Not for the Faint of Heart: Horse Auctions

By Stacey Randall, volunteer, farm manager

(October 30, 2021) Four of us volunteers hit the road yesterday at 2:00 am, Doc, volunteers Rob and Chris, and myself to rescue five draft horses we affectionately call, “the Halloween Herd”: Trick and Treat, Jack, Ingrid, and Binx.

Everyone knows a farmer's life includes early mornings, but even for farmers, 2:00 is early. We were headed to a horse auction in Pennsylvania and needed to be there first thing when they opened. There is no doubt all four of us could write about the same day we all experienced, and it would be four different stories, four different experiences and different emotions shared.

Leaving CDHR, Friday, October 29, 2021, 2 am

I want to share my story.

My story begins long before 2:00 am. In my ten years at the rescue, I've offered to do pretty much any job but go to auction. I just thought I knew emotionally I could not handle it, and I would not be an appropriate choice to take to auction. Our horses have made me a better person and a stronger person and I felt it was now my turn to step up and help rescue some souls that need our help.

The closer the day came for our trip, the more I battled with my thoughts. Those "what ifs" can be debilitating. What if we can't save any? What if I can't handle the people? What if I emotionally break there? What if I get sick? What if my body says no halfway there? Suddenly, I realized those are all things our rescues go through, too, when we first save them! So I knew any souls at the auction we could save would do the same for me, and they did.

We started our trip by preparing the trailer, supplies, fuel, and snacks for us humans and hit the road. It's was a long trip mixed with belly laughs (especially about the oh so lovely road conditions on PA highways) and times of silence, each of us preparing ourselves for what we were about to walk into.

Arriving at the Auction

We arrived at the auction a bit after 8:00 am. It's wasn't a huge place by any means, and there were already so many trailers. Many trailers parked but even more lined up idling. We quickly realized we were in a line of trailers full of horses, dropping off horses, not taking them home. The first sigh of the morning.

We parked and started walking towards the auction house. Thankfully it hadn't begun raining yet, so we stood outside a bit to get our bearings and absorb what was going on all around us. There were trailers backed up to one little ramp that led into shoots in the auction barn. One trailer would empty, pull away, and then that spot quickly filled with another trailer full of horses that emptied into the auction house. It never stopped. Trailer after trailer after trailer. It was the same story when we were leaving hours later.

Even outside, there was an overwhelming smell of cigarettes, sadness, and fear. That's all you smelled. All around you, you could hear frantic whinnies, pawing of hooves on the pavement, in mud and on trailers, squeals of pain, men yelling, people talking, and laughter. So much laughter amongst people who clearly do this once a month. People who know each other because of these auctions. People who were having another typical day. The four of us were clearly in a different world. Their world is a world I never want to be a part of.

Rob finding our mare, Ingrid

There were so many eyes! So many eyes! I felt suffocated with so many. Scared eyes, desperate eyes, sad eyes, empty eyes, begging eyes, lost eyes. Just when it started to feel too much, I looked back over to the trailers unloading at the little ramp. A little black Percheron came off a small stock trailer. I wondered how he even fit in such a small, narrow space. It was clear he was older, and he was so skinny. A sheath so swollen we couldn't quite tell what it was. He stood waiting in a sea of lost souls, all waiting for their USDA sticker and spot in the auction.

Meanwhile, chaos was going on all around him; horses were rearing, people were yelling, and all the while, this sweet little Percheron stood quietly as he kept getting bumped and pushed around. We watched for a moment when something caught our eye. A BIG head appeared out of another trailer, and slowly a large Belgian mare appeared. I silently gasped to myself and turned to Rob and said, "Look." As he did she turned her head towards the four of us. I got Doc's attention and said, "look at her right hind." We have seen some swollen legs and hocks, but this was the worst one I have ever personally seen. She, too, stood quietly and waited her turn for that dreaded sticker.

Trick on the left

We stood there a bit longer and watched so many horses unloading into the auction. At one point, I was confused. The auction barn was not that big. Where the hell were all these horses going?

Next, we saw two other Belgians getting off the same trailer. One looked relatively "ok", but his partner was in far sadder shape. He looked older, so very skinny, and we could see sores on his legs.

We decided to go into the barn and start making a list of horse numbers and a little description about them for ourselves. I quickly realized this was not a task for me. I decided to be brave and walk through the auction.

