Chapter 1
Letter for my mom
I’d like to start by apologizing, Mom.
Thus; not me. My old self apologizes for not being as perfect as you wished. I’m sorry you didn’t give birth to the baby you wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t be totally heartless. Because this is what top dressage, under your leadership, is. Insensitive, interested primarily in victory, in money, in perfection... You care about everything, but never about how the poor creature under your saddle feels.
Horses are much more valuable to me now, whether they cost millions or I save one of those poor creatures from slaughterhouse.
People like you have nothing to do with these beautiful animals. And you know why? Because people like you don’t understand anything. They just sit and command. You chase ego, try to fill that huge hole in your heart by destroying the horse.
As you ride, you certainly feel like a goddess, a perfect human being in glittering gear. While you are nothing more than a sadistic bitch with the sick need to eternally command others.According to you horses are only morons without their own brain, you’re blinded by your own perfection that doesn’t even exist. It’s so primitive! You are talking about full adhesion, travers, ranvers, half-pass... You don’t even know how that sharp bit hurts when you’re upset and just in the mood to hurt a horse. Damn, I wish you could experience that pain.
You and your riders see only yourself, your expensive gear, winner cups on the shelf in the kitchen. You have forgotten that when you race, you are still sitting on a living creature that feels pain, anger and sometimes even joy.
One of the few moments when horses can finally relax is when you get out of the stable in the evening and let them eat freely. But not so freely, I know that their muzzle and gums often hurt from long workouts.
You buy better whips or sharper spurs just because the poor creature you ride on it every day has rejected one of your exaggerated commands. The horse under you can only shut up. Indeed, if one of them is trying to avoid the pain of the bit, you put a new noseband on it and you think how well you have solved it. All because your limited mind simply refuses to look at the needs of your animals. You don’t want to deal with anything more, you prefer violence.
In your world of top sport there are only three things: Machine, also called horse, money and victory. You wouldn’t believe how glad I was to get out of it all. But my stallion paid a cruel tax. And all because of human stupidity, foolishness, selfishness and the desire for that stupid perfection.
You almost made me a freak. The same monster you are today and many others you successfully brainwashed. Don’t you still hate it? Of course. You want to win. I’m not counting on ever understanding what I’m talking about.
I’m so sorry for your horses. You give them superficial names, you put their pedigrees in the living room. You aren’t really interested in the horse itself! I still don’t get it, not anymore.Why did you ever start riding? Was it with good intent?
I wish people around the Chambers stable would finally understand that many of the methods used by your riders are thousands of years behind monkeys.
I am now what you despised all your life: Someone around horses with a bit of emotion, a bit of understanding.
May the bored egoists stop crawling into the stables and finally give peace to all the noble animals. I can’t and don’t have to look at it anymore. I don’t want to see how you rape poor animals in what you call sport. Auxiliary reins, sharp spurs, whips... All these words could be replaced by one - pain! Suffering. And also stupidity. All this because of pomp, reluctance to deal with the feelings of the horse. Some people are real monsters, not the ones you scared me as a kid.
I feel hatred. Hate even greater than your whole desire to win.
When someone say’s horse, you hear either riding, money or competition. Or even a stupid animal without its own brain. If any of your horses injured so badly that it can no longer compete, you will usually let a vet to kill it. You don’t care what it did for people, how much it suffered because of you. You only have it as a tool. With calmness you alternate dressage horses as socks. You don’t care about them. I don’t understand why you don’t drive machines. Why you must torture a living creature.
The horse is one of the animals that are in Chambers stables, and unfortunately not only in those, legally raped and abused every day, often throughout their whole lives. Well, isn’t that unreal? I’m sorry I’ve ever been your daughter. I am sorry for the young people you are destroying and misbehaving daily. The children who look up to you. Although you can do it all quite differently and you know very well how big power you have in your hands.But why do I wonder. The right way was once offered to you and you? You rejected it as a piece of cheap bakelite, blinded by cups and materialism and your own primitive desire to get them as quickly as quickly as possible.
I hope you forget me, I never want to see you again.
With hatred,
Monn
