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Update 17/01/2022

Kapitan is safe!

Thank you for saving Kapitan! The old man is already with us on our farm, where he was immediately provided with the best professional care. The old Kapitan has his own, cozy hay stall, a lot of tenderness on the part of the groomers and we hope that thanks to our wonderful veterinarian, Kapitan will feel better soon and after the obligatory quarantine he will be able to go out to the paddock to make great friends with other oldies.

On behalf of Kapitan – thank you!

His Story:

Kapitan. He is standing by the old barn, staring with large, beautiful eyes at my lens and trying to tell me his story. Someone would say that only his eyes are left, because you have the impression that he is so weak that you can kill him by touching. I look at him, I look at the surroundings. The world is drowning around in silvery snow, the frost is ruthlessly shaking my hands, and kapitans warm nostrils. I can see each of his troubled breaths rising like a mist to the sky. I walk cautiously closer, i touch his drooping head, and then he cradles that old head in my arms. My tears are falling, one after the other. You can see that Kapitan was a good, devoted horse who never objected. You can see how much use has been made of it. The trader did not let me enter the barn, where the Captain has his two square meters. Because maybe he has even less. Or maybe there are more like him waiting there. The holiday area is the time when this business is booming. Only those old horses are not blooming.

Kapitan. You probably don’t know him. Few had met him. I don’t think anyone from this neighborhood had. I don’t know exactly where he came from. But I know that from very far. He was born, somewhere in the east of Europe lived and served a Lord faithfully. The trader doesn’t charm. He brought a truckload of “such dead bodies” as he calls them, pointing at Kapitan in disgust and reluctance. All, he claims, have already been taken to slaughter. “I was afraid, Lady, that in such a state they would not live to see the New Year and they would stink here, and money, you know, doesn’t stink .. it was a great opportunity, it’s a flock of corpses …” the trader explains his point of view briefly. If Kapitan was in the best condition, I don’t want to imagine his companions who were sent forcefully over the Rainbow Bridge a moment ago. All the horses came from one large village. But that’s all the trader tells me. He is standing next to him with a thick rope, ready to take Kapitan back to where he has to wait for transport.

When I finish the shots and I manage to touch Kapitan’s thin neck with my fingers for the last time before I go, the man throws the rope over his head and forcibly pulls him towards the barn. To the barn, which is a silent witness to thousands of such horse stories, and has already seen thousands of gangplanks descending with a roar. Kapitan does not deny himself, once jerked he follows the man meekly, slightly indifferent and resigned. As if he knew that only a few had left this barn in any direction other than the slaughterhouse.

Kapitan. A horse with no prospects. The only prospect for a change of fate is you. I’m finishing a series of photos, a short video. I look at the old horse, his crooked legs, arched spine and those huge, dark eyes. And the thinner he is, the bigger these eyes are.