Kirichko
In December 2020, a Roma contact told me of a foal who'd been kicked by his mother, who didn't want him. I was heading in the direction of that village, delivering food to puppies the Lucy Irvine Foundation Europe, supports near there, so dropped by.
The yard was messy, with rickety fencing, discarded machinery and trampled-in manure to negotiate on our way to a narrow outbuilding which the owner said housed the foal. LIFE's Roma helper, Ilia, was with me. We'd already concluded that the owner was fattening the foal for Christmas. No doubt he hoped I'd pay more than the meat man. Fattening foals for the Festive season is common in backwater Roma enclaves. The two of them chatted in their own language as we sidled past discarded car parts and a thin, dejected donkey. It was dark in the shed. Peering in, I could only see the foal's face, which was trying to peer out. A pretty face topped by a tufty two-toned fringe. When the owner moved past me with a stick the face ducked back into the dark. I stood back as the foal was driven out into the yard.
"It's mother kicked it," repeated the man, prodding it casually with the stick, which made it flinch. Indeed, there was a nasty swelling on a front leg and the foal hobbled awkwardly. In fact both front legs had hard swellings on them. It looked knock-kneed. I'd never seen a case of carpal valgus before, a condition with which foals are born sometimes. But it seemed odd that both knees were swollen if the foal had been kicked. The owner said he thought the worst affected leg was broken and that he'd tied two sticks to it as a splint for a week. But the foal couldn't get near his mother to suckle so he'd brought it here where it ate ground meal. Did I want it? He tried flattery. Everyone knew we helped horses with problems. I said I'd think about it.
Walking away through the obstacle course of the yard, I looked back at.the foal who was hunching as far away from its owner as it could. I imagined that pretty face held high by strong arms for the throat to be cut; the terror in those already fearful round eyes."What's his name?" I called. There was a shrug before an answer came back - why would an animal destined for meat need a name ? But he plucked one out of the air."Kiro!"
We'd call him Kirichko. Little Kiro.
It took nearly two weeks to reach an agreement over the price wanted for the deformed baby. Foal meat sells for more than horse meat but I couldn't allow the owner to extort more money than is reasonable from my Foundation's supporters. That would be a slippery slope towards the unscrupulous exploiting the suffering as a business. In the end, he agreed to throw in transport as well and we touched fists, the seal on a deal here.
So Kirichko was bundled into a truck and arrived at LIFE in time to be safe from foal casserole connoisseurs during the winter feast days. Cautiously, we tested Gorda as an adoptive mother for him - a big black rescued mare with a gentle disposition. The tiny cripple called to her the minute he spotted her and it took less than fifteen minutes before we were satisfied a safe bond had formed from her side, too. The pair of them were a joy to watch together, Gorda so big, protective and gentle; Kirichko so small and trusting.
I was undergoing radiation therapy for cancer while Kirichko was in hospital, in the same town, so I'd pop in to see him, bringing his favourite treat of rolled oats with chopped apple. He looked so small in his big stall, huge expensive thoroughbreds his neighbours. Whenever I visited, he staggered straight towards me, his front legs bandaged. Wires and screws had been inserted to correct the way his legs grew.
All of us were delighted when we were told Kirichko could come home and rejoin Gorda and Arap at LIFE. He was so happy to be back, he literally ran up the path, Ilia's wife vainly trying to.hold him to a steadier pace. We'd been told he could be placed with his adoptive mother again and move about. Looking back, I wish we'd been told keep him in his stable, because while we could try to keep him quiet in a paddock with his 'parents', his bold personality made him want to run about and even prance, like a normal foal. It was beautiful to see but also worrying.
About a month after Kirichko was home, we noticed stains on the bandage over one of his knees. We'd been told not to change the dressings so we hadn't. But something wasn't right now. The next day there was swelling, too. I called the hospital and was instructed how to.loosen the bandage and unwind it to a lower layer. There, we found clear signs of infection and I called the doctor again. Better bring him in, she said, so we did. They said they'd sort out the infection there and change his bandages daily. While I didn't like to see him go again, I believed he'd be in the best hands there. And when several weeks went by with no word, I still believed he was in the best hands.
After more weeks passed, I pressed for more information from the hospital but it was slow to come and brief when it did come. Finally, I was told that the surgery on one of his legs had been less successful than the other, but that he could come home. I asked if any special care would be required and was told, no. They said they were sure we'd know how to take the best care of him. With so little information it felt like a massive responsibility.
When Kirichko came home this time, he'd grown considerably and was showing the first signs of being the little stallion he is. He'd also lost a bit of trust and was wary of his legs being touched. Clearly he'd experienced discomfort during procedures at the hospital. And he was filthy, most of his body covered in badly matted hair which was hard to remove.
Gorda was less keen now to mother this bigger boy, so he became my special charge. We established a routine of a short walk daily from his stable to his large day time stall, where I'd brush or scissor out just a few of the matted clumps each morning, rewarding him afterwards with an apple. Eventually he was back to his beautiful self again, inside and out.
I knew Kirochko could not be left just to grow bigger with his legs left as they were. So I sought help from a vet who’d helped us with cases of deformity before and now, other equine specialists who've seen x-rays taken by that vet here at LIFE of Kirichko’s legs as they are now, say he should be euthanised. The majority say that.
But while one vet says there's still hope for him, the one vet who has seen him at LIFE since he returned from hospital, I can't agree he should be "put out of his misery" now, because to me and the staff who attend him daily at LIFE, Kirichko seems neither in misery nor in deep pain. If he were, I would not hesitate to have him put down. And I am in complete agreement with all who say his quality of life is highly likely to deteriorate as he grows and more weight rests on the most crooked leg. His entire body could become warped from trying to compensate for the deformity. Parts of it, like his fetlock, are already distorted. We can't just wait and hope because we're not seeing signs of terrible pain now. Something must be done. Meantime another of LIFE’s rescued horses fetches painkilling leaves daily for him. He loves them. At the time of writing, I'm expecting to hear from a surgeon who's agreed to try to help him and who won't charge to do so. Watch this space. And pray, please.
Keep up with daily developments at LIFE here. And we’d be so grateful for anything you could donate to the work we do.
Thank you,
Lucy
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