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 night, and the pregnant mare wandering 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 its balance. Animals were not allowed in the field because it was newly upgraded—hence the gates—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. Then it jumped away and ran shakily back into the field. I had mud all over me, but I was happy to have saved it from further peril.

At that moment, I made an on-the-spot decision to close the gates to keep the mother and baby in the field a little longer, to prevent them from walking out and falling into another drain. Someone else might not have seen it in time to save it, and that could have meant hours of suffering in the water. We had already had two newborn foals die in that way, and both are buried right there in the playfield. I didn’t want another death, especially after being involved in rescuing the first two.

One resident joked, “It seems to be a calling for you to rescue these babies.” Maybe it is—but as an animal lover, I know that I have the instinct to help any animal in distress once I’m nearby.

It’s a sad situation that these adult horses are neglected by their owners—perhaps because they are no longer useful. They are left to roam the streets in the harsh sun and heavy rain, looking for grazing areas and scavenging in garbage bins. They often come into the community 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 its life, left a deep impact on me. For two days, we did our best to help it survive, and the mother stood protectively over her baby from the evening we left it under a shelter. The next morning, when I checked if its condition had improved, its body was stiff and cold. It had died during the night, but the mother still stood there, protectively over it.

Later that day, as a grave was dug to bury the baby foal, I sat and witnessed the mother’s deep anguish and reluctance to leave her baby. Animals and humans are no different when it comes to love, pain, and grief, yet animals are often mistreated by humans. It touched my heart that afternoon to see that mother’s sorrow 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 that this would be a new experience. Another resident and I took water for the mother horse because the sun was scorching and there were no big trees for shade in the field. We kept watch on them as we refilled the water buckets. On the second day, we noticed the mother wasn’t allowing the baby to nurse.

The baby was beginning to look weak, and a vet was called. We stayed in the field until late evening, but he never showed. On the third day, the baby had grown weaker as the mother continued to reject her. An idea came to me—perhaps we could feed her milk with a nursing bottle to ensure her survival. It worked. She drank the milk hungrily.

By that time, four vets had been called and none had arrived, but one 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 humans.

Word spread around the neighbourhood about the baby foal’s plight, and it was heartening 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 couldn’t help but fall 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 return—but she didn’t. The baby began looking lonely except during feeding times, and I feared she might fall into depression without seeing her own kind.

We waited into the new week for the mother to return, but she never did, and I had to consider the next steps regarding Bella Martha’s interest. None of us knew how to care for a horse as it grew, and we couldn’t depend on a vet to come in time should something go wrong. One of the foreign ladies suggested we keep her until she got older and then let her out—but we weren’t sure she’d be safe on the streets without her mother. She’d be exposed to the sun and rain, scavenging for food, and could be hit by a vehicle.

She was precious—our baby—and we all wanted her to have a good life, cared for and safe with vets on call. We finally found a place that was like a little paradise, suitable for our 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 still receive updates and pictures to see how she’s growing. We helped her to survive, and she will continue to live in our hearts—our own Bella Martha.