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The Trip To A Slaughterhouse
Video www.kaufmanzoning.net/horsemeat/reclaimingtheamericanhorse.wmv (This video takes 1 1/2 minutes to load, it's worth the wait.)
Its early in the morning when you arrive, the corrugated metal building of the plant is already operating in full swing. Sounds and smells roll from the structure and crash against your senses like a wave. The sound of horses can be heard across the parking lot -- not the pleasant nickering or occasional whinny that greets you when you enter your barn at home, but a rapid, frantic neighing. You can almost feel the panic, fear and discomfort in the sound of the horses. Soon enough you will see the cause of the terror that is almost palatable in the air around the plant.
Each horse awaiting slaughter in the chute leading to the "kill stall" is suffering symptoms of terror that few ever witness, but are the routine at these facilities. Another sound mingles with the cry's of the horses and pierces into your soul, the strange muffled whine that can only come from a saw cutting bone still encased in flesh.
You had tried to prepare yourself for this, but now realize that you are not prepared for what you are about to experience. Nausea, your companion for the duration of your stay at this facility, engulfs you as you catch the first whiff of the oddly sickening odor of newly slaughtered flesh. Carcass after carcass, row upon row, steaming as it hangs in the freezer storage area. You had thought you were prepared a little bit for the visual experience, but you are caught blindsided by the almost unbearable smell that permeates the entire plant. Choking back the bile, as it rises in your throat, you enter the structure.
You enter the same room the horses do, the "kill shed". The kill shed consists of one room in which various operations are performed by one of six butchers at four stations within the room. An inspector from the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) is also present to examine parts of every horse who goes through the kill shed.
The first station is the killing station. One man works the kill chute, his job is to herd the animal into the killing stall, slaughter him or her, and begin the butchering process. This stage of the process takes about ten minutes for each animal, and begins with the opening of a heavy steel door that separates the killing stall from the waiting chute. The man working this station goes into a corridor adjacent to the waiting chute where the panicked horses are trembling violently and urinating on themselves, prodding his next victim into the killing stall with a high voltage electric cattle prod.
The building rings with the cry's of the horses, the sounds echoing off the surrounding walls. This is the most time-consuming part of the operation because the horses are fully aware of what lies ahead, and are determined not to enter the killing stall. They thrash around, trying to reverse their direction, trampling over any smaller pony, foal or weaker animal in their desperate effort to escape. The physical symptoms of terror are painfully evident on the faces of each and every animal you see either in the actual killing stall or in the waiting chute. During the 40 seconds to a minute that each horse or pony has to wait in the killing stall before losing consciousness, the terror becomes visibly more intense.
The animal can smell the blood, and see his or her former companions in various stages of dismemberment. During the last few seconds of life, the horses thrash about the stall as much as its confines allow. The first horse whose deaths you witness is a sorrel mare. A mare, maybe seven or eight, mane freshly pulled, new shoes, and a coat that gleams from a curry comb, she is prodded into the killing stall, slipping and sliding on the blood, urine and feces from the previous victims. She strains frantically, futilely, and pathetically rearing towards the ceiling -- the only direction that is not blocked by a steel door. Death comes in the form of a pneumatic nail gun that is placed against her head and fired. The horse's bone fragments are driven into the animal's brain along with the nail.
The gun is designed so that the nail never completely leaves the gun, but simply is blown into the animal's head and then pulled out by the butcher as the animal collapses. Sometimes , it does the job on the first try but this mare struggles a good deal and collapse only after the third blow. After she has collapsed, the side of the killing stall is raised, and a chain secured to the right hind leg. The mare is then hoisted by that one leg, still alive, to a hanging position. At this point, the butcher drains the body of blood by slitting the mare's throat.
When the blood vessels are severed, an amazing torrent of blood so profuse that the butcher is unable to step aside fast enough to avoid being covered with it. This steaming torrent of blood lasts only about 15 seconds, the crimson flood mingling in the copper hairs of the mare's coat and spilling to the floor. The only task left to the man at the first station is to skin her and remove the mare's head. This he accomplishes rapidly. The air is thick with the acrid, salty odor of fresh blood, you can almost taste it in your mouth as you inhale the fetid air.
