Violence against horses in France

How often have you found yourself in a situation where you ask yourself how you ended up in those circumstances?

  In 2020, I asked myself that very question while walking across a dark pasture with a German Shepherd, listening intently for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. All I could hear was the hum of cars passing on a nearby road, the steady drone of an airplane somewhere far above, and the sounds made by the horses in the darkness: the rhythmic crunching of grass and the thud of hooves as they moved around the field. The calmness of the environment felt absurd when I thought about why I was patrolling the pasture at night. The wave of horse slashings had begun after people were once again free to move around following the early‑summer lifting of COVID‑19 restrictions. In France, the spring of 2020 had included about eight weeks of strict lockdowns that severely limited movement, shopping, and other activities. 

  Near my then‑home in Volesvres, the first case of horse mutilation occurred in a small town called Cluny. A foal grazing with its dam was found lifeless in the pasture one morning. Its ear, eye, and genitals had been cut, and it had been killed with a stab to the heart.

  There were three to four suspected cases per week across France, and naturally this caused a great deal of rumors and discussion among stable owners. A Facebook group was quickly created to share information about the incidents. Authorities reacted very quickly and effectively. Police patrolled the stables every morning and afternoon.

The phenomenon was extremely stressful—how easily such acts put the entire horse community on edge, and how strong the negative psychological impact of deliberate harm to horses was on people. I can tell you, the impact was significant.

I installed a few surveillance cameras in the pastures, but in the pitch‑black French nights they only showed an area of about 10–15 meters. At night I slept with the window open, listening far too sensitively to every sound, and if the dog barked even once, I was wide awake again for a long time.

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  In the evenings, while walking with the dog through the darkening surroundings on the last pasture check of the day, my mind was running in overdrive and countless thoughts flowed through my head. How much must a person love horses to patrol a foreign country just to keep them safe while they graze? And on the other hand, what kind of bruise on someone's mind does it take to do such things to horses? What if I were to run into a deranged horse slasher in the dusk—someone who would likely have a very low threshold for harming a person or a dog? Many people imagine themselves performing brave heroic deeds or boast about putting a criminal in their place, but in reality even preparing for such a situation requires some serious self-reflection. How tough am I really when it comes down to it—or am I tough at all?

Background

The wave of slashings began near the farm in the summer of 2020, when a foal was found killed in a pasture in Cluny, about 45 km from the farm. During 2020, it was reported that around 30–500 horses across France had fallen victim to these attacks. Investigations later reduced the number significantly, as some of the reported injuries had been caused by natural events or predators. Still, around 30–50 cases were confirmed to be caused by humans in 2020. The situation escalated to the point where, in addition to the local police (Police Municipale), the military police force (Gendarmerie nationale) was assigned to the case. France's then Minister of Agriculture, Julien Denormandie, commented on the events and ordered additional resources for the investigation.

During the summer of 2020, one person was arrested but later released. A technical unit specializing in homicide investigations also examined the cases and concluded that the same perpetrator was responsible for some of the slashings in the region. The situation calmed down during the winter of 2020–2021, partly due to strict Covid-19 movement restrictions, which were briefly eased around Christmas 2020, allowing people more freedom of movement and social contact.

How did the slashing wave affect my everyday life?

Naturally, it had a major impact on general alertness. Some attacks had occurred during the day, and the police provided us with descriptions of the suspect's vehicle and appearance. If I spotted an SUV matching the description, I was to call the emergency number immediately. Even going to the grocery store was stressful at times, because it meant leaving the farm unattended for a moment. I will never forget the early-morning pasture checks—at sunrise I rushed out to count the horses standing upright. If any horse was still lying down, I had to check its physical condition immediately. Bringing all the horses into the stable every night would have been completely impossible. The situation escalated very quickly, and it happened to coincide with a time when the farm owner was visiting Finland after the long Covid lockdowns. Of course, she was aware of the situation and would have returned to France immediately if I had asked. So I managed the farm alone during the evenings and nights, with only my loyal dog for company.

I remember one particular incident clearly: I was driving home from the store when a police car approached from the opposite direction. I was driving an SUV, wearing a cap and sunglasses. The suspect was believed to be using an SUV and wearing concealing clothing. In the rear-view mirror I saw the police car make a U-turn and accelerate after me. I drove toward the farm, reached the gate, and stopped. I was still sitting in the car, about to get out to open the metal gate. I must admit my heart rate rose above resting level when I looked into the mirror. The officer in the passenger seat stepped out of the police car and stood still, holding a submachine gun. The driver walked slowly toward my SUV with his hand resting on his holster. At that moment I decided it was an excellent time to avoid any sudden movements or fiddling with the glove compartment. I stepped out slowly, kept my hands visible, and managed to find enough French words to explain that I worked on the farm.

The police checked my ID and the atmosphere eased considerably. They told me they were patrolling because a horse had been injured earlier that day in the area. They also warned about drones that the perpetrator—or perpetrators—were using to scout pastures, escape routes, and the number of horses during the day. They asked us to call the authorities even if we only saw drones flying nearby.

One day I saw a white SUV matching the police description driving slowly along a nearby road. I followed the instructions and called the emergency center. The operator gave clear instructions: go to the stable, patrol cars from nearby stations will start searching the small roads (which form a very dense network between stone and hedge fences), and a police light aircraft will take off from the nearby airfield to observe the situation from above. After the search, they would come to the stable. That's exactly what happened. The operation didn't produce concrete results this time, but what truly surprised me during that period was the willingness and resources of the French authorities to help. In the grand scheme of society, this was a relatively small issue. Yet police patrols visited several times a day, and their quick response made a strong impression on me. It's unfortunate to say, but overall the resources of healthcare and police in France are on a completely different level compared to Finland. There, you really get the feeling that the concerns of an individual citizen are taken much more seriously.

At some point, the concern among farmers took on almost tragicomic forms. The news showed footage from Normandy, where a local farmer had rigged metal wires across a field road and dug booby-trap pits covered with thin branches—straight out of the Vietnam War. At the bottom of the pit he had placed boards with nails. A group of local mountain bikers rode straight into this trap. They escaped with a few puncture wounds, scratches, and damaged bikes, but authorities issued warnings urging people not to resort to questionable self-defense measures. The French are a very proactive people, for better or worse—vive la révolution!

How did it all end?

In 2021, there were only a few cases, and even those were somewhat uncertain. No one was convicted for the events of 2020. Based on the handling of the animals, the perpetrator was suspected to be possibly a veterinarian, butcher, or someone else accustomed to working with horses. The events sparked countless unfounded rumors—according to one story, cattle farmers had taken justice into their own hands and buried the perpetrator in a field. But no facts ever emerged. At one point, the attacks were suspected to be linked to some group lurking in the dark corners of the internet or even to satanic rituals.

A concrete conviction for horse mutilation was finally handed down in September 2025. The Le Havre criminal court sentenced a 23-year-old man to four years in prison, two of which were unconditional. He was also ordered to undergo psychiatric treatment and pay compensation to the horse owners. He was found guilty of severely mutilating and abusing 15 horses and ponies in the Seine-Maritime area. Five of the animals died from their injuries. The acts were committed between May and August 2025.

  Personally, I remember 2020 as a strange time: extremely strict Covid restrictions, flights to Finland constantly canceled, mandatory masks under threat of fines, and required travel documents and passports even for grocery shopping. When the restrictions eased, I imagined things would get easier—but instead, this unusual chapter in my horse life began. I thought I had seen many things in the horse world, but that year, with all its events, will stay with me forever.

VJ 21.1.26