Return to Dignity

The first time I ever saw Harriet, she was dragging someone down the aisle of the Rescue Barn. She was actually quite good at dragging things. In fact, I’d venture to say it was one of Harriet’s favorite pastimes, second only to running away from things. Harriet ran away from everyone and everything. She preferred seeing the world from a distance. She was the self-proclaimed queen of her personal space. The fewer people in it, the better. No people in it was best. She’d let folks know that by turning a warning eye toward them and lifting a rear leg in warning. Giving Harriet a carrot or other horse treat was considered either a brave feat or a foolish one, depending on how quickly the treat giver could pull attached fingers from between her snatching teeth. Probably, the only good thing to be said about Harriet and treats was she was, generally, not running away , dragging, or threatening to kick anyone at the time, unless, of course, she had gotten hold of a finger in her single-minded pursuit of the treat. In that case, the running would be performed to get away from the howling owner of the seized fingers, and the dragging would occur as the human connected to the fingers in her tightly clamped teeth would be forced to accompany the fingers and Harriet on her quick escape. Harriet’s name wasn’t even Harriet when I met her. I don’t remember what it was, but no matter, neither did Harriet. She appeared to be an independent, self-confident little scrapper who ruled her tiny world with innate intelligence and courage. She had no idea of the great, wide world beyond the Rescue Barn. And she had no need of a name. Harriet was probably about four years old at the time of our introduction, or so her teeth proclaimed. She was just as cute as a bug! Her snapping brown eyes sparkled with interest and intelligence. The speed of her short, sturdy, fast-moving pony legs was comical on her frequent retreats. They put one in mind of the blurred motion of a Roadrunner cartoon. The sharp staccato of her tiny pony hooves couldn’t help but bring a smile to anyone’s lips, even if that someone happened to be her pursuer or her “draggee”. One just could not help admiring the pluckiness of that delightfully spirited, pint-sized pony. I, like many other folks at the rescue barn, admired her from afar. But no one wanted to take her home. Horses and ponies come to the rescue barn for a number of reasons, most of which are not happy. It is always a traumatic experience for an animal to be moved to new surroundings, but horse rescue also involves some other strains and stressors. There could have been neglect or abuse in the previous home. An owner could have passed away. Perhaps, the animal was just unsuitable for its past circumstances. The most difficult cases, though, are confiscations. This means the animal had to be taken from its previous owners by law enforcement officials because its situation was unhealthy, life-threatening, or in some other way in serious violation of the humane laws of the State. Harriet fell into that category. However, because she was young, full of energy, and so darn cute, it was assumed she would have no trouble finding a new home. Many folks did come and spend long moments in front of her stall looking her over carefully. She was so charming standing there in her fresh, clean stall, munching sweet-smelling hay and looking up at her admirers with bright, interested eyes, giving curious inspections of outstretched hands with her soft, velvety nose. She even allowed her head to be petted over the stall partition, which is something most horses do not like strangers to do. But as soon as someone wanted to groom her, walk her, or even spend time in her stall with her, things didn’t go so well. Harriet seemed to want to experience the world on her terms with no compromises. I watched person after person walk away from the strong-willed pony with regret in their eyes. No one wanted to take on a running, dragging, kicking, biter of a pony, no matter how cute and angelic-looking she was. I watched this for about eight months. In all that time, she didn’t drag any less, run away any more slowly or less often, take treats any more respectfully, or allow her coat to be groomed any more patiently or with all four feet remaining any more firmly on the ground. “How could she be so dumb?” was the question everyone was asking about her. In all that time, Harriet got no better in her relationship to humans. She seemed to consider them entertainment only, interesting to watch, but not good for much else. That’s probably not a lot different from how most humans view ponies. I wondered if maybe Harriet wasn’t dumb at all but smarter than a pony should be. Finally, one day, I’d had enough of watching Harriet’s supposed successes in conquering the humans of her kingdom. I decided to take action. On that fateful day I overheard something that galvanized me into action. Harriet was being removed from her stall so it could be given its daily cleaning. As soon as she cleared the doorway, she immediately went into her usual dragging routine. A grown man was holding tightly to her lead-line, leaning his entire weight heavily into her to try to control her mad dash down the aisle of the barn. The best that could be accomplished was a semi-controlled drag down the aisle, with Harriet as dragger and him as draggee. He was taking her outside to eat some grass while others cleaned her stall. The truth was she was taking him outside, and when she got where she wanted to be, she stopped, put her head down, and began happily chewing off big mouthfuls of lovely green grass. This whole scenario was not the least bit unusual for Harriet so this was not what precipitated my action. What set me on my course of action to bring her home to Wedgfire Farm was a comment I overheard as Harriet dragged her human down the barn aisle.