Project Hope - In Defense of Animals

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Doll's Diary
Account by Doll Stanley, August 9th, 2005

Dear Diary,

Last week Rose filled our thoughts. Neither time nor circumstances seem to have changed that. Though this week was to be devoted to preparation for the upcoming Disaster Animal Response Team workshop and the MACPA seminar, 22 calls came in for assistance on Wednesday alone. Bills had to be paid and supplies purchased. Debbie, Cindy and I had spent Tuesday transporting hundreds of pounds of dog food. Cindy had not been to Project Hope before and was pleased to see how well we provide for the care of our rescued animals.

Wednesday required my time taking care of business: banking, correspondence, and sanctuary extras. I didn’t leave until after 5:00 for the two cases I knew I could handle. I had to return to a place I really didn’t want to see again because it was where Rose had suffered for so long. Rose’s neighbor and friend called to say that Mr. Sanders hadn’t acted on my direction for the care of Rose’s yard-mates. I set out with the sole thought of returning with the 3 adult dogs, and 4 - 5 pups. You never really know if the reports you receive are unbiased until you see for yourself. This is one of those times when I was relieved that reality and perception were in conflict. Rose’s friend was clearly so upset by her plight and fate that she was reluctant to accept that Mr. Sanders had made changes.

The two dogs that had been chained in the sun were freely moving about the yard. The mother and her pups had not yet been moved, but a cover was to be erected over their stilted cage the next day. Their water fresh, they were sheltered from direct sun, and Mr. Sanders showed me what they were eating. He now soaked in the added advice I gave him regarding their care as they grew and matured. I explained the difference between dog foods, practical means of prevention and care, and when veterinary care was essential. The same officer from before accompanied me, and we both left feeling that though Rose’s tragedy would never be erased, but her plight had brought attention to the needs of so many animals in the community that will be spared suffering because of our visits and a close-knit community passing on reports of our visit.

I left Blue Cane Road and headed for the far side of Grenada Lake, a county away, a lifestyle removed. One community farm-based, impoverished with most of it’s animals just making it: the other typified by near-lake living with varied jobs and retired folks (some well-set, some choosing to scrape by, notably reflecting the fat and lean from yard to yard). I was to look in on some dogs who were reported abandoned.

It didn’t take me long to find the dogs happily playing up the hill from their gully home. Distrusting of strangers (as a good many probably rebuffed their attempts to mooch for a handout), I set my aim on finding a sympathetic neighbor who might give me information on their habits so that I could rescue them. I found a neighbor who, with a few of his friends, was keeping watch over the dogs and feeding them. The person who reported the case has given me more info, and I believe my return visit will be successful.

Thursday morning I shot out of bed, walked our special care dogs, and started to dress for the two cases I set aim on. Debbie and I were working out the logistics of the day, when Gay reminded me that I was to speak at noon. With a speedy shift in plans and a change of wardrobe, I would squeeze in errands on the way to my speaking engagement.

The Exchange Club was very receptive to our mission. After the talk, I quickly changed from nice speaking dress to ready-for-anything garb.

The initial case was a no-brainer. A precious man who asked us for help with a seriously neglected dog a few months ago now needed our intervention in preventing harm to two Rottweilers who were starting to leave their yard and put themselves at risk by harassing neighbors. The call was but a few miles form the case I was on my way to, and a brief but thoughtful encounter in a neighborhood gains good will for our efforts and increases respect for responsible guardianship.

The next stop was the Sultan’s residence. A report from a Weimaraner rescue rep alerted me that there were at least six dogs and a number of cats in trouble at the Sultan’s. The rescue rep had stopped in and spoken with Mrs. Sultan, who had offered that she would love for someone to come and take the "poor" animals. She said that relatives had left the animals there because they didn’t want to take care of them. Mr. Sultan wasn’t so inclined. He welcomed my taking the dog he felt was dying, but instructed me to wait while he brought him to me. His grandson gripped him by the waist as he began to cry and beg for Riley to stay. It was disturbing. Here a child was bound to a living, breathing friend, and he was to be separated because his friend’s life was of no value to the adults in his world.

