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Update 09.02.2022
You saved Piotuś!

Little Piotruś is already with us, completely safe. He is still a bit scared, but we know that he will soon find out that thanks to you he has a completely new life. A life full of carefree, fragrant hay, the most loving care and juicy carrots – just everything that such little ponies need! First, quarantine, a thorough examination by a veterinarian and a pedicure provided by our blacksmith, and then only the company of other ponies and heating the back in the sun. On behalf of Piotruś – Thank you!


His Story
We arrived as the day was drawing to a close and the January sun was fading into the horizon. It was strange, even deterrent. These short winter days and the gray sky do not fill you with optimism, but you would definitely avoid this place at this time. An old yard full of long-forgotten furniture, damp walls covered with moss, and bald trees. We walked in through the little door, creaked the hinges, inhaled some of the manure stench mixed with the smell of death. The horses from here only go in one direction. The host has been breeding and trading with slaughterhouses for many years. A business like any other the saying goes. But if you were standing right next to me, you’d have a different impression …

I named him Piotruś “Peter”. For no reason. He had to get a name. And he didn’t have his own. There are no names for horses like him. There are also no nametags on the stalls. You know, so that their names would not be remembered and not spoken by anyone.

But let’s start from the beginning, that day I met Piotruś. Black as coal, with huge white eyes that glowed in the dark. Piotruś, who reportedly had a house recently, but other expenses emerged and the family got rid of the pony without unnecessary complications. One phone call and someone took the toddler. The children hadn’t looked at him for a long time anyway. The pony will not win with the offer of the modern world. At least Piotruś didn’t win ..

The trader refused to let me into the main barn, a little irritated, he told me to wait. The silence was broken only by the wind, tearing out the old, broken shutters every now and then. The emptiness was completed by a few empty pens for animals that are long gone. A few ropes lying in the corner and a debris scattered around. Nobody here cares about anything but money.
I heard a scuffle from afar, but we must not react. Because then we are simply thrown out. Piotruś probably did not know that his fate was at stake. He did not make it easier. If he had known how few were on his side, perhaps he would have been walking more calmly. The dealer tugged at him and slammed the end of the rope against his rump. Terrified eyes darted ahead and stopped right in front of me. The last, strong pull almost knocked Piotruś over. The merchant was not going to waste any time, tied a little pony to a wooden stake and gave me a few minutes pointing at the wristwatch.

Piotruś, in his helplessness, was already humble, pressed against his wooden post staring at the wall. Sometimes, when he was glancing in my direction, I would take a few shots. But I was not able to keep his horrific whine in the frame for you. His little hooves banged against the floor every now and then. As if he hoped it would change something. As if somewhere in him there was a conviction that this was some kind of a grim joke. As if he believed that the light was about to come on, the actors would leave the stage, and those who had been coming for so many years would come for him.

Piotruś doesn’t know they never come. Once they hand their pony over to a trader to do what they don’t want to get their hands on, they look away and go on their way. And they never look back. And nobody looks after Piotruś.

The man ends up smoking a cigarette, presses it with his shoe into the manure. He pushes his shoulder at me and gives Piotruś a kick, just in case. Pony’s ears get huge and the little body stiffens. I quickly wipe my tears away, sqeeze my hands on the lens. I can only stand and watch. Otherwise I will not see Piotr more.

I get a contract, give a down payment and go back to the car covered with the black sky. Around me only forests and vast fields, which are a silent witness to Piotruś’s terror and the passing of his world. Because the worst part of all this is transience and the fact that nothing will change when it’s gone. The world will not stop, nobody will write about it, and in the morning the sun will rise as usual. Only his world will be gone. And for him the sun will never shine again in the sky.