At the second station in the kill shed, the headless animal is dropped to the floor. The body is propped up on the back and relieved of hooves and milk sack and udder. At this time, any urine and feces that didn't drain from the body during the first few seconds of death now pour freely onto the floor. The body is then slit down the middle, and the hide is peeled partially away. A yoke is then hooked to the stumps of the hind legs, the body is lifted upwards, and the rest of the hide is pulled past a roller secured to the floor and peeled off, the once gleaming hide crumpled in a barrel with others to be "processed". The animal's body is now at the third station of the kill shed where it is gutted and then sawed in half, becoming two "sides of beef" or rather "sides of horse".
The sides of horse are sprayed down, to rinse the congealed blood from them and weighed at the fourth and final station. The sides are placed in the cooling locker where the residual warmth of life steams away slowly in preparation for the deep freeze storage locker. From the cooling locker, the meat goes into a main storage area where it is kept for as long as a week. This locker exits to a butchering area where the sides of horse are reduced to parts for the supermarket which end up on dining room tables.
The Slaughterhouse
In the last 10 years more than three million American Horses have been butchered in the U.S. for human consumption abroad.
Sadly, horsemeat is considered a delicacy in some countries. France and Belgium buy most of America's horsemeat, but Canada, Mexico, and Japan are also consumers, and all of America's Equine slaughterhouses are foreign owned.
Here's what they do
After being lead into the killing stall, a pneumatic bolt gun is placed against the head and fired. The horse's bone fragments are driven into the animal's brain along with the bolt, which then retracts back into the gun. Unfortunately, even after several applications, this torturous procedure often leaves them totally conscious.
Horses that are supposed to be unconscious at slaughter can be seen writhing - fully conscious - in terror as a conveyor belt carries them towards their gruesome death.
These still aware horses are then hung by their heels, their throats are cut, and they are bled to death. This live torture is executed in order to meet our United States Department of Agriculture's guidelines
All this is even more shocking when you consider that most American's consider the horse as a pet and companion animal. They have a status in our society comparable to dogs and cats. We believe they are not an agricultural commodity!
The pipeline that supplies the slaughterhouses is very clandestine. Typically, when owners give up a horse, they assume it will end up in good hands. But when that animal enters "the market" it goes into a different world, a world of price for pound and auctions, horse traders, and slaughter houses.
America's forefathers gave the horse a special status in our culture. That is why we do not eat horse meat in this country. That is why we should not murder our horses to satisfy foreign appetites. I received troubling news recently, it seems that people in New York can get horse meat at some deli shops. Does this disturb anyone else ?!?!
We do not seek any modifications in this current slaughter procedure because that institutionalizes and "Americanizes" the process. If unwanted horses must be destroyed, painless euthanasia is the only humane solution. However, this makes horsemeat inedible.
Through education and direct action, Jolene's Horse Rescue is trying to wake up America to this tragic situation and provide a permanent refuge for unfortunate animals caught in this slaughterhouse pipeline.
This isn't my barn
But they lead me in, a tag is pasted on my hip as I pass through the doorway. The aisle is lined with stalls. There are several horses, large and small, old and young in each stall. Hundreds of stalls line the dimly lit aisle way, some of the horses are fat and sassy, some had missed many a meal and didn't look as if they had ever seem a curry comb. As I follow the man who holds my leadline, I crane my neck to see those in each stall. Each horse or pony had a different look to them, some were resigned to their surroundings and others had expressions of apprehension or dismay, still others looked around with interest at their surroundings.
I'm scared, where is my owner and my clean quiet stall and green paddock?
The building is hot, the putrid stench of the manure rising in waves and filling my lungs with the rank fumes. Flies feast on the enclosed horses, some of them have open wounds which seethe with a life of their own from the flies which crawl across their surfaces. I see two horses who are down, flat out on the ground and not seeming to care that their stall mates bump them or step on them as they mill around in the small enclosure.
The man leading me roughly shoves me into a stall with 4 other horses. The big black gelding aims a nip and I duck for cover behind the kind looking mare. She looks at me with the eyes of time and g
ently nudges me behind her, where I gratefully cower.
