to her transfer understanding from mind to mind, heart to heart, soul to soul. 

Now, let’s continue to Darla’s message:

“I am so sorry your baby was taken from you,” I said. 

My eyes teared up as I knelt beside the fence. “I understand if you don’t want to come closer. I can only imagine how distrustful of humans you must be right now. I see you and feel how sad you are, and I am here for you should you need anything.”

With those words, she walked over and stood beside me. Her ribs were visible, and her head hung solemnly. I gently lifted the long, thick hair off her eyes. I had never seen eyes so sad on a horse. They were glazed with grief, and even the skin around them frowned. I slowly and softly rubbed her forehead; she leaned into the kind touch. 

“I am heartbroken,” she said. “They took my baby away. How would humans feel if they were bred to make babies, then their babies were taken away and sold off?”

As a mother myself, the answer was obvious. I would feel enraged, distressed, and resentful. 

Darla went on to share that this wasn’t the first time her offspring had been pulled from her. It had happened multiple times, and each time, it was painful.

I remained beside Darla, offering her love as I listened to her experience. She needed tenderness, compassion, and affection; she needed to be heard and understood. I promised Darla I would share her story in an effort to bring about change and inspire another way of being in relationship with one another—horses and humans.

“I have to go check on another horse now,” I said. “But I want to continue to be here for you. I will contact your owner… Agh, that doesn’t feel right, either. Even the word ‘Owner’ feels entirely horrible.”

I dropped my chin towards my heart, “Humans still have so much to learn.”

Darla let out a sigh. 

“Maybe one day we will stop this whole matter of ownership altogether and collectively view horses as our partners instead of property,” I said while giving Darla another affectionate rub. She licked and chewed, a horse’s natural way of indicating feeling safe and releasing stress.

As I made my way over to the paddocks below, I walked in deep thought. 

When we compassionately consider: Here is a living being before us; she is grieving, standing alone with no family around to support her, whose freedom is owned by a two-legged walker who houses her in a small fenced paddock, who controls her movement, breeding, and her body, then repetitively strips away her offspring to sell them for money—I have to ask, doesn’t all this seem absurd?! 

How can it be? Aren’t the days of slavery supposed to be long over? 

Isn’t it high time we find a kinder, gentler, more sympathetic, and harmonious way that is a win-win for everyone, not just one species?

When will the era of buying and selling living beings for profit cease? When will people stop exerting power, control, and choice over one another? 

I looked around at all the horses behind fences, then at my own two feet, walking freely in any direction my instincts, intuition, and will inspire them to move. 

I recalled Gandhi’s words: 

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated. I hold that the more helpless a creature, the more entitled it is to the protection by man from the cruelty of man.

We are here on Earth for connection. We are here to remember that there is no difference between me and you, for we are innately interconnected as one. When we recover this truth, the only way to exist as wholeness is to live with respect, compassion, and forgiveness for all living beings. To experience harmony and peace, we must live open-heartedly, transparently, and in balance with all our relations. We must embody love.

As I left the barn, I crossed paths with the ranch hand. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure,” he replied. 

“Is it just me, or does that horse over there, Darla, seem sad to you?”

“She’s so sad,” he said.

“What happened?” I asked. (I already knew because Darla had told me. But I still inquired for the sake of fact-checking.)

“Her son was taken away two weeks ago. The way it happened didn’t feel good to me, to be honest.”

“Why’s that?”

“The separation was too fast. Instead of a gradual weaning, she was given medicine to stop the milk, and he was hauled off. Usually, the mares and foals I’ve seen are separated at six months, but he was taken at around four and a half. This is Darla’s third or fourth baby she’s been bred for.”

“Well, no wonder she’s so sad,” I said. 

“It’s not just the horses that grieve when their babies are taken away; I’ve seen it in cows, too. I’ve also seen it in steers when one of their herd dies. Some cowboys say animals don’t feel, but I’ve seen it. There’s no denying it.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “I’ve heard that elephants and horses grieve similarly, too. I’ve even seen a squirrel grieve after its family member was hit by a car.”

We both stood silently, staring off into the horizon as if it promised something.

“Well, thank you for taking the time to talk with me and openly sharing what happened.”

“Of course,” he replied, and we walked off in the direction each of our paths called us…

I’m still sad as I write these words, but at least I can do something with the sadness in a meaningful and purposeful way. Maybe Darla’s story will reach someone, open their eyes and mind to a different perspective, and then plant a seed that will sprout and grow into a new wave of doing things and being in relationship with one another. A way that recognizes horses as our teachers, friends, family members, and partners. I want to give healing, honor, freedom, and spirit back to the genus Equus, for they have helped humanity survive and evolve ever since the beginning of our existence. Thank goodness several humans are already living more aware, sharing what they’ve learned and inspiring others along the way.