Why and How We Move
As days shorten, the herd shifts closer to the sanctuary’s core where shelter, water, and daily care are easier. Summer fields rest and rebound. Done right, the move feels uneventful—which is the goal.
Setting the Scene
At the gate, we lay a spaced line of hay—small invitations toward the lane. A wide “V” of bright snow fencing doesn’t force a choice; it highlights one. Horses read the contrast, no waving or chasing required.
The Quiet Choreography
One person sets tempo and hay, another tends gates softly, a third lingers back—visible, not pressuring. We keep voices low. Think hoofbeats, hay tearing, a few snorts, leather creaking—nothing more.
Through the Funnel
Confident pairs usually step first, then the herd flows after like a turning tide. The calmer we are, the more easily they choose the path. Trust from everyday handling carries moments like this.
Letting the Lane Do the Work
The hay trail stays sparse—enough interest without bunching. We’ve already cleared flappy or rattly surprises. If someone lingers, a buddy often coaxes; otherwise a quiet halter touch and “come on” does it.
Arrival Feels Like Home
Arrival is a welcome, not a finish line: topped troughs, bedded shelters, slow-feed nets. Energy drops as they enter—heads lower, chews slow—and the job is basically done.
After the Move
We count heads—twice—and walk fence with the same steady pace, scanning for sweats, scuffs, or “not sure yet” eyes. After damp weeks we listen for the telltale click of a picked-up stone, then give space to settle.
Why We Do It This Way
Could we “just move them”? Louder, maybe faster once. We’re investing in tomorrow—quiet, predictable experiences that buy trust for hard days: vet visits, odd debris after storms, calm trailer loads.
A Calm Invitation to Help
By afternoon the new routine sets in. The orange fence sits like a suggestion; the last hay flakes become part of the story. If you’d like to support care like this, sponsoring, donating, or volunteering makes a tangible, calm difference.