The Foster Home

This is another one of the old traumas. I have already written most of it out several months ago in the blog entry titled Mother, but since that particular entry got very long very quick, I have decided to cut and paste the whole bit about the foster home to its own blog entry, here, and maybe clean it up and update it a bit. The whole scene was certainly traumatizing enough to justify its own entry, I think.

The story of why I ended up in foster care can be read in the blog entry Mother, I am going to keep this entry about the foster home.

When i was 14, I was placed in a home that was already fostering FIVE other kids by the time I got there, and this was in addition to two daughters of their own. These daughters were not wee ones, one was grown but lived at home and the other was a senior in high school. This was not a place with compassion for children. this was a horse ranch that at any given time had anywhere between 60 to 75 horses.
There were a great deal of horse shows, stuffing horses into trailers and travelling to trade with the Amish. This meant trips into the Amish country, which was a new experience for me. I find myself again getting bogged down in details. The foster home ended up being a terrible place; they only had kids to serve as free labor on their horse ranch. An average day went like so: wake up, go to school, come home. Change into work clothes spend 6 to 8 hours in the barn. The birth daughters got the jobs like cleaning the guinea pigs and the bunnies cages, and feeding the dogs and goats and baby cows and ducks and geese. And ah yes, any fun “jobs” that involved actually getting to ride a horse. The rest of us got to scrape hooves and dress infections and shovel shit and milk cows and shovel shit and shovel shit and oil tack and shovel shit and throw hay bales and ah yes, shovel shit. Also, there was a bit of shit shoveling. This would go on for about 6 or 7 hours until it was about 9:00, and then we were allowed in and every kid was expected to have showered, eaten, and have gone to bed before 10:30. Sleep. Wake up, Repeat the whole miserable process. That was my life for… I can’t remember.  A year?


At any rate I was there on my 15th birthday, and that’s when my disgusting, shit crusted farmer foster-father molested me for the first time. I was still a virgin and I managed to avoid full-blown rape but my foster sister Cindy, one that was NOT his birth daughter, alleges that he raped her. She was about a year and a half older than me. She was not a virgin when he raped her, as she had already given that to her boyfriend of her own volition, but all the same, she was understandably traumatized. She did what all of those hokey ads say to do – she told an adult.  I can’t remember if it was a teacher or a case-worker or who. But she told somebody. This next part is one of the sickest parts of this whole miserable story. I can’t even wrap my head around this, this is like way worse than Lifetime Movie of the Week shit. I don’t know how this was allowed to have happened. She was left in the foster home during what was a … can’t remember the duration – two weeks? a month? I don’t know, the details are gone with time. But she was left in the home (!!!!) – pending what they called an “investigation” of her claims. This is the second time the state failed me.

What this so-called “investigation” consisted of was having a social worker come and sit around the house for an hour or so after school, and during that time we would have snacks, play Nintendo, do homework, and act like normal kids. As soon as the social worker was gone, of course it was immediately into the work clothes and out to the the barn for chores. The stupid idiot social worker being there cut time off of the front end of our evening chores, so we had to make that time up on the back end, sometimes late into the night; as late as midnight sometimes. We just lost a couple hours of sleep before school. That’s all. Thanks, social worker. Job well done! 👍


Apparently the foster parents knew that the gig was just about up because they gave up all pretenses of acting human. They just lapsed into full-blown monstrosity.  They used to rotate every night which kid came in early to either cook or to help cook, depending on the particular kid’s age and skill level. There was a 10 year old girl there, and a 12 year old boy. The boy was retarded. They switched it up so that myself and the 10 year old girl came in early to cook every night, no more rotating dinner duty.  Cindy, who had made the rape allegations was forced to take over our nastiest chores, most of which involved heavy lifting and/or dealing with some kind of animal shit.

After the social workers would leave for the day, she wasn’t called Cindy anymore, oh no. It was slut and bitch and cunt and whore, but most often it was their particular favorite, “rotten crotch”. I saw her get whopped upside her head and I watched her get kicked into a pile of manure. If she came in late (as she was forced to do) and everybody else had eaten all the food, well, that was just tough shit, now, wasn’t it? We were watched closely, so there was no way for any of us to try to hoard any food for her.

Oh and that retarded 12 year old boy? I saw him get kicked into a pile of manure as well, but that wasn’t the end of it for him. He also got doused and beat with the water hose and then he was locked, soaking wet, out of the house until his chores were done. This was in the middle of winter. This particular punishment was because the kid didn’t have somewhere around 60 water troughs filled in an hour.  Not only is that roughly a trough a minute which would be hard for a healthy adult to accomplish, let’s just forget that he was 12 years old, retarded, and… oh? did I forget to mention? the poor little bastard also had pneumonia.  What with  him regularly getting hosed down and then locked out of the house in wintertime, gee, I wonder how that could have happened?! Didn’t matter, though, how sick he was. They forced him to work anyway.

