The true story of a young foal

SHE was born on a Tuesday morning in late February when it was still dark in a play park in a residential area. Someone had forgotten to close the gate that might, and the pregnant mare walking through the streets found a clean and safe area to bring her baby into the world.
The next morning, when it became light, residents were thrilled to see a newborn foal wobbling on its legs as it tried to get a good balance. Animals were not allowed in the field because it was newly upgraded, but the mother and baby were allowed to stay until she was ready to leave. Later that day, the mother was leaving with her baby, but, unfortunately, it fell into the drain, just inside the fence.

I had just looked out to see how they were doing, and saw the mother standing by the fence inside the field, looking concerned. Upon checking, I saw the baby foal stuck in the drain. No one was around to assist, so I knelt down and put my arms around the baby’s waist to pull it out. I fell back a little, so I had to hold it against my chest, and then it jumped away and ran back shakily into the field. I had mud all over me, but I was happy to have saved it from any further peril.
At that moment, I decided to close the gates to keep the mother and baby in the field a little longer to avoid it walking out and falling into another drain. Someone may not see it in time to save it from suffering long hours in the water, and that was a bad experience we had with two newborn foals already.

Both are buried right there in the playfield, and I did not want another death, for I was involved in the rescue of the first two.
One resident joked, “It seems to be a calling for you to rescue these babies.”

Maybe it is, but I know one thing for sure: As an animal lover, I do have the instinct to help an animal in distress once close by. It’s sad that those adult horses are neglected by their owners, because maybe they have no more use for them. They are left to roam the streets in the harsh sun and heavy rains, looking for grazing areas and scavenging in garbage bins.

They come into the community a lot to graze on the fresh, green grass on the wide parapets, sometimes injured and looking quite forlorn. The experience I had with the first foal, trying along with a few other residents to save his life, left a deep impact on my mind. For two days, we did the best we could so he could survive, and the mother had stood protectively over her baby from the evening when we had left him in the comfort of a shelter. The next morning, when I checked if his condition had improved, his body was stiff and cold. He had died during the night, but the mother still stood there protectively over him.

I sat there later that day as a grave was dug to bury the baby foal and witnessed a mother’s deep anguish and her reluctance to leave her baby. Animals and humans are no different when it comes to love, pain and anguish, yet the animals are at times treated so badly by humans. It touched my heart that afternoon to see that mother’s grief as she stood over her baby’s grave.
I didn’t want a repeat of that with the new baby, but little did I know this would be a new experience.

Another resident and I took water for the mother horse because the sun was really hot, and there were no big trees for shade on the field. We kept watch on them, refilling the water buckets, and on the second day, it was observed that the mother was not allowing the baby to nurse.

The baby was beginning to look weak, so a vet was called. We stayed in the field until late evening, but he did not show up.
On the third day, the baby had grown weaker as the mother continued to reject her, and an idea came to me that maybe we could feed her milk with a nursing bottle to ensure her survival. It worked, she drank the milk hungrily, and by that time, four vets were called, and none showed up, but one vet explained by phone that the mother was suffering from depression, thus her rejection of her baby.

It was amazing to know that animals experience the same postpartum depression as we humans do.
Word went around the neighbourhood about the baby foal’s plight, and it was quite pleasing to see how motherly care stepped up. By day four, five mothers had their own nursing bottles and a feeding schedule had to be implemented.

I named her Bella, and two foreign diplomats’ wives named her Martha. She was so cute. You just couldn’t help falling in love with her. By the end of the week, she had become everyone’s pet. The mother had to be let out to find fresh grass, and we thought she would have returned, but she didn’t. Now, the baby was looking lonely except when we were around her during feeding time, and I was fearful of her falling into depression not seeing her own kind.

We waited for the mother to return into the new week, but she didn’t, and I was left to think of the next steps in Bella Martha’s interest. None of us knew how to take care of a horse as it grows, and we couldn’t depend on a vet to come in time should something go wrong with it. One of the foreign ladies suggested we keep her and then let her out when she got older, but we were not sure she would be safe out there in the streets without her mother by her side. She would be in the sun and the rain, scavenging for food and possibly getting hit down the road.

She was precious, she was our baby, and we all wanted her to have a good life, to have care and to be in a safe place with vets on call. We finally found a place that was like a little paradise, suitable for the little princess. It grieved our hearts to let her go; the mothers who fed her were in tears, but it was in her best interest, for the streets are cruel.
The adoptive owners fell in love with her at first sight, and a special caretaker was assigned to her. We are given updates and pictures to see how she’s growing, for we helped her to survive and she will continue to live in our hearts, our own Bella Martha.