The Christmas Eve Foal

BIRTHING FROSTBITE, THE CHRISTMAS EVE FOAL

by Steve Schwertfeger

Continued from blog.

Since several of the mares were pregnant, and there were so many horses, it amazed me that they trusted me, a fifteen-year-old teenager, to do this big job by myself. On the other hand, I felt upset. Because of all the chores I'd be responsible for that night, I'd have to miss some of my family's holiday party.

As I prepared each stall with a thick bedding of straw, a bucket of feed, water, and several flakes of hay, I looked out the back door and began to get a little nervous. Daylight was disappearing much too quickly.

Ten horses still had to be brought inside because of their late-stage pregnancies. The horses who remained outdoors had large lean-to sheds, bedded deeply with straw, where they could go for shelter. The weather forecaster had predicted colder temperatures along with frigid high winds.

The farm consisted of four large pastures with an open, running stream flowing across the lower portions. As colder weather and nighttime approached, the horses usually stayed close to their sheds.

By the time I had prepared all their stalls, it was dark. I turned on the outside floodlight, but the full moon made it easy to see outlines of horses as I approached the fields. Thankfully, the first eight animals were easy to lead inside. They always seemed to know with an uncanny accuracy when it was time to eat.

My increasingly impatient attitude became tinged with a full dose of self-pity. I approached the farthest pasture, and my thoughts turned to bemoaning the fact that I had to do this work alone on Christmas Eve.

I pictured my family at home. They were no doubt enjoying good food next to a roaring fireplace. My usual feelings of holiday goodwill were being crushed by images of everyone but me having a good time.

Horses in the Snow

As I climbed over the fence, I did not see any horse silhouettes against the snowy background. After pouring the feed into several troughs, I angrily banged an empty metal feed bucket with my hand and yelled at the top of my voice, "Come on. I don't have all night. Get over here. It's time to eat." Still, there was no movement anywhere.

I started walking away from the lean-to shed and then noticed a huddled group of horses standing near the bottom of the field. Muttering under my frozen breath, I walked toward them, wondering what could be so interesting that these ordinarily ravenous horses did not seem to care at all about food or what I wanted them to do.

When I drew closer to the horses, I noticed the shadow of a horse lying on the snow. Instantly I forgot how upset I felt. I dropped the empty bucket and ran the last few yards. My heart raced. My knees started to shake.

I arrived to find one of the pregnant mares lying on her left side, breathing very heavily. Her sweat had turned to steam rising from her body. Her feet paddled in the air but suddenly stopped. The mare groaned loudly. A violent shudder overtook her body.

I approached cautiously, unsure of what was happening. I noticed the mare's tail moving up and down. Kneeling down, I ran my hand over her neck.

Another low, painful grunt emanated from her mouth. She looked up at me with a sense of panic and exhaustion. Relief flashed in her eyes at the realization that someone had arrived to help her.

While looking closer at her, I realized that she was in the process of giving birth, in the middle of the field, with only the five other horses and me in attendance. My heart beat rapidly. Selfish feelings of my Christmas Eve being wrecked quickly evaporated.

My mind raced as I tried to decide what to do next. Should I run back to the barn and call for help? I'd have to make a long trek to the farmhouse for a telephone. Or should I just do my best and help the mare right now out in the field?

As if reading my mind, the other horses moved in closer to surround the mother. I began to realize what I must do. I had bent over to look more closely at her heaving body, but now I gazed up to see every one of the horses looking at me. Silently, they seemed to ask me to help her.

A great feeling of peace and a previously unknown sense of confidence overtook me. As I looked back up across the field, I knew in my heart that I had to assist the mare and foal right then.

Giving Birth

Relying on my limited knowledge about the equine birthing process, I assessed the situation. The mare's water had already broken. I could see that the foal had started to make its way into the world.

The mother began to strain again quite hard, so I removed my warm thermal gloves, knelt down, and noticed that the foal's two feet were now visible.

Gently I grabbed the tiny feet and assisted the mare's efforts to give birth by applying traction, which meant pulling on the foal as it was being born, timed with the mother's contractions. She seemed to acknowledge that the traction was helping and strained with a renewed sense of urgency.

After several minutes of wondering if I was doing the right thing, there was a great rush. Suddenly I lurched onto my back with a wet, newborn foal lying on top of me.

I quickly stood up and cleared the fluids out the foal's nostrils, then gently gave him a slap on the behind to start his breathing. He made a very loud snort and wagged his head, coughing out the rest of the fluids. I grabbed his front feet and moved him closer to his mother's head so that she could get acquainted with the little fellow.

Realizing what was in front of her, she slowly rose up. With a renewed interest in life, she vigorously licked him. He shook his head again and attempted to stand up.

