Yay or Neigh?

I was giggly and full of fondue after the princess-themed birthday party. The pack of seven girls piled into the luminous dream carriage on the Plaza. There was a glitter in all of our eyes, and a spark in our step. We snuggled together on the padded seats as our moms hurried us into the $70 ride.

My three-foot-five-self watched in awe as the white horse pulled us, mistletoe hung around its neck and silver tinsel peaked throughout its braided mane. Its coarse tail swayed side to side and the Plaza lights reflected off of the shiny, painted hooves.

They must love carrying princesses. I bet they talk to each other in neighs.  Some days I was a mother, others a teacher, often I was Sharpay from High School Musical – quite the imagination – but that night I was to be toted around among the bright city by my recently-transformed pumpkin carriage.

Nine years later, I am 17, and watching the news to find that a carriage practically crushed one of the horses at Ward Parkway and Broadway. This time the awe was not from the beauty of the horses braid or the mistletoe around its neck but the image in my head at the words “crushing the horse.”

Are you kidding me? What if it was one of the horses I fed carrots years ago?

The accident led to a petition to remove all carriage rides in Kansas City – and I am on board. In the accident, the horse, called Tiny, was attempting to escape the discomfort of a heavy carriage on its back, and ran in hopes of relieving some of the stress. Tiny ran right through a stop light and into a fence above the creek. The chaos resulted in the carriage toppling onto the white beast, while the passengers and driver were thrown from the carriage to the ground.

That horse was crushed by it’s own carriage. That innocent beautiful creature was sedated due to the extreme pain it was in.

I was the little girl that asked to pet the forehead of the horses, wanted to know the names of all of them and take a picture next to each one. As happy as I was, I thought the horse must be equally as happy. How naïve of me.

Light was finally shed onto the real mistreatment of those horses. Eight years old and soaking up my few moments of being a princess, I was blinded by Christmas lights and snuggling inside the round Cinderella carriage, unaware of the freezing temperatures those horses endure, as their hooves are worn away on the asphalt.

I drive on the plaza and see how close the horses get to the cars and how uncomfortable and tired they seem to be of the bit lying in their mouth – the distress apparent from the way they drag their hooves along the pavement. I watch their bodies carry the burden of a carriage up and down slippery hills, crowded by cars, absorbing the fumes. They deal with stressed carriage drivers, hastily budging them along at stop lights.

That’s not where horses belong. They don’t deserve to be so exposed to the fumes against their will. The strong animals shouldn’t be so crowded by cars and controlled by greedy humans all while carrying a carriage the size of them or bigger. They could be grazing fields, living freely and naturally as they are meant to. There is no excuse for the treatment they receive on the job, whether they are properly cared for off the job or not.

I may have felt like a princess at eight years old, but today my tiara lies crushed on the ground. My slipper is left at the plaza steps. The carriage is now a pumpkin. And it must be midnight, because that fairy tale has ended.