Rotting Horse in Gozo Field Sparks Outrage and Reckoning Over Malta’s Farming Soul

Decomposing Horse and Neglected Sheep Discovered in Gozo Field: A Wake-Up Call for Malta’s Agricultural Heritage

Gozo’s quiet countryside was jolted yesterday morning when a passer-by noticed a putrid smell drifting from an unattended field near Xewkija. Peering over a low rubble wall, the witness saw the bloated carcass of a horse, ribs protruding through rotting hide, flanked by several sheep so weak they struggled to stand. By the time police and Animal Welfare officers arrived, two of the sheep had collapsed; one later had to be euthanised on site. The horse is estimated to have been dead for at least a week—long enough for maggots to strip patches of flesh and for the summer heat to accelerate decay.

For an island that still closes schools for the feast of St. Lawrence and paints its bus stops in pastoral yellows and greens, the scene felt like a desecration. “We’re not used to this level of cruelty,” said Maria Farrugia, 63, who has farmed nearby since the 1980s. “In Gozo, animals are part of the family. You wake up at 4 a.m. to milk, you name every goat. Seeing a horse left to rot is like seeing your own history disrespected.”

Police have traced the field to a 48-year-old man from Żebbuġ who, neighbours claim, had not been seen for almost a month. Officers are expected to charge him with animal neglect and illegal disposal of carcasses, offences that carry maximum fines of €50,000 per animal under the 2014 Animal Welfare Act. Yet many locals say the penalties are rarely enforced. “We’ve reported thin horses before,” revealed a farmer who asked not to be named. “Officials come, take photos, then months pass and nothing changes.”

The discovery strikes a nerve in a country whose national identity is stitched to the stubborn Maltese stallion and the stubborn Maltese farmer. From the Knights’ era cavalcades to today’s festa trinkets sold outside baroque churches, horses symbolise pride and perseverance. Gozo’s agricultural fairs still crown the “Best Kept Mare,” and village bands march behind groomed Arab-cross horses whose polished brass fittings glint like miniature suns. To see one abandoned is, for many, to see the mirror of modern Malta: a place where tradition and tourism cash-in coexist uneasily, and where fields that once fed villages are now snapped up for weekend barndominiums with infinity pools.

Social media reacted with volcanic outrage. Within hours the hashtag #GħasfurGħall-Għasfur (“A horse for a horse” – a play on the Maltese proverb demanding like-for-like justice) was trending, and a Facebook vigilante group promised to “name and shame” every neglected farm. But activists warn that outrage cycles fade faster than the stench of decay. “We need a registry of commercial livestock holdings, updated quarterly,” argued Alicia Bugeja, president of local NGO Animal Rights Malta. “Right now, anyone can tether a horse in an empty field and disappear.”

The economic backdrop matters. Feed prices have doubled since the Ukraine war, and subsidies for fodder have shrunk. Veterinarians say some owners simply walk away, assuming “someone else will take over.” But in Gozo’s shrinking rural economy, “someone else” is often no one. Youngsters migrate to Malta for iGaming jobs, leaving elderly parents to juggle citrus orchards and Airbnb cleaning contracts. An abandoned horse becomes a casualty of a wider demographic haemorrhage.

Yet the crisis could catalyse reform. Gozo Minister Clint Camilleri visited the site yesterday evening, flanked by priests and mayors, promising “zero tolerance” and announcing an emergency fund for fodder vouchers. More concretely, the government will pilot a 24-hour animal welfare hotline staffed by trained Gozitan officers—a first for the sister island. Campaigners remain sceptical, but they acknowledge momentum. “If we act fast, this horse won’t have died in vain,” Bugeja said as dusk settled over the silent field, the last surviving sheep now sedated and en route to sanctuary in Kerċem.

For Gozo, the image of a decomposing horse is more than a headline; it is a cultural wound, exposing how quickly centuries of husbandry can unravel when profit eclipses stewardship. Whether Malta chooses to stitch that wound or simply cover it with concrete will decide not just the fate of forgotten animals, but the soul of its rural landscape.