My name is Survivor.

I am only nine years old, and for most of my life on the Cape Flats, I pulled heavy loads across long distances, under the unforgiving sun, through cold rain, and against winds that drove sand into my eyes.

I did not know that my life could be different.  It was the only life I knew.

After a long day in the heat, dust, and weather, I was led into a stable too small for my body.  I could hardly lie down.  There were no soft shavings beneath my tired legs, only hard ground.  My water bucket was green and my feed bowl, half-filled.

So I stood still, waiting for morning, to do it all over again.

In the mornings, my harness pressed against wounds that never had time to heal.  The bit in my mouth did not fit, we all shared the same one in my yard and the corners of my mouth were raw.  My hooves ached with every step.

I tried to walk slowly to ease the pain.

But slow was met with an impatient whip.

My driver did not see my pain.  He did not know I could feel pain.

Until, one day, everything changed.

The Cart Horse Protection Association arrived, not to take me away, but to help my owners see me.  To understand that I am not just a working cart horse.  I am a being who feels love, torment, hunger, hope, pain and comfort.

And when that understanding came, everything changed.

Soft shavings replaced the hard ground.

Cool, clean water replaced my dirty bucket.

Proper feed.  A harness that fit me and my hooves no longer ache.

For the first time, I could rest.

For the first time, I was not in constant pain.

Because when people understand that we can feel, everything changes.

And when behaviour changes, the suffering stops!