As the economy worsens, Minnesota's horse population is growing to unmanageable proportions, with fewer owners able to afford horse care and, thus, more reports of neglect and abandonment.
The trend laps into western Wisconsin, where "horse rescuer" Sandy Gilbert last week described a suburban dream gone awry. Too many people, she said, wanted to own land in the country for horses only to find out they couldn't afford the thousands of dollars for their care annually.
"They're dying in the barns, they're dying in the pastures, they're laying down and dying where they are," said Gilbert, who owns Refuge Farms in Spring Valley. "People are desperate for places to put their horses, absolutely desperate."
Horse advocates say it's difficult to estimate the number of horses that are neglected, unwanted and abandoned, but some say they could number in the thousands and that the problem has escalated since last winter. Indicators are everywhere: documented cases of starving and dead horses, abandoned horses appearing on neighbors' land, horse prices plummeting, even horses being left behind with nothing to eat or drink when their owners lose their houses to foreclosure. Rampant breeding and a recent national ban on horse slaughter have contributed to the overpopulation and accompanying troubles.
"It's a dramatic increase," said Krishona Martinson, an equine extension specialist at the University of Minnesota. "I've heard a lot of people describe it as the perfect storm. There have been a lot of issues recently that have made this blow up."
Since January, the Animal Humane Society has seized 155 horses in Minnesota. In May, 19 horses were found dead on a Todd County farm with nine more barely alive. In Isanti County, court action is pending against a horse owner for animal cruelty for starving horses. In Hammond, Wis., Gilbert said, police found a horse tied to a stop sign in the middle of the night.
Most neglect and abandonment cases are crimes, but because of varying circumstances and a lack of case law the outcome is never clear, said Keith Streff, an Animal Humane Society investigator.
It's bitter cold in the horse arena behind Cherie McKenzie's gray house in rural Washington County. Swathed from head to toe in heavy clothing, McKenzie purrs greetings to the horses that just months ago came to her farm sick, hungry and half-dead.