May I share a circus story with you? We lived in Bahrain, an island in the Persian Gulf, for five years. Every December there would appear one or more small European circuses which, like migrating birds, would spend the winter in our warm climate. I had to drive past this circus every day. Although it was our cold season, the temperatures often were in the 70s and 80s, yet the animals had no shady outdoor place; they were cooped up in tents. Intervention from a group of us and the humane society at least got them to hook up fans, such as every stable on the island had; no animal lover on the island would attend the circus, so we never knew much more about them.

One day I was stewarding at a horse show. Between classes they played music over the PA system, and every time the music came on, one of the horses in a stall near my collecting ring would begin to dance. He was rhythmic and graceful, and obviously happy; his tempo and body expression changed with each new piece of music in one of the most expressive dance routines I've ever seen.

He wasn't a very pretty horse, nothing like the Arabs and TBs common on our island, and there was something very odd about his muzzle. I made enquiries about this horse, whose name -- Miskeen -- meant Poor Fellow.

Seems that he'd come to the island with the previous year's circus. A child had gotten into the stalls area, where, hot and bored, the horses waited out the long hours of the day. This youngster had begun to torment the animals, striking them, I was told, with sticks and then a whip he'd found from somewhere. Miskeen finally had enough and grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck, throwing him out of the stall.

The boy was killed, his neck broken.

In an odd kind of retribution, it was decided to pull out all of Miskeen's teeth. This was done without anaesthetic, the creature restrained by ropes and chains more brutally than I can recount without tears.

Word raced across the island and came to the ears of Vicki Malia, a young Englishwoman who ran a stable near ours. Vicki had been born on the island and had excellent connections; she managed somehow to buy Miskeen from the circus, and snuck him over to her place to recover.

She hand fed him bran mash and taught him to eat again, and slowly Miskeen regained his heart. After a while he struck up a friendship with a Bahraini friend of Vicki's, and was allowed to go live with his new friend.

By the time I met him, some months later, Miskeen had shown a powerful courage in his work, attacking jumps with joy and grace and a great competitive spirit. He and his new owner took home many cups in the following years.

And always, between classes, Miskeen would dance. Not for us, not as a performance, but for himself, eyes half-closed, tail lifted, neck arched, moving as though he still owned the center of the circus ring.

I will never forget him.