The abuse towards all of the fostered children… and hell, even the less favored of their two birth daughters, escalated rapidly.  So did the foster-father’s attempts at the gropey-grabby bullshit. I wondered if he was also doing that shit to the 10 year old girl. They had been planning to adopt her permanently.

Finally, one day at school I was pulled out of class and into the office.  Apparently the weeks of constant abusive derision, the hours of hard labor every day, the food reduction, and the sleep deprivation  finally took their toll on Cindy and she had a nervous breakdown at the school. They asked me if Cindy’s allegations of abuse were true and if the foster father had ever touched me, or if myself or any of the other children were being abused in any way. I had already learned from the family court system, and from watching every night what was happening to Cindy, that trying to tell adults about anything accomplished nothing, and I told them as much.  I was clearly in angst, and if I remember right, one of them told me that if I could either confirm Cindy’s story, report abuse of my own, or both, they promised they would remove all of the children from the foster home that very night. I knew that the nasty old foster-father had gotten Cindy and that he was after me, and that worse, the 10 year old was most certainly next, if the sick old fuck wasn’t after her already.  It was ultimately because of her, the little girl, that I went ahead and decided to see what would happen if I was stupid enough to trust an adult again. I told them the truth about everything. Then, they stuffed me onto the school bus, and sent me “home” per usual. Like it was just a regular day.

I was so distraught that when I got “home”, as I changed into my work clothes I listened to a bit of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, which is an album that I credit for helping me to stay sane during this horrible time in my life. I had no idea what was going to happen. I was becoming more and more distraught with fear and worry about what the repercussions were going to be. This next part sounds a bit hokey, melodramatic and maybe even made up, but it’s not. None of this stuff is made up. I remember it vividly.

I was actually in such an escalated state of alarm about what was going to happen to me that I was standing in a snowbank behind the house, actually whopping my head up against the side of the house, repeatedly, when the cop cars came.  Three of them.

True to their word, they stuffed all but one of the fostered kids (the 10 year old girl) into those cop cars and got us out of there that very night. The foster parents had given me a poodle named Pete that I had adopted because he was always being neglected and ignored in a back part of the barn.  His feedings and his hay changes would get forgotten, his water bowl would even freeze over solid. If I had not made him, my, ahem, “pet” project, he probably would have died.  When I was leaving I went to get Pete and they (the foster parents, not the cops) wouldn’t let me take him.


A couple of kids I managed to stay friends with from the local school (I wasn’t popular there either, but overall the kids had been less shitty) later told me that the foster parents had murdered Pete.  I don’t know if that is true or not.  These friends also reported that the foster parents lost the foster kids, lost the horses, lost the ranch, and divorced.  I likewise unfortunately don’t know if that is true or not but I like to think that it is.

EDIT – It wasn’t true.

Ugh there’s more but I’m tired of this. I’ll post it for now and add more later.


At this rate this blog is going to take a long damned time to complete. It has been 19 days since I wrote the above. I decided to Google my foster parent’s names and discovered that they had NOT divorced or lost the ranch, but they were in a world of shit for an absolutely huge-scale animal abuse operation (hundreds and hundreds of animals) on one of their miserable farms.  The court date to determine their charges was supposed to have been today, but my foster sister, the one who had been 10 years old back then, informed me today that the date has been pushed back to next month. Ah yes! I found her through the comments section on Facebook on a news article pertaining to this monstrous large-scale animal abuse case!  We met and had coffee.  It’s been interesting… it’s all tied together anyway, this would not have happened if that had not have happened.

And it’s all my damned selfish, horny mother’s fault!


There are dozens of articles online, and even a couple of Facebook pages about the many hundreds of animals that they abused and the rehabilitation process of the surviving animals; but identifying them could lead to identifying me, so I’ll refrain from linking any of those articles here.

I found out that for reasons I will never ever be able to identify, the horrible foster parents  HAD been allowed to adopt the 10 year old girl, even after the rest of us were taken out by the cops that day. How or why, the state allowed that, I will never be able to fathom.  She is the one I met with for coffee. She was not sexually abused, she purports, but she was abused in that she was verbally debased constantly, and she was used as a “workhorse” on the farm.

She had unfriended one of the “daughter” foster sisters during the court drama but apparently they are friends again, and she was none to friendly to me when I asked her about it. I was somewhat surprised, since she had spewed vehemence about the woman not so long ago.

I expect that we shall stay Facebook friends but will probably never talk again.

We tried to reach out to Cindy on Facebook, but she (understandably) ignored our attempts to talk to her. We got the check-mark that indicates that our messages had been seen, but she did not reply.

I also talked briefly to one of the foster brothers on Facebook and he appears to have Stockholm Syndrome.  He agrees that they were monsters, and yet he is offended at the massive legal and financial troubles they are in for the animal abuse charges. I won’t be talking to that foster brother again – he clearly has something wrong with him if he wants to be supportive of those sick freaks. The animal abuse case has concluded and I won’t go into details, I will just say they are in a world of shit, and justifiably so.



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