The barn reeks from the odor of manure and fear, loudspeakers blare over head with a man shouting something and then "SOLD" followed by quiet for a moment until the drone of his voice starts again. Horses and ponies are run up the aisle to our right and soon come back down the aisle on the left, nostrils flared and eyes white with horror.
Before long it is our turn, the gate to the right side of the stall opens and we are prodded down the aisle, which narrows to a chute. I struggle to keep up with the others as we are lashed from behind by the people who shout and whip us on.
The black gelding enters the enclosure at the end of the chute first and the gate slams in our faces to block us from following, and I press firmly to the side of the sorrel mare who is slightly in front of me. Soon the gate opens again and I rush through beside the mare, frantically evading the man who trys to block my passage.
There is a small ring before us, people are peering down at us from the heights above. Rows upon rows of them, their faces blending together and the sound of their voices being drowned out by the same voice I had heard before.
"OK, lets sell the mare first" the voice rings out and before long a BANG!!!! and "SOLD!" cuts through the clamor of the crowd as the mare is separated from me by a huge mean looking man who brandishes a whip in my face. I try to keep up, but she is forced out of the gate on the other side of the ring and I am alone, ALONE, for the first time in my life! "How much am I bid on this colt?" the voice rings out from over head. "Six months old, fine little fella, lets start at $100.00?"
I stand with my legs spread, trembling with fear. A man comes toward me and I clack my teeth at him, but he hits me anyway so I run, and run and run and run until I sprawl in the filthy mess covering the slick flooring of the ring. I manage to get to my feet as the "SOLD to R.C." rings out from the loud speakers. The gate the mare left through is opened and I rush through, frantic to find her.
There she is!!! I rush to join her and she nuzzles me and I press against her. We are in a big pen now, dozens of horses wheel around and others are being added. I try to nurse and the mare reminds me with a gentle nip that she is not my mom.
Soon those men are back again. This time they herd us into a long narrow trailer.
OUCH, that hurts!
I am slammed into the trailer wall by the weight of the larger horses, each scrambling for footing on the metal floor. Frantic neighs ring out, echoing back and forth across the limited space. The mare falls under the weight of a large bay but she rightens herself and I manage to get beside her again, Her side is smeared with blood, a gash is open down her side and the burgundy flood oozes from the wound and drips to the floor adding to the slippery mess underfoot. I see wounds on several of the horses and ponies, one gray is standing balanced on three legs, the fourth hanging limply at a weird angle. I stand trembling beside the mare as the trailer lurches forward, her blood mingling with the sweat and stale urine on my side.
For hours we ride, I am cold, hungry and torturously thirsty but the ride goes on and on. Some of the horses fall, not to rise again, the others stamping on them as they try to keep their footing in the swaying trailer. My mare sags beside me, her head low to the floor of the trailer, and her eyes half shut. I want to lay down, but I don't dare for fear of being crushed. The heat of the day slowly gives way to the coolness of evening, but this too is a short respite for soon it is bitterly cold in the wind swept trailer. The lights of passing cars are a monotonous flash across the ceiling of the compartment and finally the trailer grinds to a halt.
We are in front of what looks like another barn, but it doesn't smell right. Smells like blood. LOTS of blood ..... and fear. The trailer edges back, finally stopping as it presses into the back of the building and it is suddenly quiet except for the sounds coming from the building. A rapid, frantic neighing mingles with a strange muffled whine. I haven't even the strength to be afraid so I stand miserably next to the mare, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible.
The gate at the rear of the trailer opens and a hand with a stick comes from between the slats and the horse it touches bolts forward, exiting the trailer with a huge leap. One by one the horses in front of me are forced forward, soon the stick comes down on my back with pain coming out of it's end so severe I jolt into action. Lurching forward, I almost pass the sorrel mare, but the stick shocks her forward to and soon we are rushing through the chute and entering the building.
The smell is worse in here, horse try to plunge to a halt and turn back, some falling in the process and being trampled by those behind. A pinto pony falls in front of us and the sorrel mare and I do our best to avoid falling with him as we clamber over his thrashing body. The neighing of the horses has become a constant scream, punctuated by a "THWACKING" sound from behind the gate in front of us. The press of the horses against me is overwhelming, I can't breath except to pant in the horrible air drenched in the odor of fear and blood. The press from the horses behind moves us steadily forward.
