Annie’s Rescue by John Stirling (taken from his book Marked for Life)
Those of us who work with donkeys soon become aware that they enjoy the companionship of others, not necessarily other donkeys but all fellow animals, and they have in most cases found man the most responsive. Although man is born with a desire to keep animals there are, however, in this world some who abuse their trust and affection.
Since childhood I have always found it difficult to show my emotions, which contradicts totally my chosen profession. As a child actor, I was both accomplished and successful, with over four hundred television appearances to my credit before reaching the age of sixteen. It was a mask to live behind, an escape, with an opportunity to be someone else which I took to wholeheartedly. After removing the mask and changing clothes, I became rather shy and unable to show my true feelings. I have always regretted this but there came a time, one cold November evening, when that was to change. I was called out to a council estate in Stockport, to a row of garages with two bike sheds at the end. As the woman managed to open the roll-back door I was faced with a sight I was unprepared for, in fact I don’t believe anyone in their right mind could have been prepared for such a sight. In the corner of this tiny, cramped, dank and windowless shed, I could just make out the silhouette of a white donkey. It was cowering in the corner as the door swung open but finding it quite hard to remain upright. The stench was unbelievable, no feed, no hay-net or water in sight, and the animal was standing in a foot of excrement which must have been months old.
For the first time in my life, despite being accompanied by strangers, I could not hold back the tears as this little donkey fixed me with a stare I will never be able to forget. Sad eyes staring at me hoping that someone might eventually release her from this hell. I could not understand how this wretched animal had survived this ordeal in such dreadful conditions. The injuries alone ranged from a dislocated shoulder to cracked ribs and malnutrition. Her ten-inch hooves curled upwards looking like twisted trumpets and, because her hooves were so bad, all four legs were out of line with her body so she was in tremendous pain just trying to stand, which she was finding extremely difficult. She shook with pain and fear. Her coat was matted and, on closer inspection, she was covered in lice. Under her armpits and along her stomach were maggots living on the filth she was standing in. Had our vet and farrier not been able to treat her so quickly and professionally, I don’t think she would have survived.
The owner was a man in his thirties. He must have weighed about twenty stone and lived alone with his elderly mother. He worked locally for a firm of solicitors. Looking me up and down with disdain, he seemed to gain great satisfaction from my tearful reaction and, for this, I hated myself. The donkey’s suffering was still giving him pleasure even though, this time, it was indirectly through me. I kept thinking how glad I was that Annie was not with me. Our vet later confirmed the verdict on the scars on her legs and rump as lacerations caused by beating with a stick.
Neighbours had apparently complained for some time but the owner of the lock-up shed, for which the man paid ten pounds a week, had kept quiet for fear of losing his weekly income, a small amount I am quite sure he could have got from fairer means. To my horror, the neighbours recalled seeing this thug of an owner trying to ride her but she could not support him.
To the total surprise of the owner, I paid him what he asked, two hundred pounds - cash of course, but when I had agonisingly got the donkey into our trailer and safely out of his way, I turned on him. He enjoyed the confrontation and I knew I could never win. There was never a chance of any remorse or an apology to the animal for his cruelty or neglect. I issued him with a warning that I would prosecute, however much it cost. He just grinned and, as we drove off, he laughed and kicked the side of the trailer.
Thirteen months later, at Stockport County Court, the smile was wiped off his face, but not in time to save another donkey from receiving the same treatment; sadly, it died before anyone could save it. He was fined £75 and ordered never to keep any animals again, but it cost the Trust £900 to bring the case to court. He was ordered to pay our costs but, to this day, we have never seen a penny. However, I can say that we have been vigilant and ensured he had never kept an animal since.
The crowning glory was that a zealous young local reporter covered the story in the Stockport press and had done a very good, concise and honest job. This led to the accused losing his job and also finding life very difficult for many months around his neighbourhood.
We had, by this time, called the donkey Annie after my wife because it was her constant care: nights spent in the stable hand-feeding her, daily medicinal baths and loads of tender, loving care that brought Annie back to health.
Annie never fully recovered from her injuries but she lived with us for ten years quite happily. She made a life-long friend of Tufty and they went everywhere together. They shared a stable and became independent and comfortable in their new home. They were the closest of friends but would still squabble like kids over a feed bucket or a mint!
Annie’s Rescue had made headlines on the local papers and she became quite a celebrity but, if visitors surrounded Annie, Tufty would often push his way in to make sure she was alright. Sadly, her injuries resulted in arthritis in her legs and that made her less nimble than she would have liked, but she was so brave that she still carried on as normal. She was the most affectionate animal, with a majestic, white head set with huge brown eyes and a set of eyelashes most women would have died for!
She lived to be at least twenty years old, which is not old for a donkey, but her injuries had been so bad. Towards the end, she found it hard to stand for long and her digestion was poor; possibly her liver was damaged by the beatings when she was young. I am just so thankful that we didn’t have to make “the decision” and have her put to sleep as she died quietly in her sleep one night, with her friend Tufty right beside her.
To this day, she is sadly missed but her fine portrait in the barn reminds us of her gentleness, courage and kindness to others - both human and animal. If love’s last gift is remembrance, she will have achieved her goal in life and that may be a consolation for the times best forgotten.
I will close Annie’s story with an observation based on years of experience in rescuing ill-treated animals. The man who owned Annie was typical of so many others. He was not unintelligent, not was he poor. Working for a solicitor, he knew a bit about the law and could manipulate it in his favour. Cruelty is not always the result of stupidity or inflicted by the ignorant; it is often executed to devastating effect by those who know exactly what they are doing and show very little remorse.
Annie came through it all with composure, grace and dignity. She was marked for life physically and, probably, mentally but she was given a chance to make her own mark on the lives of hundreds of people who met her and whose lives were richer for that experience.