Vodka in France

This is a picture of me in France, I am all muddy and cold. I didn't like it much.

There were lots of other horses and ponies, and other donkeys. We were all miserable and scared, there were rumours about these big lorries which arrived from time to time and took lots of my friends away - they fought and cried but were herded on board. We never saw them again.

We couldn't understand where they were going. Little foals with their mums - how could they work? Mummy horses who were ready to give birth - accompanied by their other babies - why were they going - was there a big nursery for horses we didn't know about? An equine creche they could leave the babies in while they went to work?

Old horses that were thin and tired, who dreamt of retirement - were they going to a retirement complex where they could rest and spend the rest of their lives?

No one ever came back to tell us. If only they could have - we would have known the awful truth that we were all going on this lorry and to travel a long long distance. People would hit us, shout at us, we would be hungry, cold, thirsty and tired, and no one would help. Then finally we would be herded out of the lorry - stepping over the poor old horses and foals which had died on the way - and into a big frightening building. This would be the last thing we would see.