Tally and Darcy both came to Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary as ex-race horses. Their lives would have ended too young in a slaughterhouse if they hadn’t been saved and brought to live out their days at Poplar Spring. There has been a growing movement against horse slaughter in this country in the past few years, but historically the reality for most horses who have outlived their “usefulness” to humans has been slaughter for meat.

Not Tally and Darcy. Two lucky horses spared the fate of the thousands slaughtered every year for meat, they are two of the three horses who make their home at Poplar Spring in Poolesville, Maryland. The humans who come and go in their lives are there to serve them. To fetch water, clean their barn, spread fresh hay for them to munch on, spritz them with eau de citronella (to keep the bugs away), help them into their veils (fly shields), and to brush them. For the most part, the horses at Poplar Spring live their lives as they please, wandering the many acres of the sanctuary to munch on grass, frolic or laze about, as they prefer. The opposite of what their lives were like before they came to the sanctuary.

Nothing is perfect, however, and Darcy has been plagued with some health problems. Mostly it is his feet (founder, aka laminitis) and his eyes. He is now completely blind in both eyes. He’d lost sight in one eye a while ago, but the second eye lost its sight only in the past few months. His life has changed a little bit—he has to be cautious moving around the barn; he knows there are poles to avoid, and knows that the water buckets hang from them. Outside is easier in some ways—less things to bump into—but he would face other obstacles, such as getting lost, if it weren’t for his buddy, Tally. When they leave the barn, Tally is his guide. She wears a halter with a bell attached to it, so that Darcy can follow the sound of her bell as she grazes. He can make sure to stay close, to let her keep him oriented. She mostly makes sure she doesn’t get too far away, so that he is always within earshot of the bell.

Last weekend when I was at the farm, there was a contraption outside the horse barn, a hay elevator, which is a sort of conveyor belt used to get the 2,000 bales of hay up into the hay loft. It ends up being situated right in front of one of the barn doors, because that is where the door to the hay loft is. Normally this is hardly remarkable. This year, however, it has made things tricky for Darcy who is still getting used to navigating the world without sight. Not that there isn’t another door to the barn; there is. Darcy follows Tally, however, and it is up to Tally which door to use.

On Sunday I was heading towards the horse barn to put my pitchfork away after picking up the cow pies, and I saw Darcy trying to make his way around the hay elevator, to follow Tally back into the barn. It has to be confusing for him. There are usually no obstacles in front of the barn door. He heard Tally go in before him, so he knew where he needed to go, but moving slow as he was he still bumped into the hay elevator.

I had a blind dog not too many years ago. She would react the same way when she bumped into things; a jerky pulling back, surprised, startled, confused. I would do the same, were I blind and bumping into things. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t expect it to be there. For that matter, you’re not even sure if it is stationary or moving.

I was a fair distance away when I saw Darcy bump the hay elevator, and I started walking a bit quicker, not sure if he needed help. He bumped it again, and I flat out ran. He wasn’t in danger. He would have figured it out if I hadn’t been there to notice; he’s a smart guy, and he’s learning this new way through a world faded from sight. It was just my heart breaking; after his long life, where as a racer his life was worth only the speed he could produce, and then his rescue, and since then his health problems. What I want is for him to have an easy life where the confusing obstacles are cleared away for him. He’s braver than I am, however. The obstacles he can deal with; it’s getting his feet looked after that he doesn’t have the patience for.

I called to him as I jogged towards him, and he waited for me. As much, I’m sure, because he wasn’t sure what I was up to, as through any confidence that I was there to lead him in his darkness to the coolness and friendship inside the barn. He startled only a little as I reached his halter, and then he followed my lead, mostly trusting me to not run him into the wall, the hay elevator, or a pole. Once inside I brought him near a water bucket and splashed my hand around so he could hear the water. Slowly, cautiously, he found the bucket, and took a long thirsty drink. Safe and comfortable, he relaxed in the barn, with Tally’s bell twinkling nearby.