Every day on farms all over the United States and Canada pregnant mares are living lives of quiet Hell so that women like you and I can stay young - just a little bit longer.

The name says it all.

Pregnant Mare Urine = Premarin

Premarin is said to be one of just a handful of prescription estrogen replacement therapy drugs capable of keeping us young - and preventing osteoporosis – except that’s not exactly true.  There are dozens of plant-based products every bit as effective as Premarin, and according to medical professionals they have far fewer side-effects.  

Premarin is one of the most widely prescribed drugs today.  It is extracted from pregnant mare urine.  But where does that come from?  Real live horses that are kept in tiny stalls so small they can’t turn around or lay down – for 6 to 7 months of every 11-month pregnancy.

 The following is an excerpt from a website hosted by one PMU horse rescue organization.  Due to AARP Terms of Service I am unable to give the website address or other identifying information that could be construed as advertising.  I leave it in your capable hands to search the web where you will find dozens of these organizations with hundreds of pages of stories about this horrific industry. 

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 CYCLE OF CRUELTY

   Premarin is produced at Ayerst Organics in Brandon, Manitoba, Canada. Brandon is known as the "PMU capital of the world." Urine extracted from the mares on about 700 PMU "farms" in Canada and the United States is shipped to the processing plant in Brandon. The company sets the quotas, sets the price, and picks the PMU producers, as farmers compete to obtain contracts with "Wyeth" to set up PMU farms. The company also runs a "research" facility in Carberry, Manitoba (near Brandon) which is operated like a working PMU farm. Security there is tight as the "work" and experiments are kept strictly confidential.  

  For six to seven months of their eleven-month pregnancies, an estimated 80,000 mares are confined to tiny stalls where, contrary to Wyeth-Ayerst’s explicit statement, they cannot turn around, groom themselves, or lie down comfortably. They are harnessed in with urine collection pouches fitted over their urethras designed to collect the precious urine. The urine then travels through hoses that lead to plastic containers on the ground in front of each stall where PMU farmers empty them when full for collection and shipment to Ayerst Organics.  

   The urine pouches and the manner by which they are attached to the mares’ bodies can cause infections of their vulvas and chafing of their legs, and makes it practically impossible for them to lie down. They are also tied by their necks to prevent them from turning around. These mares get little or no exercise, with some of them actually standing in that position for the entire six to seven months. Due to the nature of their confinement on the "pee lines", the mares are denied the opportunity to assume all of their natural postures. When sleeping, the mares are unable to enjoy the fully relaxed position of lateral recumbency (lying stretched out on their sides). Instead, they must sleep standing up or lying down in the more cramped position of sternal recumbency (lying on their chest with legs tucked up).  There is no official government regulation for the treatment of PMU mares, only a "Code of Practice" written by Wyeth-Ayerst for the PMU farmers to follow. 

   The mares are commonly fed and watered on a time-release basis. They are deliberately deprived of water so that the estrogen is as concentrated as possible. Mares are given minimal amounts of water 17 or 18 times a day. They can be seen trying to drink out of empty water bowls and are in such anticipation of each allotment that they continue to try to drink long after the water is gone. They also exhibit stressful and anxious behavior when they know the water is coming.  Liver and kidney disease are common in these mares, as is swelling of the legs.

IT’S A HORRIBLE LIFE

   In general, most horses live well into their twenties and thirties, but not PMU mares. The ones who are considered to be "good producers" can stand on the "pee lines" for as long as twelve to fourteen years before being scrapped at the slaughter auctions for meat. The same fate is a common occurrence for most of the mares who don’t become impregnated. In the spring, when they give birth and their estrogen levels are down, the mares are allowed out in the fields again...but not for long. They are soon impregnated again and placed back on the "pee lines."

   Life for the mares on the PMU farms is so hard that one-fourth of them are replaced each year, even though typical life expectancy for the draft breeds used on most of these farms is twenty years or more.

BABY HORSE MASSACRE

   A majority of the mares on Canadian PMU farms give birth on "community pastures," which are on public land. Many of the foals born to the 52,000-plus mares in Canada die soon after birth, unable to survive the harsh conditions of the prairies. The surviving colts are considered to be byproducts and the majority of them are sold for slaughter. Most of the fillies are either slaughtered or kept to replace the worn-out mares on the PMU farms.

   Most of the foals are sold at auctions in the fall, at which time they are between two and three months old. They can regularly be observed trying to nurse off each other. The colts are sold by lot where almost all are bought by "killer buyers" (middlemen for the slaughterhouses) and feedlot operators who fatten them up before shipping them to slaughter plants in Canada and the United States. There they are butchered and their meat is then exported to Europe and Japan as a delicacy (with certain cuts selling for $25 per pound) for human consumption.

   The fright and terror in these foals is apparent as they are herded through the sales arenas and then on to cramped trailers with canes and electric cattle prods. Some of them are loaded on to the backs of pickup trucks. Injuries are common, but veterinary care is virtually non-existent at these auctions. Young, frail horses are often loaded together with large, heavy horses with no one present to stop the cruel and inhumane treatment during the loading process.  

