"Colt" on his free frolick through the hay pasture.
Well, today was exhausting. Revolutionary, but exhausting.
I really thought that I had triple-checked the fences of the paddock Colt has been living in, but it apparently wasn't enough. The morning was crazy, between two escaped mares and a call about a deer who had been hit by a truck on the highway. We had to drive down, secure it, and contact the rangers to come pick up the wounded deer, then drive back. Driving back, we were treated to a surprise visit from our friendly neighborhood complainer. She has some issue with us, and apparently our mustangs, and was complaining about the new BLM laws to us, even though she knows we support them.
Her visit ended with an abrupt squealing of tires, and a backfiring of her beat-up truck. Unfortunately, that meant it also ended with a loose mustang, just we needed.
Except we didn't know about it for a few hours. I trucked out to the paddock to find busted-down boards leading to the rolling hills of our main hay pasture. Stifling curses, I headed out into the waving grasses, not daring to take another horse down with me. It's a good sized field of a few dozen acres, and I had no idea which way he'd be headed. So I journeyed amongst the golds, greens, and browns of the field, dotted with bright reds of Indian Paintbrush and purples of Lupine. I didn't pause to tell Derek or Annika where I was going, I just headed out. I moved downhill, sliding down a few slopes towards a line of trees along the stream that ran through the hay pasture. Cottonwood trees, Gambel Oak, etc. If I was a loose horse.... wanting shelter and water...where would I go? A stream surrounded by trees?
I headed down the slope to the bank, perched on a rock, watching the slow passing of the sleepy stream. There was a rippling in the almost still surface,accompanied by a slight sloshing noise. Glancing up, I was met with a sight of black and gray amid the greens and golds. Colt, no longer upset or kicking out, was standing calmly in the center of the stream, seeming to just enjoy the water flowing past his fetlocks. It was rather calming, just watching him. Like the world was moving as slow as the stream, and he was content to be as calm as it. It certainly was not what I was expecting from an escaped mustang.
And so, rather than try to catch him, I waited. I sat there, watching him, as he watched the environment around him. And he took his time, but eventually, I could hear the lapping melody of water shifted out of the path of trodding hooves. As he lowered his head, he came closer, standing just a couple yards away. As he watched me, and I watched back, with the light streaming through the trees, dappling the water and Colt's back. As I watched him, I reached up to touch his muzzle with a slight touch. And he followed it with a soft blow, and stepped in closer, urging a bit more rubs. He was growing calmer with me, and it wasn't because of anything I had done today. I truly think he has a connection with water. It makes me want to name him something like Current. Or Creek. Or something. Something to tie him to what he loves. And what I was going to use from now on. I headed back up, and he wandered along behind me, with a wandering sort of ramble, occassionally grazing, until I coaxed him back into the paddock, and nailed up some new boards while he buried his muzzle in hay.
Well, today was exhausting. Revolutionary, but exhausting.
I really thought that I had triple-checked the fences of the paddock Colt has been living in, but it apparently wasn't enough. The morning was crazy, between two escaped mares and a call about a deer who had been hit by a truck on the highway. We had to drive down, secure it, and contact the rangers to come pick up the wounded deer, then drive back. Driving back, we were treated to a surprise visit from our friendly neighborhood complainer. She has some issue with us, and apparently our mustangs, and was complaining about the new BLM laws to us, even though she knows we support them.
Her visit ended with an abrupt squealing of tires, and a backfiring of her beat-up truck. Unfortunately, that meant it also ended with a loose mustang, just we needed.
Except we didn't know about it for a few hours. I trucked out to the paddock to find busted-down boards leading to the rolling hills of our main hay pasture. Stifling curses, I headed out into the waving grasses, not daring to take another horse down with me. It's a good sized field of a few dozen acres, and I had no idea which way he'd be headed. So I journeyed amongst the golds, greens, and browns of the field, dotted with bright reds of Indian Paintbrush and purples of Lupine. I didn't pause to tell Derek or Annika where I was going, I just headed out. I moved downhill, sliding down a few slopes towards a line of trees along the stream that ran through the hay pasture. Cottonwood trees, Gambel Oak, etc. If I was a loose horse.... wanting shelter and water...where would I go? A stream surrounded by trees?
I headed down the slope to the bank, perched on a rock, watching the slow passing of the sleepy stream. There was a rippling in the almost still surface,accompanied by a slight sloshing noise. Glancing up, I was met with a sight of black and gray amid the greens and golds. Colt, no longer upset or kicking out, was standing calmly in the center of the stream, seeming to just enjoy the water flowing past his fetlocks. It was rather calming, just watching him. Like the world was moving as slow as the stream, and he was content to be as calm as it. It certainly was not what I was expecting from an escaped mustang.
And so, rather than try to catch him, I waited. I sat there, watching him, as he watched the environment around him. And he took his time, but eventually, I could hear the lapping melody of water shifted out of the path of trodding hooves. As he lowered his head, he came closer, standing just a couple yards away. As he watched me, and I watched back, with the light streaming through the trees, dappling the water and Colt's back. As I watched him, I reached up to touch his muzzle with a slight touch. And he followed it with a soft blow, and stepped in closer, urging a bit more rubs. He was growing calmer with me, and it wasn't because of anything I had done today. I truly think he has a connection with water. It makes me want to name him something like Current. Or Creek. Or something. Something to tie him to what he loves. And what I was going to use from now on. I headed back up, and he wandered along behind me, with a wandering sort of ramble, occassionally grazing, until I coaxed him back into the paddock, and nailed up some new boards while he buried his muzzle in hay.