Horses upon Horses upon Horses

The first room was full of smaller horses, cart horses; all packed in like sardines. There was hardly room to breath, let alone move. They looked relatively healthy, had nice halters on, and were munching on hay. A quick thought of, "oh, I got this." The second room, much the same and the third room the same. My next thought was, "wow, this is terrible, but the horses are ok, nothing like I expected." I turned right to the fourth room, and immediately on our left was a Belgian mare in foal and her 4-month-old colt by her side. Besides it being an awful place to be, once again, the mare and baby didn't look terrible…nothing like the auction photos and stories I've seen and heard.

I continued to a section that was full of Belgians and Haflingers. All of these horses, strangers to each other, clearly scared and unsure of anything going on around them, were packed in like sardines. Things had seemed to change in this section. Horses were skinny, their feet were a mess, and so many had apparent injuries. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of everything going downhill— fast.

Where were all the draft horses we saw unloading? I finally realized there was an outdoor area where the horses were tied up. It took a few minutes in this maze of horses on top of horses to find my way outside. One turn out into the fresh air and my breath was taken away by far worse things than the cigarettes and fear I smelled earlier.

I had found the draft horses (and more). I found what is referred to as the "garbage pile," "the throwaways," "the not worth anything," "the useless," "the broken," "the beat-up," "the used and abused," "the sick." I found OUR HORSES!

There were hundreds of horses tied up outside, no different than inside. Horses squeezed in every inch there was—all of them standing in mud and manure. Horses fighting, rearing, and becoming tangled together, horses being mounted, horses standing in pain, swollen legs, bleeding injuries, oozing eyes, eyes swollen shut, shivering, drooling mouths. This is what I've heard about at auctions. This is what I was warned about seeing.

The hardest part for me to see was ironically none of the things above; it was the distant look in the horses. The hardest thing to see was the broken ones that were shutting down. They were quiet and distant. They weren't with us. They weren't registering anything around them, anything touching them, anything at all. Those were the hardest for me to see.

I walked along rows of these beautiful souls. Rear ends on either side of me, just enough room to walk. I found the little old black Percheron we saw being unloaded earlier. He was thinner than I thought. We wrote his number down. Then we found the Belgian team we had seen earlier. One had a roached forelock and the other was so skinny, and his mouth, oh his mouth. It was full of open wounds, and his legs were a mess. We wrote their numbers down. We wrote a couple of other numbers down. Rob found the Belgian mare with a swollen leg. A simple, "We need to save her" was all that was said, and we wrote her number down. Next was a "hey, come look at this" from Dr. Golub. It was another Belgian. "He has fingers," was all we needed to hear. I looked down at his hooves and saw something that's all too familiar to all of us at CDHR…a "canker finger." We wrote his number down.

We still had time before the auction started. There was a lot of silence amongst us again as we continued to watch horses pour in nonstop. Already overcrowded areas were overflowing with horses…crossties, hitching posts, doors, aisles, and corners full.

Auction Time

Doc had registered and got a bidding number, so we found our seats for the actual auction. It didn't take long to see patterns. The bleachers were filled with a mix of people. Many were Amish and people like ourselves, but there were another group of people standing at the rails. These people never sat. People who knew each other by name, these were the people who were laughing! And then it hit me. These were the dreaded kill buyers/dealers. These were the people that we would end up bidding against- these were the people who wanted the lost souls, the "throwaways."

As the auction started, I was instantly overwhelmed and underprepared for the process. Well over 1,000 horses were running through that little place, and each horse had about 30 seconds for their lives to be changed entirely. The yelling, the snaps of whips, the auctioneer, the speed, the running and pulling of scared horses, horses slipping on wet mats, horses trying to run out of the auction was all too much, and I felt myself spinning. Horses were going so fast. Some for quite a bit of money. Were they going to a good home? Were they going to a dealer? Please, God, let them be ok. There were a few who went for very little before we even knew what had happened. Those laughing people at the rails were so happy as they collected an ok of "consumption" paper on the horse they just bought. Focus Stacey! Focus!

Treat

A Belgian comes in. Quick what's the number? It's one of the numbers we wrote down. It's one from the pair we saw unload. Bid! Quick bid again! Bid! Bid again! SOLD! We got him! The only bidder against us was a well-dressed, laughing man at the rail who was collecting cheap, big horses. Focus! We have to get his partner. He came in next. Same process. Bid! Bid! Bid! SOLD! We got him! Several more horses came in, and then a Belgian came in that we knew without even checking her number. It was the mare we saw unload with the swollen right hind. In a matter of seconds, that mare stopped on the floor and turned her head 90 degrees, and looked right at us. Rob turned to Doc and offered a generous donation on the spot to help get the mare. Bid! Bid again! SOLD! We got her!

