​Registered Name: Captured Angel

Born in New York | February 2017

Sired by Danza Out of Caviar Crush by Successful Appeal

When I first arrived in this world, oh what a big, strange place it was! The bed beneath me was soft, my mother's nuzzle gentle, and though there was activity around me, I felt safe in my stall. People came to look at me, admire me. I settled close to my mother—she was my protector.

I met other foals like me, other fillies and colts, and we grew together. The farm I was born at was big—when I went out of my stall, it looked like it went on forever, fences stretching as far as I could see to keep me safe from the outside world. Or so I thought.

Yet within, as I grew stronger, more human hands came upon me, and then one day everything changed. Not just for me, but for all the other foals I grew up with. Our mamas—they disappeared. My heart was broken, but I wasn't alone. The others experienced the same despair, so we found comfort in one another.

Don't get me wrong—we got food and nourishment and freedom. We could hear our mamas across the farm; we could call to them and they called to us. But we could not see each other. And then all of a sudden, a few years later—another big change—we were let back in together. It was nice to reconnect with Mama. By then though, we had formed new friendships – but none of us ever forgot our first loves – our mamas.

The winters were tough; no matter the weather, we were outside. Food was sparse—round bales of hay, just enough to get us through, kept us going. I missed the taste of grain and shelter of a stall, but in the field, at least there were no more needles, nor veterinarians or blacksmiths who poked or prodded at us. Not that we could be caught, because most of us had lost our halters, except for a few that looked like they were growing into their faces.

And then one day, after years in the pasture together, a fleet of huge, noisy trucks rolled through our stable gates. They idled and puffed right alongside and backed up to the barn. Men got off, saddled up on horses we didn't know, and galloped up into the field to surround us. With ropes, shouts, and whips they started chasing and separating us. I didn't know what was happening! I'd never been off the farm—I was born there and had spent every day there.

My friends were panicked, some cut and injured, and even though we were a group, we all had our posses and best friends. We were forced and shoved into trailers together. Horses were being bitten and kicked. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to come through my chest. The floor was so slippery, I could barely stand. Wind blew hard through the slats, and my eyes watered as I wept under the strain of it all.

Finally, the truck stopped and we were all chased off into this big, cavernous barn. Through the loudspeakers, the sharp, high-pitched voices hurt my ears—I'd never heard anything like it. I couldn't find my friends. I heard voices I knew from the farm, horse voices that is, hollering one to another. Then one by one we were picked out of our herd and shuffled onto the noisy selling floor. I was chased in loose with my other young friends—I hadn't had a halter on since I was a baby.

I could hardly believe it when it was over. The pall of sadness—if horses could cry, it was us. Everything we'd known, it may not have been the best situation, but we knew it and we felt safe and secure on our farm. And we were all pulled apart.

But then, I could hardly believe my eyes when two of my friends and I were reunited together. We walked down a long chute and there was another box trailer before us. At least this one had bedding on the bottom and shavings and straw like I remembered. Friends were with me—I felt safe. The people were kinder. We were too exhausted to resist anything, and together, we hoped for the best as we walked into the trailer.

After another long ride, not nearly as scary as the first one, I arrived at Unbridled. My friends and I stuck together, side by side, and over time, with nourishment and gentle hands, we came to realize there are good humans in this world. I've enjoyed forming relationships with them. I feel safe here. I don't feel afraid. I halter and lead, and I have fun doing groundwork and games with the people. My friends and I have grown confident—we do things individually now, and I love my life here at Unbridled.