My Visit to New Holland

On Monday I paid my first visit to the infamous New Holland Horse Auction with two guides, who shall remain anonymous. I am very grateful for their willingness to act as my escorts since they both have been there numerous times and knew the inner circle of "players." I should also point out that I went on Easter Monday, at their suggestion, because it was a huge sale--they estimated between 400 and 500 horses were sold.

This particular sale was clearly a social event for the hundreds of Amish who were in attendance. The parking lot was jammed and there were vendors selling everything from Auntie Anne's pretzels to costume jewelery and horse-related kitsch. Dare I say there was a festive atmosphere with lots of children running around, mothers with babes in arms, hundreds of Amish buggies with horses tied up?

Inside the auction ring, it was all, as one of my guides pointed out, "put on a show." Every horse that was ridden around the ring was touted by the auctioneer as "sound as they come." Some were clearly more sound than others; some were also more well fed than others. As one rescue regular put it, "They're all sound on Monday; let's see who can walk on Wednesday."

In the viewing area, two long barn areas on either side of the main ring, horses were tethered to both sides and all were fed and watered. We did see one horse who had broken his halter and was wandering aimlessly for a bit until he found his companions and then he actually stood, nose nestled on the sway back of his "buddy" without being tied up.

There were literally horses of every variety, big Belgian draft horses right down to miniature horses and mules. I felt that the viewing area was actually an accident waiting to happen as people walked up and down the aisles behind all the horses. Actually one woman was indeed kicked in the face and carted away in an ambulance. I found it remarkable there weren't more casualties.

There were indeed some thoroughbreds--they clearly stood out from the rest--some I learned right off the track. I am pleased to report that the majority of these were rescued by one of the many horse rescues in attendance. Everyone, it seems, wears some sort of logo-ed clothing with either the name of the "horse trader" (kill-buyer) they work for or the rescue organization they represent. It is fairly easy to tell the good guys from the bad ones. The "regulars" have standing bidding numbers--my guides told me which ones were kill-buyers--and their horses go into holding pens, known as kill-pens, outside the sales arena.

I did not stay until the end of the sale when I hear the USDA stickers are slapped on those horses in the kill-pens and their shoes removed before they are loaded with cattle prods onto the massive trailers. When I was there, the kill-pens were relatively empty.

I am still digesting the experience and actually glad that I had to leave for my class before I saw more than I might have been prepared to see. The bottom line is this: some of these horse have truly seen better days; some have not. But none of them deserve to die in a slaughter house.