Dead Horsemeat

Monday 26 June 1989

Full moon over the stables and the surrounding forest, a coolness rises from the trees. The horses are asleep in their stalls, top barn doors open, some lying down, some standing. Others are idly chewing straw. Little noise, a light rustling. And a few sighs.

A man in white overalls and green Wellingtons gaping around his calves walks the length of a row of stalls. He is carrying a heavy iron cube in one hand, and two reels of cable. He stops in front of one of the loose boxes, puts down his load, and opens the door. A frisky little black horse pushes forward its nostrils and sniffs his hand. The man strokes its neck, scratches the base of its ears, inspects the horse. Then he shuts the door and busies himself with the metal cube. Plugs a cable into an electricity socket, two other cables, one red, one blue, connected to two metal clips. Holding the clips, he goes back into the stall. The horse raises its head. He caresses the animal’s neck, talking to it softly. Trusting, the horse lowers its head again and carries on munching straw. A clip inside its ear. It tickles, and the horse tosses its head.

‘Easy boy, easy does it.’

The horse quietens down. A clip under the tail, the animal jumps, turns its head, curious now, to stare at the man who checks that the clip is firmly attached, then goes out again. He pulls a lever on the transformer. A giant shudder racks the horse, lifting it off the ground. Its eyes rolling, its entire body desperately tensed is suddenly drenched in sweat, then it sinks noiselessly to the ground, its eyes staring, vacant. The man walks over to the animal, checks that it is dead, removes the clips, neatly rolls up the cables then leaves, taking his paraphernalia with him.