A little foal was born – a little dark brown stallion. What gladness its birth brought to the owners of the mare. He looked strong and fast – a sure winner of races.

He grew up as a lucky foal with his mother. His days were spent on the green meadow – sheltered by his mother. But, like all bad things all good things too must come to an end. After a half year was spent, he was taken away from his mother and was sold to another owner.

He screamed – but that hardly ever helps. The mare screamed too, but she remembered that she was pregnant again – as every year, until she was not be able to get pregnant again and would be shot dead. A mare that couldn’t give birth was of no use to the owner, and there was no need for her to live any longer but, of course, she didn’t know the end yet….

The stallion moved on with his new life. He found new friends, on another lush green meadow. He was there until the second summer of life. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, youth ended.

As a young 1.5 years old stallion, he was taken away from his friends. He was caged in a small horse stall and he didn’t understand why. He wanted to get out of this jail. He ran around looking for a way out. Then came some people he didn’t know, nor like. They were not very gentle with him. They beat him for no reason – he didn’t understand why –  no one had done that to him till now. After a while he resigned. No – he wasn’t broken in mind – he just noticed that it was better to do what they wanted him to do.

He was supposed to run, and run fast, and he did that. He ran as fast as he could, always afraid of being beaten. He won some races – and brought money for his owner.

Then, one day it happened. He stumbled during a race. No, he didn’t fall down – he only hurt his leg but that was enough. He was lame now. Oh, what a shame…he would be able to earn no money for the owner. Yet, he was lucky, they didn’t shoot him. They let him rest for a while, called a veterinarian, and let him rest. The rest did wonders and in a short while he felt better. In the meantime he was gelded – no more a stallion.

The show, however, goes on and a new season, a new race, began. He tried running again, as fast as he could, but he couldn’t; he was not able to run as fast as before. The jockey beat him, but that didn’t help either – he simply couldn’t win.

That was a shame for the owner – no race – no winner – no money. What was he to do with a horse that couldn’t win any races?

Doping was the ready answer, and it worked, at least for a while. Then, one day, the gelding collapsed. They brought him back to his legs by beating him again and again. He stood, but he had changed his mind. He started to bite and kick back, and he didn’t trust anyone anymore.

The owner called the slaughter house, but even he didn’t want him yet. His body was full of drugs and so the meat couldn’t be sold. The owner would have to wait.

The gelding was brought back to the horse stable. There he was – trusting nobody – being dangerous to everybody who dared to come close to him. He had learnt that he got respect from people with that kind of behaviour – but he wasn’t happy at all. Nobody let him out of the stable anymore, nobody brushed his coat, and no body caressed his head. He wanted all of that, but the fear of being beaten again was bigger. So he vegetated in his stable waiting for the end to come.

One day a young man came around to see him. He was a horse trader, but one with a sense for animals. He bought the dark brown, good looking gelding. He had thought that he could sell him as a school horse. But that wasn’t to be. The gelding continued with his bad behaviour. He bit people, and kicked anyone who came close to him. With that behaviour, the gelding couldn’t be sold. But the young man didn’t want to sell him to the slaughter, so he called me as he knew about me from the Internet.

A date was set and I had a look at the horse. He was a huge dark brown gelding – wonderful to look at but dangerous to get near to. He bit and kicked. But I looked in to his eyes, and saw hope there. I took him home.

The first day was horrible. He destroyed his stable, tried to bite me and kick me.

“OK,” I thought “I would let him roam free on my land.”

I only fed him, and didn’t try to touch him, or do anything with him. He kept trying to attack me sometimes; I ignored that, just avoiding to get hurt by him. Hours and hours I sat there on the fence, reading books, listening to music. He always kept an eye on me. Finally, one day, he began to feel that I am not dangerous, that I won’t beat him. He began to come closer and closer. And one day – after nearly a half year – he came right up to me, looked at me and then he rubbed his head on me – like a foal on the mother.

That’s the story of ‘Rumble be Bumble’ – an 8 year old Standard bred Trotter