I repeatedly strived to ease the boy's concern that Riley would be leaving. As much as I reasoned that he would get the help he needed and then be placed with a family that could care for him, it was like telling a child how much fun they would have indoors when the game they had anticipated was rained out.

While I waited for Mr. Sultan to return with Riley, I took up the cause of the kittens who seemed to be everywhere. The sweet boy recognized that some of them were sick. He quickly pointed to the kittens that wouldn't be leaving, but bent to scoop up several gaunt, runny-eyed kittens. I was placing the third kitten in a carrier when Mr. Sultan and Riley rounded the corner. "Lord!" I breathed.

Riley is heartworm positive, but has no sign of other issues except that he was malnourished and flea-ridden. He is recovering with Debbie. The kittens were too ill to survive.

Debbie and I planned to spend the evening brainstorming and setting timelines. We got a call regarding a horse in the Bolton community, about 25 miles from her home. Cindy Bailey - volunteer, dear friend, and horse enthusiast - joined us for the visit. We found two stallions padlocked in filthy stalls. Their 55-gallon water drums were nearly depleted of water. They couldn't reach what was left, and what was left was filthy.

The mare chained in the yard was pitifully thin. Even worse was her grossly swollen, putrefied rear left hoof. Her hock was enormous and her foot was fused in a distended position. Flies swarmed about the horribly swollen, raw, maggot-infested flesh. The frog and entire bottom of her foot was missing. The grotesquely swollen flesh reminded me of a bomb wound. There was no doubt that this horse had endured months of suffering.

The property owner, a Mr. James Guice, wasn't home. We gave the mare a little grain and watered her. We would get in touch with her guardian and take action the next morning.

It was good that we were up early, and the rescues Debbie cares for were squared away. Kate Colson, neighbor to Debbie and another enthusiast with great knowledge of horses, called to alert us that the mare was in route to a nearby property. It seemed that her "owner" had plans to sell her. He had another man call to ask Kate if she would buy the mare for $50.00. We were really distressed that a horse that could barely balance herself was being driven around in a trailer.

Kate called Dr. Vice, a noted equine vet and guardian to our Sarah (a horse we rescued from Pope, Miss.). After hearing of the mare's condition, he suggested that we get her to the diagnostic lab, where he would meet us. I left to see her "owner" and the man trailering her.

I met Mr. Guice and two of his associates at a convenience station. Kate knew one of the men well. He transported and dealt in horses. The other man had a horse with them that he was selling. In stark contrast to the mare we sought to rescue, this horse was in good shape. Both men clearly understood that Guice's horse had been badly neglected. We learned that her foot trouble had started with a bad shoeing.

Mr. Guice was in the store when I arrived. This gave me time to learn as much as I could about the history of the mare and his intent to sell her. When he joined us it didn't take long for him to understand that I wasn't offering to buy her. There were several mitigating factors for my reaching a speedy agreement with Guice to simply deliver the horse to the lab. Getting a court order for seizure on a Friday afternoon in a county where other cases have been difficult to pursue wasn't in my plan. Because our statutes are so poorly written, and have been weakened by recent court decisions, I wasn't thinking about court action. This horse needed immediate relief, and did not need to stand in the trailer any longer than it would take to get her to the lab.

Kate told Guice she wouldn't buy the mare, but would pay for her transport to the lab. As much as it went against the grain to see that he got the money, it was clear that he wasn't going anywhere until he got it. At this point he was still holding out for the $50.00 he wanted and wasn't inclined to sign our release. I informed him that the horse must get to the lab, that his neglect of her was an actionable offense, and that IDA would not participate in him profiting from any transaction after he allowed her to suffer so. He gave in, and we headed for the lab in separate vehicles.

