Bad to the Bone

These two videos speak for themselves (no pix, just verbal descriptions).  A killbuyer turns over a new leaf after a couple of decades of doing things to horses for money that, finally, made even his stomach turn.  This comes from the CHDC blog with grateful thanks to Cathleen Doyle for this information.

 

We’re not aware of the circumstances of this chilling testimony but have posted it as we know these things are still happening to our horses on a daily basis in North America.

Making a living is NO excuse for this depraved industry!

Our thanks to Cathleen Doyle for posting.

Part 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfzX4Fx5xuE&mid=504

Part 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8ZNiRV5-Mw&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

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Born to Be Hurt

Born to Be Hurt

It’s a line from the 1950s movie,  Imitation of Life, starring glorious Lana Turner.  Annie says this of her daughter, Sara Jean, who cannot accept that she is of mixed race, denies her Afro-American mother (Annie), and follows a self-destructive path until Annie, her mother, dies…much too soon and much too young.  “How,” Annie asks Lana, who plays a celebrated actress in the movie, “…how do you tell your own child that she was born to be hurt?”  

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War Horse

War Horse

I must have been living under a rock.  I’ve only just now heard about Spielberg’s production of War Horse, a novel by Michael Purgaro.  War Horse has already won the Tony award in the UK as a play (yes, a play with puppet horses); is now playing on Broadway in New York to sold-out audiences.  The movie will be released in Canada near Christmas.  Published in 1982, this inspiring story, told by the horse himself, has finally reached the silver screen.  I can’t wait to read the book and then see it interpreted by the incomparable Spielberg.  Go to the following sites to see the movie trailer and to see a wonderful monologue by the author, Purgaro, about the genesis of the book.  

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Brideshead Revisited

Brideshead Revisited

As I slog along in life, it always throws me when just a smell or a place or a person can propel me into a hellish period of my past, one of many temporal nodes decorating life’s stress lines.  At those moments, when my spirit is overtaken by such an unbidden mnemonic, I am returned, violently, to a place of powerlessness.  The memory overwhelms, not just current reality, but erases for the time being all the self-growth, the va-et-vient of character as it is hammered-and-tonged in the forge of life.  It all sounds too precious, I know, but the return to that place of suppression of self, of terror of doing the wrong thing (by someone else’s lights, not yours, never yours and so how do you know if and when you’re doing their “wrong”?) or of  being abused for inscrutable and clearly irrational reasons, paralyzes the soul.  You are back there where there is no escape, no justice, no appeal to reason and all recourse is just a hollow calling out into the dark of the night where no one will hear and no help is about.  All the wisdom you’ve hoarded and transformed into the personal inner resources you call upon to rescue that damaged, deadly memory seem to have gone on the lam somewhere–somewhere, anyway, where you can’t access and apply them.  

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Linus at the CHHAPS Pacific Canadian Horse Show 2011

Linus at the CHHAPS Pacific Canadian Horse Show 2011

My fingers have been hovering over the keyboard for about five minutes now, much like the scene in You’ve Got Mail in which Tom Hanks ponders how to explain his no-show on his date with Meg Ryan.  I was so privileged to be part of the Pacific Canadian Horse Show in Maple Ridge, British Columbia that my gratitude has all but rendered me mute. Everyone was warm, welcoming, helpful–and that was just the people.  The horses were, well, breathtaking, and since my booth was less than five feet from the shed-rows, you can easily guess where my heart led my feet, again and again and again.  I couldn’t get enough of these superb horses, each one a credit to the Canadian breed in looks and temperament.  All the owners and riders were very good about letting me pet, kiss and generally bask in the energy and beauty of their horses, and everyone graciously tolerated all my questions–and dumb and wordless staring, which I did a lot of.  Even while there, I was very much aware how different this Show and this group of people were from those at other Event and Competition shows I’ve attended.  

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When No-one Cares for you, I will

Believe it or not, the title of this post is a quote from the John Wayne movie, The Sons of Katie Elder.  My but the world has changed!  The New York Times had an article I found enlightening if only because, when taken together with the following article (written by Animals-Angels USA), it embodies how a new insight into an old tradition evolves into action…

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