The Silent Night

I sat back down again, shaken from both the cold and what I had just experienced. I was struck by the peacefulness of the scene before me. In the silence of a beautiful moonlit evening, all the horses stood and rejoiced, in an unspoken way, the birth of a new baby. I spent several minutes drinking in the scene.

Slowly I began to drift back to a different type of reality. How was I was going to get the mother and baby up the field and into the barn, where they could recover in the nice, warm stall?

Standing up with a renewed sense of determination, I circled my arms around the foal. I turned uphill, concerned about the distance to the barn, which was close to a quarter-mile away.

The mare stood up with great effort and nudged her baby toward the barn. The other horses followed in unison. We all headed for the distant floodlight.

Several times I lost my balance and fell, but the mare, despite her weakened state, very patiently waited for me to get up and direct her foal, who could barely walk.

At this time the wind picked up, and snow blew across the empty field. The five other horses moved into a tighter group, offering us protection as we slowly moved forward.

After about thirty minutes we made it to the barn gate. I opened it and directed the baby and mother into the building. All the other horses stayed behind, knowing that their job was completed. After a few more yards, mother, foal, and I stumbled into the stall.

Finishing the Job

I shut the door, wiped my frozen hands, and clicked on the heat lamps. Then I went over to the tack room and grabbed several large towels to help wipe down the newborn foal. This really wasn't necessary, because his mother had commenced licking him. The heat from the lamps rapidly dried his trembling little body.

I dressed his umbilical stump with iodine and gave him an enema to assist in the removal of the meconium. The earliest stools of an infant, meconium is composed of materials ingested while in the uterus. It must be completely passed by the end of the first few days of postpartum life.

After finishing my care of the foal and his mother, I called Dr. Norvell and explained what had transpired. He said that he would be home shortly to see how things were going.

I sat in a quiet corner of the stall. I don't know what was more effective in warming me - the heat lamps or watching the mare and foal get acquainted with each other.

Later, I went outside to finish my chores, find my gloves, and feed the other horses. As I left the warmth of the barn, I noticed that the wind had died down.

The sound of recorded Christmas carols from a neighboring farmer's display wafted across the fields. I listened to the words, "Silent night, holy night; all is calm; all is bright," drift through the still, cold air.

I stopped what I was doing, put down the buckets, leaned against the fence, lowered my head, and reflected on the whole evening. The words to that song had never affected me the way they did at that moment.

This whole experience began to sink into my being, making me understand for the first time that the Christmas season is about assisting others rather than selfishly waiting to see what I could get. On this sacred evening, a seed had been planted in my soul, and it affected my future in a positive way that I never would have expected.

My New Kinship with the Horses

While feeding the other horses, a special sort of kinship replaced my rushed, rude, and somewhat uncaring attitude from earlier in the evening. I spoke to the horses as old friends while teasing them and providing extra hay.

I appreciated the fact that they had helped me to realize what Christmas is really about. In my life I had seen several horses born, but this one was special. I started to think about the birth of Jesus and realized how precious life is, whether human or animal.

The horses followed me down the pasture. Boy, was I glad to see my gloves along with the empty feed bucket still lying there. The horses and I walked back to the barn in what seemed like one big, happy family. They thundered around, kicking their heels up as if to express their joy that everything had worked out well. The peace and goodwill I felt carried me to the barn, where the doctor now waited.

Dr. Norvell listened to my story while examining the foal and mare, taking vital signs, and a giving the baby an injection. He turned to me, smiled, and shook my hand, congratulating me on a job well done.

The foal grew up to be an adult with white tips on his ears. His owners named him Frostbite after hearing my story about the blessed evening when he came into the world.

That night affected me in a very direct and heartfelt way and I still reflect on this truly special evening from my youth. Cradling a foal named Frostbite in my arms on the Christmas Eve he was born became one of my inspirations for growing up to become a horse rescuer.

In what has become a very important aspect of my life, I now assist horses in need as a humane investigator for the Hooved Animal Rescue and Protection Society. Horse rescue often brings with it the same sort of wonder from that long-ago night.

When I see the look of appreciation in the eyes of an animal who has been given another chance, I feel a sense of gratification that no amount of material things could ever replace.

About the author.

Steve Schwertfeger lives in Crystal Lake, Illinois with his family and is a humane investigator for the Hooved Animal Rescue and Protection Society. Visit for more stories of horse and foal rescues. He feels thankfulness and love for both of his parents for encouraging him during his youth to care for animals. He is grateful that his dad moved the family out in the country, and his mom always found time to help him with orphaned animals he seemed to constantly be caring for.