Horse-Drawn Carriages: Separating Fact from Fiction

When you see horse-drawn carriage rides portrayed in the movies or on TV, it always seems so sweet. There’s the driver in a spiffy uniform, the quaint carriage with its big, spokey wheels, the comforting clippity-clop of hooves as smiling passengers go dashing along. But behind this fairy tale image is a reality that, for the horses at least, is anything but sweet.

Being trussed up in a harness and forced to pull a carriage all day, every day—on pavement intended for motor vehicles and in the most congested city areas—is grueling, dangerous work. The constant pounding causes painful and debilitating leg problems. The inhaling of exhaust fumes spewing from cars, trucks, and buses causes respiratory disorders. And the constant weaving in and out of noisy, unpredictable traffic causes these sensitive animals to spook, resulting in accidents that too often injure them, as well as people.

Last summer alone, several incidents involving carriage horses made the news. Here is just a sampling: 

• A horse named Oreo becoming so badly spooked that he broke free of his carriage, burst into busy traffic near New York’s Central Park, and ended up crumpled on the pavement after being shot by police with a tranquilizer gun.

• A drunk driver slamming into the back of a horse-drawn carriage in Galveston, Texas, killing one person and injuring the horse as well as four other people.

• A horse named Dutch suffering a leg injury and his driver smashing into a car windshield after a spooking incident in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

• Two horses in Casper, Wyoming, getting thrown into the air, suffering major injuries, and later being euthanized after the carriage they were pulling was struck by an SUV.

The cruelty doesn’t end when the horses are off the clock. Carriage horses are not provided with the basic necessities that horses need to lead natural, satisfying lives. They don’t get to graze in green pastures, or roll in the dirt, or bask in the sun, or socialize with their fellow equines. The typical carriage horse, after a wearying day on the street, doesn’t bed down at night in a comfortable, roomy barn or a nice grassy field. Instead, they’re parked like cars in a garage—often housed in the middle of the city in stalls so tightly cramped that they’re not able to turn around, much less lie down comfortably.

And how did these poor animals end up as carriage horses in the first place? Many are broken-down horses from the racetrack, breeds whose anatomy was never designed for such work. When they become too debilitated to pull carriages, they are often sent to auction on their way to slaughter.

Don’t let the movies fool you. There’s nothing magical about a carriage ride, not when the cost is denying horses all of their natural instincts and subjecting them to injury and even death. Fortunately, the use of horse-drawn carriages for entertainment has been banned in many major cities around the world, including London, Oxford, Paris, Toronto, Beijing, as well as numerous smaller cities throughout the U.S. See the advocacy group Horses Without Carriages International for more information and how you can help with this issue. Their comprehensive website features a slideshow of images from around the world showing the cruelty of horse-drawn carriages, as well as photos of rescued carriage horses enjoying, at long last, the kind of happy life every horse deserves.  

Wha Me Eat?

A wonderful music video to warm the heart in the middle of this harsh winter! Groove to the reggae rhythms of British-born musical artist, performer, and activist with a career spanning thirty years— Rastafarian and vegan, Macka B.

Bet'cha can't resist dancing. (I couldn't).

Thumping

Vegan Is Love

Trailer for a new children's book by Ruby Roth. Please watch!

This Thanksgiving: Serve Kindness, Not Cruelty

Fear and loving in Las Veganland: An open letter to my future adopted child

Dear son- or daughter-to-be,

You don't know it, but your dad and I have been waiting for you for quite some time.

First, you were the child were going to conceive — till infertility crashed the party like an obnoxious, uninvited guest.

Later on you were the child we would adopt from a foreign country, but then that didn't seem right for us for a number of reasons — such as the exorbitant financial costs and our misgivings about removing you from the country and culture of your birth. (It had happened to me as a child, and it hadn't been good.)

Finally, you were the child we'd adopt from right here in the U.S. — not an infant from a pregnant unwed mother, but one of the tens of thousands of older children stuck in foster care limbo.

So we did what needed to be done: we took the mandatory classes, we had our backgrounds checked and our fingerprints printed, we had our home and our finances and our medical records inspected and approved, we underwent hours of interviews, wrote pages narrating our entire lives and our families' histories, we attended adoption parties, made inquiries, met countless social workers . . . until we finally found you.

Everyone tells us this is going to be difficult. And we believe them. Like all kids who wind up in the "system," you've been dealt a crummy hand. You've been physically abused. You've been neglected. You've seen things no child should see. Every relative you have — your mom, your dad, your grandparents — has let you down. Has washed their hands of you, has turned you over to the state. No one fought to get you back. No one calls you, or sends a card on your birthday. No one has shown you how special you are.

Our social worker is concerned. She reminds us of the challenges we're certain to face. You're going to be defiant, you're going to act up and act out and test us in ways we can't imagine. You're not going to trust us. You won't believe that we really, truly want you. That we'll stick by you no matter what. That we'll never, ever, send you away.

And out of all the things I worry about -— from your ADHD and your depression, to your attachment and cognitive issues, to your aggressive behaviors and your history of self-injury — the thing I feel least equipped to handle is the thing nobody mentions: Food.

Because, you see, your dad and I are vegans. And we're struggling with how — or even whether — to incorporate our diet into your life.

If you were a baby, this wouldn't be such a big deal. But you're not. You're a teenager, and like any teenager you have clearcut ideas about what you like and what you don't like, whether it's fashion or music or subjects in school or even, ugh, food.

And here's the thing. Your dad and I understand that no one made us become vegans. We've chosen to eat this way, after many years of vegetarianism, and many more years before that of eating meat. So we recognize the hypocrisy of trying to force a vegan diet on you. But at the same time . . . can I imagine roasting you a chicken? Or picking you up a Happy Meal on my way home from work? Or sending out for pizza and wings? No, I can't.

So what are we to do? When I imagine the best case scenario, it goes like this: We explain to you, calmly, gently, and clearly, why we're vegan. We take the time to educate you, not by pressuring you, but by sharing what we know. You'll come with us to volunteer at the local farm animal sanctuary, where you can meet and touch and learn about the animals — like Annie, the rescued dairy cow who spent her entire life as a pregnant milk machine, who never nursed any of her calves, who was about to be sent off to slaughter when her production dropped. We'll have fun in the kitchen making delicious foods together — like my killer vegan raspberry chocolate ice cream, or the savory dumplings I'm known for bringing to every potluck, or a mile-high lasagna gooey with Daiya cheese and cashew ricotta. We'll take you with us to the vegan festivals we attend each year, where you'll see that there are hundreds of people of every age, of every color, who take animal welfare seriously, just like your dad and I do.

But will it be enough? Will food, of all things, become our family's sticking point? And if you reject veganism, will it feel like you're rejecting me, or vice versa? Are we going to be the right family for you? Are we the right family for anybody out there?

I wish I knew someone — parent or child — who'd already been through this. Even though we've met a lot of adoptive families, not one has been vegan, or even vegetarian. If you're out there and can share your experiences, please leave a comment. There are two adults and one child who could really benefit from it.

Hippocrates Would Be Proud!