Majestic Malandrino (aka: Major)
The story of a dying, young horse that so desperately wanted to live
By Frankie L. Fletcher - New Haven, KY

It was late October 2004, when I first met Major. He was a gorgeous 2-year-old Appaloosa stallion. He had been purchased at an appaloosa sale and brought to our small town. He was the talk of the town among the horse people. One year later, his beauty was no longer the talk. It was more like rumors and whispers that the young colt had lost a lot of weight and looked bad. I decided to go take a look at him. When I walked up on him I was appalled. He had definitely lost a lot of weight. His backbone protruded, his hipbones protruded, you could see his ribs and he was even sunk in at the top of his hips. As I looked around I saw only mud, sticks, rocks, briars and a few dead leaves to be considered for food.

I decided to go talk to the owner and try to buy the colt. I felt if he looked like this, then apparently he wasn’t interested in him anymore. I made him an offer on the colt of $500 with some rather good stipulations. He said he would think about it and we’d talk later. I went several times to see the colt while I was waiting on his answer. I watched him pick rocks up in his mouth and try to chew on them, before spitting them back out. I watched him eat sticks and nibble at the fallen leaves on the ground. Anything he could get in his mouth to try to ease the pain of starvation. I noticed the rain rot on his back and the small flies that were embedding themselves in it. On my last visit with the colt, I told him to hang in there and don’t give up on me. I told him that I was trying to do something and that I would be back for him. I know horses and animals aren’t supposed to be able to understand what we are saying, but I think that somehow they know.

The owner’s answer was “No, he didn’t want to sell him”. This sickened me, and I tried to think of something else I could do, to convince him to let me buy the colt. This was late October 2005. For the next three months I’d drive by the area and notice the colt at a distance. I saw a rolled bale of black fescue hay sitting in the field. I couldn’t tell if his condition was improving at that distance and chose not to go over for closer inspection. I guess I felt my efforts were useless and tried to pretend like so many others, that it wasn’t happening.

I know people are wondering why I didn’t just call the Humane Society. Well, there were several reasons that I choose not to disclose, but calling the Humane Society would have definitely caused more of a problem. I also didn’t want to take the chance on irritating the owner to the point that he might choose to shoot the colt.

On February 22, 2006, a friend and I decided to go look at the colt. It had been 3 months since I last saw him up close. I was hoping that, with every step I took closer to the colt, his condition would be improved. When I got closer all my hoping abruptly stopped! He was even worse. I couldn’t even breathe! His hips and back were even more sunk in. His backbone was even more protruded. His ribs bulged through the 2-inch blanket of what was supposed to be his winter coat. His eyes were dull and lifeless. He was so weak and dehydrated that he couldn’t even pull his penis back up into the sheath. It was extremely red and slightly swollen. The rain rot had over run his body. His mane and tail was matted with burrs and stiff as a club. He never raised his head more than chest high.

He looked over at me and my heart just sank. All I could think about as I looked into his dim eyes, were the last words I had told him 3 months ago, “I’ll be back for you”. It was as though he was looking at me saying, “I’ve been waiting for you to come back for me”. As though he was hanging on to those last words I had told him.

With tears in my eyes, I went to find the owner. I couldn’t find him, but did speak with his father. He said he would talk to him for me and try to convince him to sell me the colt. I went home and impatiently waited for an answer. I knew that the colt needed immediate medical attention, and feared he wouldn’t survive the night.

The answer again was “No”. I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t erase the sorrowful look out of my head. I had made my mind up that something was going to have to happen. I was going to drive by that evening after work to see if he had moved the colt like he said. If not, I was going to take a different approach. Maybe take my chances with the Humane Society. If he ended up shooting him, it would be more merciful than letting him live with this suffering.

Around 11:00 a.m. the next morning, I got a message on my cell phone. It said, “If you want him, come and get him. I’ll take $750 for him”. I had to dig around to see if I had the other $250. With some scraping and juggling of a few bills I was able to come up with it. I even had a friend offer to loan me the money if I didn’t have it. My boss let me leave work and go get him. I couldn’t get there fast enough, and I was an hour away. I had called ahead and my husband had the truck and trailer hooked up and ready to go when I got there. I took him from the field straight to my veterinarian, (Dr. James O. Cook, Cook Animal Hospital, Lebanon, Kentucky) who was waiting on me. He spent several hours examining the colt. He was emaciated! He had frost bite on his penis. His testicles were so retracted they could not be palpated. His blood was so thin that it was seeping out around his heart and his heartbeat was a swishing sound, not a thumping sound. He was heavily infested with parasites (worms). His mouth was infected with a bacteria caused from poor quality, moldy fescue hay. His teeth were jagged and razor sharp and had created sores and lesions in his jaws. He had severe dermatophilosis (rain rot) over his entire body. He was listless, so weak he could hardly stand. His rump would sway as he stood. Dr. Cook’s words were, “He looks like death warmed over”. His stool was hard and black and he moaned in unbearable pain, everytime he tried to have a bowel movement. I couldn’t help but break down and cry when I heard his agony.

Dr. Cook did all he could do for him at that time, without doing more harm than good. The prognosis was poor. I took him home and started the slow rehabilitation process. I could only give him a handful of grain (Omolene 200) a couple times a day for the first several days. Then it became a cup full twice a day and I would increase it by one cup each week. I gave him all the good soft grass hay he could eat, but only a very small flake of alfalfa, once a day. I started his medication and the treatment for his rain rot. I soaked his penis in a hot wash and a cold rinse, followed by applying the salve Dr. Cook had given me, three times a day. I bought him a new, soft, quilted blanket to warm his tender bones.

On the 4th day I had to rush him back to my vet. His penis had tripled in size from swelling. Dr. Cook worked with it for sometime trying to get the swelling down. It was beginning to look like we were too late. I took him back home with orders to continue the hot and cold soakings, apply and administer the medication and keep it wrapped lightly still, three times a day.

It was doubtful he would survive. He was in a very deteriorated state. He needed so much more than we could do, for fear of killing him ourselves. He was very fragile and could go either way. All I kept telling Major was, “you’ve held on this long, please don’t give up on me now”.

I knew he was registered, but knew nothing of his pedigree. I didn’t even know his name. I decided to call him Major. I knew he was in major trouble and had a major battle of survival still ahead of him. I did receive his registration papers a few days later. His registered name is Majestic Malandrino. He is the son of the late Malandrino who is a son of Goer. His dam is Miss Silver Dottie who is a daughter of Impressive (AQHA). It’s plain to see the colt is well bred.