Ingrid

We had just saved three horses, and they were coming home with us! Deep breath and then quickly lost it again in an instant. The pregnant Belgian mare I spoke of earlier? It was her turn to enter the auction. Right behind her was her four-month-old baby. No halter, no lead, just scared, glued to his mother and following her every single move. They made her run; he ran; they made her stand; he would stand. As if that wasn't hard enough to see, the announcer picks up the microphone, and we hear, "9-year-old Belgian mare in foal and her four-month-old colt. We are selling them separately! I repeat selling separately." Oh my God! Yes, at four months old a baby can be weaned but for god sake! Being weaned at an auction! Being weaned because your mother was ripped in one direction and you another at an auction? I thought I'd be sick. The mare was not in danger; she went for a good amount of money. Next came the baby and I thought I'd have to leave. His sale went quick and it was for a "safe amount" as well. I was so upset I couldn't even register what the announcer had said. Poor Rob must have known I was not well because he grabbed my arm and said, "Did you hear that?" It took far too long even to process what he asked me. I hadn't heard what they said. "Stacey, the same buyer! It's the same buyer! The same person bought the mare and her baby! They're going home together!" Dear God, I thought, this is our good news sitting at an auction. The good news we gasped about was that they went together. We have no idea what kind of home, but they went together, and that's what we held onto.

In comes the small black, very thin Percheron with the kindest eyes. He is the one we saw unload as well when we arrived. Bid! Bid again! Bid! SOLD! Guess who the person who bid against us was? Yep, the same laughing guy at the rail collecting horses.

Jack’s bum, Ingrid in the green halter

We had saved four; that was our goal. It's hard to stand up and walk away; I can't lie. Another Belgian came in. Ugh, just look and see if we wrote him down. Yep, there is his number. He is the one we thought we saw a canker finger. A quick check with Rob from Doc. "You up for this?" Which he responded with an immediate, "Yep, this is my life." Bid! Bid again! Bid! Bid again! SOLD! We got him. It was a difficult decision, and none of us wanted to leave, but we supported each other best we could and got up and walked out of the auction. There were more who needed us; we know that. We can't save them all; we also know that. This is what happens at an auction. We need to celebrate the five we were able to save and focus on them.

A Painful Process

We wanted to get our five and get out of there, but it was a long, painful process. The weather had changed, and now it was pouring down rain, raw, windy, and so muddy. We had to wait for the final paperwork, so we decided to see OUR HORSES, to pass some time. We couldn't believe it when we walked outside again to the area we had found them all tied to earlier. It was two, maybe three times as full as it was earlier. We could not believe our eyes. We basically had to turn sideways between these horses we didn't know and who also didn't know each other to find our saved souls.

We found them all, and all five were shaking by now. Cold? Probably. Scared? Probably. We wondered how we would get them. For lack of better words, it was a complete @%*@ show, and nothing made sense trying to figure out how we would get these horses out of the auction. Finally, our paperwork was ready, and we had paid our "pennies" for our babies. We were told, "Go get your horses and come through the auction barn and out the shoots in the front of the barn." Are you kidding me!? We knew someone would probably get hurt, whether us or someone else, but we had to get them out. We each grabbed a Belgian first. Approaching multiple horses' rear ends and asking them to step aside, so you squeeze through to get your horse is just dangerous.

Jack

I found Jack, the last Belgian gelding saved by us. As I haltered him and stroked his face, he flinched, and I assured him no hands were going to hurt him ever again. I always introduce myself. I don't know why, but it's something I've always done. "Hi baby, my name is Stacey. You're ok now, and forever." I hooked a rope on, and he stood there with his head glued to my side. I looked to the side of us and behind us, and there was nothing but horse rear ends. I giggled and said to Jack, "You ready for this, buddy? I'm counting on you to keep me safe these next five minutes, and then I'll keep you safe the rest of your life." There was no room to carefully back out and leave. Jack's butt and my voice were an instant team, and we got the space we needed from other horses so we could go.

