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Updates 09.02.2022
Thank you on behalf of Stefcio!

Stefcio can now look to the future with his head held high. He may dream again, and we will make these dreams come true as soon as possible. Stefcio is already with us, on our farm, where he has his own, cozy box, a manger full every day, and from time to time a juicy carrot, with which we try to convince him that a man can also be his friend. Stefcio is among his kind – among the people who care for him as best they can, and among other horses among whom we hope he will find his best friends over time.

On behalf of Stefcio – thank you!

His Story!
Stefcio has no dreams. In a place where dreams exist, they somehow die. Puff, and they are gone. When they bring you here, in the dirty truck, which now stands by the fence drenched in the January rain, you are left with shreds of hope. Everything goes out irretrievably when they put a tight halter on your head, tie a rope to a metal ring and make you wait with your eyes fixed on the wall. And although no one says what what the waiting is for, you know. Because here, the smell of death is everywhere. It mixes with terror and drowns in darkness. Here no dream would survive.

But that’s alright. As we have already established, Stefcio has no dreams. It has been standing here for several weeks. He doesn’t even look out the window. Rays of the sun are not for him anymore, not even the January rain. His host trades horses for slaughter to pass the time, out of habit, perhaps for fun. He always have. And although his worn out truck has been moving around the world for many years, he does not want to leave the business. He buys horses from the area, keeps them for a while, and when he collects enough profit, he takes them to slaughter and returns to the farm to fill his barn again. And life reaches full circle. Or death does. It is one thing. Stefcio will be gone in a moment.

And he was a brave pony. The trader says it’s an honor to have one like him in the barn. He worked in all the nearby farms, they exchanged him among themselves, and he drove from the barn to the barn. Everyone here knows Stefcio. I feel sorry for him. Everyone agrees that he should have a retirement pension. But when little Stefcio looks up with his pony gaze, every barn turns out to be too small to accommodate him. Suddenly no one has time to care for him, suddenly a handful of oats is worth gold. Too expensive to take Stefcio.

And they all agreed that the overworked Stefcio deserves a quick death. Because with such merits it is not good for him to get tired.

I look at Stefcio’s eyes fixed on the ground, bending his little head. They’ll take him soon. Where the sun does not reach, nor does the cool wind blow through the little ponies’ manes. Where it all ends and the slaughterhouse becomes a formality. Because in such places you die while you are alive.

The merchant picks up the rope as I finish the shots. He wraps it around his hand and drags the old pony behind. Stefcio is not resisting. A hoof after hoof, he passes the old truck and climbs over the threshold of the old barn. Old age covers everything here. I watch him disappear into the darkness for a moment longer. I hear the thump of the chain. And there is silence. Stefcio is alone again, obscured by the darkness and the window through which the sun does not want to look through any more.