Shiloh Acres is named in honor of Shiloh, the incredible mare that was my first rescue experience.  I credit her for opening my eyes to the reality of horse slaughter and the auction circuits, and for fueling my passion to save other horses in her situation.

    Located near our house is a livestock auction yard, which I usually have to drive by every day on my way into town.  This auction yard is the "last stop" for many animals, and my first experience with it left me in tears from the images of neglect and abuse showcased there.  I hadn't gone back to the auction in over a year since that first time, yet one winter day in 2000, I had an odd compulsion to stop by again.

    On this particular day the auction had already ended, but there were still pens of horses in the back waiting to be picked up by their buyers.  My attention was immediately drawn to a large draft-looking paint mare who stood heads above the other horses, and was tucked into large pen all by herself.   When my attempts at coaxing her over to the fence where I was standing failed, I snuck into the pen with her.  She was very wary when I first approached, but after a few moments she let me stroke her large head and neck.  I spent several minutes with her, and when I turned to leave, she followed me closely every step of the way until I got to the gate.  When I once again stood outside her pen, she stretched over the fence as far as she could, wanting to be closer to me.  At that point, I couldn't leave her without knowing her fate, so I waited around the auction yard to find out who had bought her.  I had hoped that she would be going to a private home, but I began to get suspicious when I saw that many other horses there were marked with her same buyer's number, which hinted that she may have been purchased by a horse trader, rodeo buyer or a kill buyer.

     When her buyer finally arrived, some auction workers abruptly pushed past me into her pen and began to herd her out into the loading chutes.  She was then forcefully loaded into the back of a large livestock trailer, which was already crammed with way too many other horses.  I approached the older gentleman who appeared to be the buyer, introduced myself, and inquired as to what he intended to do with the horses he had bought that day.  He skirted around the answer several times, making me very suspicious, before hinting that they were headed "to Texas" (which I have since found out actually means "to the slaughterhouse in Texas").  After a bit of persuasion, he agreed to sell her to me right there in the auction yard parking lot.  I hurriedly called my mom for backup, and as I waited for her to arrive, I stared at the poor mare huddled and scared in the back of the trailer. I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into: I had bought this mare I know absolutely NOTHING about after having known her for less than an hour, and she was by far the biggest horse I had ever worked with to that point.

     After the transaction was complete, my new mare was unloaded into her holding pen again so that I could arrange to get her home, for my family did not have a trailer right at that time.  My mom and I scrounged around to find her some hay to nibble on while she waited, and every time I left her sight she would whinny after me.  I then made a trip to a nearby tack shop to buy a halter for her, which then took a good ten minutes and several cookies to get it on her.  We had her hauled and dropped off at the driveway to our house by some men who were at the auction with their trailer, and I led her the rest of the way to our barn.

     Over the next few days, I spent time just brushing the mare, who I had named Shiloh, and getting her to trust me more.  I could tell she had not been handled much, and simple things like touching her legs or belly were new and scary for her.  Her hooves were in such bad shape that I could not wait until she was trained to stand for the farrier to have them trimmed.  After having her for about a week, the vet came out to give her some sedation, and the farrier worked for well over an hour and a half just to get the hooves trimmed down.  My farrier thought it had been at least a couple of years since she had had any work done on her feet...

     Over the next few weeks, I was able to track down and contact her previous owners through the auction yard, and I found out that she was a 5 year old Belgian Paint cross from a Canadian PMU farm.  She had been bought as a weanling, along with other PMU foals, and shipped from Canada to be used as a broodmare on a farm.  She had been kept with a large herd on several hundred acres up in the mountains, where they were pretty much left to fend for themselves.  The previous owners were amazed that I had not only gotten a halter on her, but had led her down the road to my house, as she had NEVER had a halter on as an adult, and had not been halter trained as a weanling.  And of course, she had NEVER had her feet trimmed in all her 5 years.

     During the course of the next year, I worked with a trainer, using natural horsemanship methods, to get Shiloh started under saddle.  She was a very smart horse, and we developed a strong bond.  The very first time I climbed onto her back and we walked around the arena together was one of the most amazing and gratifying moments of my life!   

     Although I pictured many, many more happy years to come spent with Shiloh, it was not to be.  To my devastation, 5 days after our very first ride together I found Shiloh on the ground in a severe colic, sweating and groaning in pain.  We rushed her to the vet teaching hospital in town, where we lost her on the surgery table.  A large portion of her small intestine had somehow slipped through the opening into her stomach and become entangled, cutting off vital blood flow and making it impossible to do anything to save her.  

     Shiloh and I didn't have nearly enough time together, but she has touched me in a truly profound, life-altering way.  I am forever grateful that such a unique being came into my life, even if for only a moment, and I hope to keep her memory alive and strong through the rescue of other horses in need.

May she be in peace now...