The trip to the lab was strained. Though Guise's associates had made it clear to him that he could be in big trouble over his neglect of the mare, it was still possible he would change his mind and head in another direction. At one point heavy traffic separated us and I had to go searching for him.

Dr. Vice was waiting for us when we arrived at the lab. The mare was carefully unloaded. She had such trouble using her rear leg that we were concerned she would fall while backing out of the trailer. Dr. Vice wore a grim expression, validating our assessment of the mare's condition. Dr. Vice said that he could remove the dying flesh and perhaps stop the infection, but couldn't remedy the damage done. This foot wasn't her only problem. She showed signs of foundering in her other feet. We were sickened when we found her; now we were face-to-face with despair.

I approached Mr. Guice for his signature on the release form. Clearly, my disclosure of the action that could be taken as a result of his failure as a guardian had sunk in. He freely agreed to release her to be euthanized, but held fast to his defense of his care for her.

Debbie and I again documented the condition of the mare. Dr. Vice euthanized her, and with this critical effort complete I approached Mr. Guice about the circumstances in which we found his other two horses. I made it clear that if he did not clean their stalls and give them fresh, accessible water we would return to seek their custody. At this point, Mr. Guice told me the mare really belonged to two other men. He gave Cindy the name of another "owner," and we saw him off.

Dr. Vice made it clear that the death of the mare was due solely to neglect. "This is nothing more that the result of her standing in s*#t!" he exclaimed in disgust. She was malnourished, and being staked and lame she wasn't even able to access the sparse grass that grew about 15 feet from her. She had endured a long period of suffering. We were all feeling sick. Even one of the men with Mr. Guice asked for a ride back with us. He couldn't stomach what he had seen either. He and Guice's other associate took my card and not only promised to alert us if Guice failed to care for his other horses, but also if they saw any other horses in distress.

The moment of this sweet animal's death gripped us. Though she didn't feel her thud to the ground, it had an impact that shook us to the marrow. The only consolation we could think of was the importance of our legislation passing this year. Dr. Vice agreed to aid us in any way he could with getting it passed.

And then the big issue took front and center. "No Name" was actually a mustang. Her freeze brand, "UTAH BLM," was prominent. We saw no other markings to distinguish her individuality, but we all knew that someone had bought her for $50.00, and that's what Guice wanted. He told us he had no papers on her, but who did? How did he gain possession of her? The condition of her foot clearly represented many months, possibly a year of serious neglect. How long had he had her? We knew that mustangs could be sold after a year of custody. Guice asked me if the lab would sell her for slaughter. He was still hoping to gain profit from her, even in death.

We had a new mission. Her death could not be in vain. Her fate, and the plight of other mustangs we have seen in Mississippi, must gain momentum to secure the protection of mustangs from exploitation.

We decided that calling the mare "No Name" was disgraceful, so we decided to name her "Sweet Spirit." In patience she suffered, but did not lose her sweet spirit. From the moment she was rounded up in fear, separated from her herd, transported and "adopted" out (sold) to whoever would have her, she was doomed. This is a fate that no mustang deserves. Our government spends our tax dollars for the decimation of the mustang herds to ensure cattlemen free grazing on public land. There is no doubt in my mind that this is another program that would have taxpayers joining mustang advocates in an outcry against this injustice if the public understood what was being done. Folks hold on to rodeo and other miseries as their cultural "heritage," but where is the outcry for our mustang heritage? Controlling their population through sterilization is viable and far more humane. Americans don't eat horses, and only the greedy hearts of those who profit from their slaughter can stomach this practice.

Debbie and I will be putting a package together to present to our home office, and to share with other horse protection groups to see that Sweet Spirit's fear, misery, and death were not in vain. To quote Dr. Vice as he emphasized for us the plight of mustangs, "You're putting the worst people with the wrong horses…Most of the people who get these horses know nothing about them. They think they can train them a little and then make a profit off of them."

Until next time,

Doll.

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