Masza is safe!
You gave her a wonderful gift for the New Year. This old mare, devoid of all hope, is already with us, and we are doing everything to make her feel again that there is still a bright future ahead of her. He is already with us, in his own warm and dry box. A veterinarian took care of her immediately, and soon a blacksmith would also come to take care of her hooves. We do everything in our power to make Masha feel at home on our farm. That she would be calm and feel that she is safe. All this is possible thanks to you. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts!
A spine bent to the point of absurdity, swollen legs and hooves like frying pans. Heavy breathing, gray temples and twisted legs. And that look filled with despair and a silent plea. A begging to get her out of here. To wherever.
Meet Masza. This is an amazing breed! Outright favorite breed of traders. This breed is called “Old, worn out, devoted with all her heart and soul, she will go wherever they say, even if she were to fall on this journey.”
Such horses are invaluable to their owners. They never refuse, they are faithful to the last breath. This is what Masza has been like all her life as a horse. It would seem that someone whom she gave her devotion would appreciate her enough not to throw her out of the brackets when her health begins to decline, and her days become apparently countable, and her temples are covered with gray. And when these silver temples stood and the end line was clearer and clearer – Masza was chased down the gangplank on a November evening, amid raging winds and under the dark November sky. No sentiments and no regrets. Her hooves pounded on the gangplank, the whip whistled ominously, and the autumn wind tugged her rebellious thinned mane – this last time. Nobody looked back, nobody will miss her. She left, crowded with the other horses, on her final journey. All the way to Poland. Poland, the land of the lancers. Country where she will give her last breath. But before that, she will earn a few her owner a profit. Because from such horses life is squeezed dry.
Because Masza lived in Lithuania. She was born there, in some country barn. Her foal years happened there, she gave birth to foals there, she pulled a cart there and there she plowed the fields with devotion. The best years of her life have passed there, the best winters and springs full of green buds. There, old age caught her and stripped her of her dignity and dreams. The old age did not leave rights or illusions. Old age gave her suffering, gave a thick rope for a tired horse’s head and sent it out into the world with a baggage of experiences.
Old age can be cruel, although maybe Masza didn’t count on anything. Maybe it’s my strange desire, my counting on it. Counting on that such old horses stay in their place on this earth, a place that knows them, that raised them, and watched them grow up, and grow old. Until one day someone calls them upstairs, closes their eyes and wraps them with peace. Counting on that no one screams them down the steep ladder when their legs become sick. Counting on that the thick rope doesn’t adorn their heads as they walk down the narrow corridor. And maybe counting on that they never follow the narrow corridor…
All her life Masza did something for a person. When she finished, when a man no longer needed her, when her hour struck, she received a sentence which will be fulfilled in a moment. They would chase her down the gangplank again. She will stand among the others again. Will arrive or fall on the way. It is hard to say what would be a greater salvation ..