Missy

My name is Missy, and I was one of the unlucky ones, until I was one of the lucky ones.  

They called me Miss Demeanour, they said I had good breeding, that my parents were champions and so were their parents. I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember my mother because I was taken from her so young. I didn’t live in a herd like wild horses do. I lived in a stable on my own, and I had to race from the age of 2. Racing was hard, I was beaten with a whip and forced to go faster than I wanted to. One day I got hurt so badly that I couldn’t race again. But the pain didn’t end there. 

Because of my ‘champion parents’, they made me be something called a ‘broodmare’. They wanted me to have children so they could sell them. For five years I was tied down so that other horses could ‘mate with me’ against my will. I never gave birth to any children though, so the humans decided to kill me.

That was when my luck turned around. That was when I met Jacqui.  

I didn’t know it at the time, I was terrified of her, terrified of everyone – but Jacqui wasn’t taking me to slaughter, or back to be used for racing or breeding. She was taking me to be free. She took me to Springwood Sanctuary, where she treated me with patience and kindness. She saw how scared I was to wear collars and harnesses, after years of those things being the chains my abusers used to control me, so she didn’t try to force them on me. She didn’t lock me in a stable or climb on my back. She found me a friend, Blue Moon, who taught me how to be a horse again. Then more horses came and I learned we could groom each other, comfort each other, and rely on each other. For the first time in my life, I was safe. 

I was one of around 7,000 horses who leave the racing industry each year. Most of us don’t find a happy ending like I did. I died at Springwood Sanctuary after 11 years of freedom, surrounded by my friends.  

My name was Missy. I was someone.

Main image: Georgina Weston Photography