During one summer while I was working at a horse farm, a group of us was assembled to move a group of the pregnant mares from the overflow farm back to the main farm, I believe, in anticipation of the mares having their foals in a short while. Someone had devised a plan for rounding up the mares from the various paddocks, separating them and getting them into stalls before the truck came for them.

The area that we brought all the mares into was the main parking area in front of the main stable. The area was about two-hundred feet long and maybe one-hundred and fifty feet wide. On the North side of the lot was a large hay barn and to the East was the managers house on the property, the South side was fencing, that was a part of one of the big paddocks. The West side of the lot was the main stable with forty stalls in all.

There was a two-rail split wood fence in front of the stable that was maybe three-feet high. The fence was about ten-feet in front of the stable, it was really just there for decoration.

Having moved the mares into this area, we all had gathered in front of the stable near the short fence to strategize our next move. The mares were all very calm and just standing around. It’s hard to say what caused them to start running around the temporary paddock, maybe one of the mares had encroached on the space of another mare or maybe somebody was just cranky standing in the heat. I don’t know.

All of a sudden, the mares were surging towards us, the people grouped up in front of the stable. One of the mares, trying to escape from the stampede, tried to jump over the short fence. She was able to get her front half over the fence but her back half, specifically her left rear leg, didn’t make it. Her back leg went in between the bottom rail and the top rail. Her momentum carried her forward, snapping her leg in several spots.

Somehow, she was able to stand up, her left back leg waving around, unable to stand on it. (It’s why I called this The Three-legged Mare).

The farm manager, who was right there with us yelled “Jump on her, get her to the ground and hold her down!” I don’t remember how it happened but the next thing I knew she was on the ground with five of us on top of her, trying to keep her from thrashing around.

We now had a horse, on the ground, laying on her left side, still trying to get up. I happened to end up with my full body laying across her neck. One worker had grabbed her halter and was holding her head, The other three were positioned to her left, lined up along her back.

It was really lucky that it happened that way because her legs (the unbroken ones) were still trying to run away while laying on her side. It would have been bad if anyone was in the path of those flailing legs.

Even though she had a broken leg, she could still be dangerous. Standard-bred horses are between one-thousand and fifteen-hundred pounds. Horses are powerful animals.

After a few minutes, the dust settled and the mare seemed a little calmer, all of them were. Maybe the fact we were holding her down contributed to her stillness.

The manager, who had been there the whole time, went into decision mode. The owner of the mare had to be called and notified. Fixing a broken leg on a horse is a very expensive undertaking. It would require round-the clock care, a special stall with a harness to help her stand. And then there was the foal inside her. The owner was called and it was decided that no, they would not be spending the kind of money to save her. As far as the foal was concerned, because it was so close to the due date, they were going to try to save it.

The mare couldn’t be moved to the surgery center as it was at the other farm. She couldn’t be sedated without possibly harming the foal, I'm not a vet so I really don't know. The manager went up to his house and retrieved a handgun. I think it was a 357 magnum. The vet and his assistant were standing nearby and ready with a surgical kit. The manager instructed all of us who were still holding down the mare, that he was going to position himself in front of the mare's head and count to three. At the end of the count we were all to stand up, slowly, and step away.

One, two, three, we all stood up and took one step away, thankfully the mare did not move. The report from the handgun bounced off the walls of the buildings around us. The mare was dead. Unbelievably the gun going off did not cause the other horses to run!

When I stood up I made sure to not look when the trigger was pulled, I didn’t want to see what happened. The vet and his assistant moved in, “Everyone, grab a leg and roll her onto her back!” shouted the vet. In a matter of seconds, she was on her back and the vet sliced open her belly, he had to work his hands in and open up the placenta that the foal was in and slice it open too. After less than thirty-seconds the foal was out and on the ground.

The vet cleared it’s airway and after a couple of seconds it started to breathe. The farm manager had his full size SUV nearby and was waiting to put the foal in the back and transport it to the main farm. Three or four of us carried the foal to the back of the truck where the vet assistant was waiting in the back on blankets and put the newborn foal inside. The tailgate was slammed shut and the Bronco raced away.

The foal lived a few days, but in the end it died too.

There were times on the farm when there were probably five-hundred plus horses between the two farms. It wasn't very often that one died, at least I don't remember it happening a lot. I’m sure it happens more frequently, I’m just glad I wasn’t there to see it every time.

The Three Legged Mare

Emergency on the farm.

The all-in-one writing platform.

Write, publish everywhere, see what works, and become a better writer - all in one place.