Doc was first with Trick, Chris was second with Treat, myself with Jack and Rob behind us with Ingrid. With a domino effect of nods through the roaring rain, wind, and horses, we knew we were all ready. I will never forget that moment of us all in line turning into the barn to exit—the silent "parting of the seas" of every smoking human and every equine as the eight of us to come through. All four of the horses were calm, cool, and collected. As we reached the end of the barn to exit, the space became worse. It was shoots of single file gates you had to go out of to exit. They check your horse's number and paperwork before you can go. There was a delay, a lengthy one. We stood there with our Belgians while horses were panicking in little self-made areas all around us. Our Belgians were standing strong and calm. Just when I didn't think it could get any worse, I realized horses were still being dropped off at the auction. As we squeezed in these single-wide shoots with the other horses all around us, auction workers started coming down the shoots. Yes, down the same shoots in with more dropped-off horses going into the auction. I whispered in Jacks's ear; please keep me safe a little longer. He never once moved his front end, not once the entire time we stood there. He would gently move his backend side to side to let horses pass, and that was it. He kept utterly still against my side in the front; I believe doing precisely what I asked of him, keeping me safe. Finally, after what felt like a half-hour, we were moving. Numbers checked, ready to go, and we were flying off the mud-covered ramp together and praying neither one of us would slip when we landed in the deep mud. I got Jack into the trailer, out of the cold, pouring rain, and away from that #%@&$ auction and whispered to him one more time, "Thank you for keeping me safe, my love. It's my turn now, and I'll keep you forever safe."

Rob has Ingrid, Stacey has Jack

Loading was no issue at all. The four of them practically ran onto the trailer, and I heard it again, that #%#@ damn laughter! I couldn't make myself focus one more time and turned around and knew I was about to explode on someone. To my surprise, when I turned around, a group of men, men who worked at the auction, gathered watching us load with smiles. Before I could say a word, one of them called out. "Hey, we couldn't help but laugh! We ain't ever seen horses wanting to run on a trailer so bad as these guys do onto yours!" Ok, Stacey, breathe, no punching a group of men today. I just gave a half-smile and went back to our trailer.

Binx and Ingrid

We got the Belgians secured in the trailer, and Doc ran back to get our Percheron. He loaded very well and was the last puzzle piece to our day and our full trailer. Once we pulled out, horses and humans all breathed a sigh of relief. The horses traveled so unbelievably well. We stopped several times for general wellness checks, offered water, checked temperatures, and refilled hay. Rob was such a trooper. He easily squeezed between these five horses and, one by one, offered them water. We were amazed at how smooth the trip was going. We would be arriving home in about 35 minutes. We saw the light at the end of the tunnel!

Plot Twist

We saw a fire truck running lights coming towards us on the other side of the highway. Then we realized it was turning in the emergency u-turn to get onto our side of the road. We all kind of joked about not getting stuck behind the fire truck. "Good Lord, can you imagine if they shut the highway down and we were stuck?" Chuckle, chuckle. Oh yes. The fire truck started turning across all the lanes on the highway. It made a dead stop, and traffic on the entire highway came to a halt. We instantly were worried. Those five babies in the trailer are not in good health, had been at the auction all day without hay or water, were standing in the freezing rain for hours, had just traveled 6 hours, and now we're sitting on the highway. It was an awful accident, with double fatalities, and Lifestar was arriving on the scene. We asked someone if there was a chance of us being allowed through after Lifestar left and explained our situation. The cold reply, "Nope, too bad. There is nothing we can do, and you're not going anywhere."

We rechecked the horses in the middle of the highway— more water, more scratches, and more warmth. The horses had warmed up, so we gave them some air by opening the windows. Trick really seemed to enjoy this. What a sight to see, there was Trick, sticking his big head out of the trailer to get some air and look around, in the middle of the highway. That big beautiful head certainly got the attention of other motorists, who got out of their cars to come to talk about the horses and see who we were. A whole new world for these horses already.

Trick

Lifestar left, and we were told it could be hours before we could leave. We knew we couldn't sit on the highway for hours with these horses who desperately needed rest and care. In one last-ditch effort, Rob approached a firefighter and very politely explained our situation, and the firefighter was so kind and said, "let me see what I can do." We did not know this at the time, but of all the emergency responders Rob could have walked up to, he happened to approach a CDHR volunteer's Dad. There is no doubt in our minds we were watched over and protected the entire day. Not five minutes later, officers had moved the three lanes of vehicles in front of us and allowed us through with a fire truck escort—one last miracle for our day.

You are Safe Now

We pulled into the farm just before 10:00 pm, after a 20 hour day, and we were so happy. Volunteers were waiting for us to help us unload and make sure everyone was safe.

Yes, it's tough knowing we cannot save them all. It does hurt. But our focus now must be on helping the five we brought home heal emotionally and physically and prepare them for the next beautiful chapter of their lives. Five lives were saved today, and for us, that is a huge win.

Binx, our sweet Percheron

Trick, Treat, Ingrid & Jack