When Andy arrived at Catskill Animal Sanctuary in the fall of last year, he collapsed to the ground when he stepped off the trailer. We lifted him gently, and he inched forward on wobbly legs to his stall.
In starvation cases, a rating system known as the “Henneke Scale” is used by veterinarians to describe horses’ body conditions. Horses are rated between “1” and “9” on the scale, with “1” being the worst possible score for an animal who’s still alive--a score that represents extreme emaciation. Andy was called an “extreme 1” – an equine version of a Holocaust victim. He was so starved for so long that we worried his body was shutting down. Instead of manure, he passed water. His urine was dark brown. He leaned against the stall wall to support himself, but was unable to stand for more than a minute or two. His prolapsed rectum, a bloody mass, remained outside his body for weeks.
We put little Andy, white with brown spots, on a special re-feeding program: small frequent meals of hay only, gradually increasing the amount, decreasing the frequency, and eventually adding small quantities of grain. How delighted he was in those first weeks that nearly as soon as he finished a flake of hay, another one was coming, accompanied by gentle words, plenty of grooming, lots of kisses. Everything we did communicated, "You're going to be just fine, Andy…just fine.”
For weeks, far too weak to walk, Andy ate, slept, ate, and slept some more. He wobbled on unsteady legs to his front wall, leaned out, nibbled hats, cheeks, sleeves. Too weak to muster a full whinny, he tried mightily nonetheless, calling out a scratchy hello to everyone he saw. Andy was determined to heal; we did our part. All of us—staff, volunteers, visitors—fell in love.
One year later, Andy still looks part horse, part gazelle, the likely result of inbreeding. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the sickest animal we’ve ever taken in, the one whom many recommended we euthanize, is a handful these days. That’s right: Andy recovered. It took a good eight months: first to gain weight, then to gain strength, then to learn to use wasted muscle to support himself as he walked—initially just a few unsteady steps down the barn aisle. By springtime, we were hand-walking him out to graze for fifteen minutes. By summer, it was a challenge to get his halter off in the large pasture where he was turned out for the entire day with his buddies Bowie and Noah. Why? Because Andy wanted to run. And run he did, exuberance, abandon and impishness on four spindly legs.
When we first agreed to take the little horse near death during a Dutchess County SPCA cruelty investigation, we never dreamed he would be adopted. For months, we were simply focused on his survival. We all assumed Andy would be a CAS “lifer.”
But one day, Deborah Smith-Fino showed up. “I’d like to adopt two horses,” she said. “One for me, and one for my husband.” Deborah, returning to the farm several times, proceeded to fall in love with Bowie; her husband with the alpha mare Athena. Now we certainly understood their choices! Young, striking Bowie, with his bald face, one pale blue eye and the other half brown, half blue, was another survivor of horrific abuse, and when Deborah appeared, Bowie was just learning to trust us. Deborah fell in love. Strong, confident, outgoing Athena was a no-brainer for Deborah’s husband Eric. The couple’s adoption application was approved, and they got to work completing their barn.
Fast forward to a conversation between Deborah and me in which I mentioned that Bowie and Andy were best friends who grazed nose to nose, charged around the field together like two young boys should, rested chins on each other’s rumps. A few days after that conversation, Deborah appeared in the barn. She watched as a tour stopped in front of Andy’s stall and Andy tried to chew everyone who came within reach. She watched as I swept Andy with a broom. She heard stories about how he falls sound asleep with his head in my lap. When I continued down the aisle with the tour, Deborah stayed behind with Andy. When tours ended and I loaded up the truck to feed the cows, Deborah was still with Andy. “I want him,” she said softly as I walked back into the barn. “I don’t want two animals who have been through so much to lose each other.” And she said it again after she read through dozens of pages of Andy’s medical records.
On Thursday, our veteran (and vigilant) home inspectors Walter McGrath and Charlotte Mollo gave the “thumbs up” after their follow-up inspection of Deborah and Eric’s farm. And on Sunday, the “Little Horse That Could” walked down our long barn aisle one last time, took a few minutes to work up his courage, then followed Athena and his best friend Bowie onto the trailer to head off to a very happy ending.
Happy Thanksgiving, Deborah and Andy. You will always, be in our hearts, little man.