A horse lived on a farm in Scotland. There were luminescent flickering oil lights hanging from sconces on rotting barn walls and she was never alone, animals surrounded her by the dozen. There were six goats, fifteen chickens, ten cows, a pig, and even turkeys too. Each animal lived in the barn, a rope bound in leather harnessing a metal buckle preventing them from leaving. There were no gates, no ties or locks keeping the animals there, only that single leather rope. The horse liked her adequate stall, wondering why the other animals were terrified of that harmless rope, it was just an accessory the man wore to keep his trousers up. The man was nice, he fed her apples and sugar cubes, always saying, “Ye be a braw bonnie lass, aye?”, brushing her nutmeg and chocolate coat in soothing circles. 

When the sun started its descent from the sky and inky blue twilight fell over the farm, a funny looking truck would come. This wasn’t unusual to the horse, this rusty, cranky truck came every day. As the coughing and wheezing of the beaten engine grew louder, a ruckus cheer ran through the barn. 

“We’re free!” gruffed Missy, the only pig left in the barn, her brothers having left one by one with the truck. 

“He’s come, He’s come to take us home!” bleated the goats in unison, “See you later losers!”. 

The shouts of glee continued, smells of cigarettes and Scottish port whiskey coming from the direction of the creaking barn doors.

“ I told ye, I dae have the lowie'', the farmer snorted, leading a familiar scrawny man inside the laboured barn, “Ye ken I always have de lowie, ye eejit”. 

It looked like today was Missy’s time to leave with the truck, the man loosening his rope and pulling her out the stall. 

“She’ll make a braw scran, the fat coo” laughed the scrawny, knobbled man. 

This caused squeals of gut-renching terror to arise from deep in Missy’s chest, she was the only one who could understand this nonsense, her legs buckling as she strained against the farmer and was met with the bound rope. 

“Haud yer wheesht!” barked the farmer enraged. 

Everyone knew he only ever growled when this pipsqueak of a man showed up and they disobeyed him. 

“Best to keep to yourself and do as you're told” was what the horse lived by. 

As the sound of tyres screeching on packed dirt faded into the distance, so did Missy’s cries of fright. 

Days passed. Missy didn’t come back; they never came back, living a flourishing life outside these four rickety barn walls. The horse was still confused as to why Missy had been petrified, everyone else was elated to leave with the man, though no one knew exactly where they were going. Days turned into weeks, months. It got icy and white powder fell from the sky. The farmer had started paying extra attention to the horse all of a sudden, though she didn’t mind, loving the extra food she was encouraged to engulf. 

The farmer once again led the skeletal man inside the icy barn just like he did everyday. Today they were coming towards the horse's worn stall. They never came to her stall. Ever. She had been in her stall for two years and they never came to her. 

“Why her,” she thought in panic, “I have only ever done as the farmer asked. This stall is the only home I’ve ever known.” 

Bucking and straining she fought for her stall, fought to stay with her mouldy hay and the nice farmer. Suddenly it stung. Stars spun before her eyes. It was a pain she had never experienced before, never even dreamed of feeling. Her fight faltering, the farmer grabbed her with gruff, taut hands, not the soothing hands she knew. He was holding his rope. He didn’t use the rope on her. 

“Ye blundering eejit, ye coo!” shouted the farmer, “Ye be losing me lowie ye ken?!” 

Shouting, yanking and stinging, the farmer dragged her to the truck. It smelt funny. It didn’t smell like mile after mile of lush fields or the crystal ponds everyone gossiped about. It smelt like saturated rust and burnt flesh. Abruptly, the farmer and lanky man did not seem so nice and the truck didn’t seem so harmless. Using every bit of strength the horse could dredge from deep in her bones, she fought and bucked, kicking in all directions but it stung again as he held that awful rope. Bellowing, the farmer yelled, “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug!” tugging the horse to the truck and shoving her up the patchy red ramp. Doors slammed, lights went out and a vibration came with the noise of the trucks coughing and sputtering. Defeat was all the horse could think about, maybe everyone was right and she met others in golden meadows where birds sang and sparkling rays hit diamond water. If only the horse knew she would see others, just not in the picturesque meadows she always dreamed of.