 THE HORROR STORIES

   Mares who are no longer productive and stallions who are used up are also sold at slaughter auctions for meat. One Canadian investigator told us, "One of the saddest things I ever saw was an old, used-up Belgium mare being sold for meat at one of the auctions. She had a cheap halter on that was embedded in her head. Her owner wanted the halter back after she was sold to the killers so he ripped it off and she had this gaping hole in her head. She stood there shaking and bleeding profusely and nobody did anything to help her."

To stop the torture and slaughter,  stop using Premarin.

 Tell all your friends to stop, too. 

 As more women stop using Premarin, PMU farms will continue to close their doors.  Join the thousands of women who have become part of the United Animal Nation’s "I Switched" campaign to stop the use of pregnant mare urine.  The program is working. Many PMU farms have closed their doors because demand is decreasing.  Because the term "PMU rescue" gives the industry a black eye and smacks of mistreatment, some farms are working with rescue groups to create "placement" programs for horses and foals as alternatives to slaughter.  Search the Internet for United Animal Nations for more information.

Several years ago I worked in a call center as an IP relay operator for the deaf -  a resource for the hearing impaired that allows them to use telephones just like you - only not by picking up the receiver, but by opening a website.  IP relay is accessible by anyone who has a computer and Internet access.  

I was born the daughter of a woman with a huge heart and a tiny wallet.  She took in strays of every sort, four legged as well as two.  She taught me that it’s important to give as much as possible, and never expect anything in return.  I’ve worked my entire life to live up to those lofty goals, not always succeeding.  I’m great with the four-legged strays, not always so much with the two-legged.  Today my home is populated by give-aways and strays.  Zoe, my momma cat came to me one weekend when someone was moving into our neighborhood.  She had apparently stowed away in a moving van, and as bad luck would have it, escaped only to find herself in the midst on one of the worst storms in our community’s history.  I found her nearly voiceless from screaming, sitting on the tire of my car.  About a year later she had one kitten - Milo - a deaf, and not overly bright boy with a superb disposition and great gold eyes.  Next came Tim - the runt of a litter that was born among the shoes in my neighbor’s closet.  He looked ill, and Kelli wasn’t sure she could keep him alive.  Well, of course I took him, and soon learned he had numerous congenital defects, all (or any) of which would result in premature death.  That was over 8 years ago.  He’s still chugging along.  Next came Angie - tossed out to fend for herself in a nearby community late in the fall.  She survived all winter eating on the kindness of strangers and out of garbage cans.  The Humane Society tried to capture her all winter long, but she eluded them until nearly spring.  She was bone thin with an immensely dense coat from living out in the weather.  I adopted her and she’s been one of the best critters I’ve ever had.  Finally came Mona - the "problem child" of our household.  Mona was never socialized as a baby.  She was purchased from a puppy mill in the south, brought to Wisconsin without veterinary intervention of any kind.  No shots, no de-worming.  Nothing.  When the neighbor who had her learned his landlady was less than happy he parked her outside with virtually NO human contact other than food (about 1 cup food and 1 cup water - one of those little side-by-side food/water dishes for cats) daily.  She was tied to a porch in mid-summer without little shade, and barely enough water to keep her alive.  Came home one evening and there were 2 neighbor kids standing in front of the steps leading to my house (I have to climb a stairway to get to my porch) and there at the top was a snotty-nosed, worm-bellied rusty red pup.  She bubbled when she breathed, and her sides heaved.  I gave her food and water, and picked her up to comfort her only to realize she was filled with fleas, and looked like she had mange.  She smelled strongly of urine, and I was immediately concerned that she might be heading for kidney failure.  I put her in an old dog kennel for the night, let her rest and eat, and took her back hom in the morning.  The scene was something right out of Tennessee Williams.  The woman who answered the door wore an old fashioned sundress, held a baby, and there were a couple pale-faced kids standing behind her.  I didn’t even know I HAD kids for neighbors.  They never came outside.  I explained everything.  She mutely took the dog, thanked me perfunctorily and shut the door in my face.  A few days later the pup was back with yet another chewed through tether dangling over her bony chest.  Fed, watered, took home.  I gave the neighbor a bottle of flea shampoo and some vitamins for her.  Even said I’d be willing to drive them to the vet if they had transportation issues.  No thanks.  Okey dokey.  Finally they parked her in the back yard that shared a common fenceline.  I’d come home from work, feed and water her over the fence.  They realized I was feeding and watering her so they put her back in the front yard under the stoop.  Finally I went over and told the guy that it was the cops or me.  He puffed up (all 5/6, 125 pounds of him) and ranted and raved and did his "guy" thing.  I said fine.  I’d give him until the weekend.  Saturday he came slinking over and asked if I meant it.  Yup, I said.  A few days later I had a new dog.  First day out we dropped a hefty bundle at the vet and learned she was highly contagious.  She had internal and external parasites, as well as one that can jump to humans Giardia.  I went over to tell the former owner about it and was told to mind my own business.  They’d take care of their own kids.  Right.  So, after 6 months of doctoring and LOTS of patience, Mona was better.  She is a panic biter - with LOTS of socialization issues - but she loves the heck out of me and the other animals.  They’re my four-footed family.  Our house is bursting at the seams.  No more room - but that’s what I said when I got Tim - and kept Milo, and took Angie, and .....   LOL