I can't see over the side of the chute, but it must be really bad, because my sorrel mare begins to try to thrash backwards, forgetting me completely in her panic to get away.... The press of the horses behind is too great and she fails to escape, but my right eye is smashed by her hoof and the pain tears through me as my eye explodes from the blow. The pain is unbearable, I fall to my knees but manage to regain my legs before being trampled to the ground.
A small gate opens in front of us and another shock is administered to the bay in front of my mare and he pitches forward, the gate slamming shut behind him. Before that gate closed I see the interior of a small stall, covered with blood, urine and manure. And something else? I think it was a horse hanging upside down? Can't see too good, my only eye has blood pooling in it from the side of the sorrel mare. Just as the horses pressing behind me threaten to take me to the ground the gate opens again and my mare is shocked through, I try to follow again but the gate slams shut in my face.
Neighing and calling to her I pitch myself against the gate, to no avail. She answers me, I can hear her above the screams from the other horses, but her neigh is cut off in mid voice and I hear her no more.... Then the gate opens again and I see her, hanging from a hind leg, her throat a fountain of blood and her eyes glazed over as she swings off to one side. Rearing toward her I feel some thing smash into my head, stunned I fall to the soiled bottom of the stall. In a stupor I feel myself being lifted, higher and higher as my head swings below me and then a sharp pain... in my throat... I can't see anymore, don't know where my mare is... it hurts...slowly a peace seeps into me...........
Premarin
Go to any barn and chances are that the person touting a bag of carrots, mucking a stall or riding a horse is a woman. Disturbingly, many of these same women unknowingly support the Premarin(R) industry - an industry that profits from the misery and death of millions of mares and foals while operating under the guise of "the guardian of women's health."
Premarin is the most frequently prescribed estrogen replacement drug today; millions of women use it to prevent osteoporosis and heart disease following a hysterectomy or the onset of menopause. Made from the pregnant mares' urine (PMU), Premarin production involves confining an estimated 75,000 pregnant mares each year in PMU farms. There, for six of their eleven months pregnancy, the horses are tied inside cramped pens 3-1/2 wide by 8 feet long.
Urine is collected with a suspended harness, urine bag and surgical tubing, the mares are not exercised and the collection devices chaff their legs and lower bellies raw. The animals are limited to six to eight gallons of water per day (normal intake is ten gallons) to prevent "diluting" of the product. Mares that can no longer product enough estrogen to sustain the profit margin are sent on a final trip to the slaughter house, along with most of the foals born on the farms.
These is an alternative to Premarin. Plant-derived synthetic estrogen such as Estrace(r), Ortho-est(r), Ogen(r) and others duplicate human estrogen and have a long clinical record of being both safe and effective. The Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine reports in their Spring 1994 newsletter, Good Medicine: "...a synthetic [estrogen] works as well as, if not better than, Premarin. The synthetic ...is close to a human females' estrogen than is a mare's estrogen. Also the synthetic may have a more consistent potency than animals derivatives... Plant-based estriol may be even better [than Premarin], apparently causing no increased cancer risk."
Many doctors agree. In a recent letter to the New York Times, Phillip O. Warner, M.D., states that most physicians prescribed Premarin as a "Pavlovian response." Warner continues, "The notion that a substance derived from horse urine is natural to the human female is simply a tribute to fifty years of successful advertising."
What you can do
Educate your physician about Premarin, horse abuse and alternative plant-based synthetic estrogen.
Boycott products from Wyeth-Ayerst Laboratories and its parent companies:
Premarin from Wyeth-Ayerst
Advil and Dristan from American Home Products
Horse products from Fort Dodge Laboratories
Contact Wyeth-Ayerst to inform them of your boycott:
Wyerth-Ayerst
c/o Product Quality
555 E Lancaster Avenue
St. David's, PA 19087
1-800-666-7248
"If a man aspires towards a righteous life,
his first act of abstinence is from injury to animals."
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