body language of this fatigued horse indicated that he sadly believed that what was being asked of him was impossible.
Unfortunately, perhaps acknowledging that daylight was fleeting by, the volunteer lost his temper and began to lash the spent horse until the horse collapsed in absolute exhaustion under the trailer. Among those who came to give aid, this incident incited a verbal riot. Everyone was so anxious to help, yet no one seemed to know how or where to start.
Several women literally ran up to Troy and begged him to do
something
. Before he could answer, their composure disintegrated like an earthen dam besieged by a flood. Their frustration, anger, and anxiety gushed out in a wash of tearful words pleading for a “kinder” solution.
Understandably, the emotional intensity of the day was exacting a toll on everyone. There were so many more people with far greater horse experience there than Troy and I; who were we to go to the front and lead others with vastly superior skills? It was already after one o’clock, and our window of daylight would soon be closing.
Very quietly, Troy asked the lieutenant if he could please try to move a few of the stallions off the little hillside up by the garbage pile. While talking on one cell phone and waiting for a reply on another, the overwhelmed lieutenant simply nodded and waved Troy in the direction of the trash heap. That was good enough for us.
In our earlier evaluation, we had noticed that many of the stallions that were being kept in the pens had, in fact, been handled before. We were able to approach several who allowed us to scratch them a bit. These would be the first few that we would try to convince that a better life lay waiting for them on the other end of this trailer ride.
I went to our truck and retrieved all of the rope halters that we had brought with us. Troy expertly backed our three-horse trailer through a maze of downed fences, tiny pens, and trash. When he was as close to the corral of amiable stallions as he could safely maneuver, he shut off the ignition and met me behind the trailer. There, in the fading light of the afternoon, we held hands and prayed. Both of us asked for wisdom, for ourselves and everyone else present … wisdom to do something we had never done or seen before … load 130 wild horses.
The first pen held two adult stallions that had obviously been living together for quite some time. Both allowed us to quietly approach and catch them with ease. With gentle reassurance, Troy let the first stallion know that he meant him noharm and that all would be well. The first stud stepped right up into the trailer without hesitation.
The second stallion was a monstrous paint that stood easily more than sixteen hands. Had he been inclined to do so, he could have seriously hurt anyone who got close enough. Instead, he was a perfect gentleman and, like the first stallion, peacefully stepped up into the trailer.
The third stallion was living alone in a tangled wire pen that shared a common line with the pen of the two horses already in the trailer. He was a very small, very beautiful black and white colt. By the time Troy and I had convinced him to come and just “look” at the trailer … a small crowd had started to form.
This stallion was clearly the youngest, and perhaps had never been in a trailer before. As Troy led him up to the open door, he balked and snorted in fear. Although most who had gathered were there in hopeful support, some of the “strong personalities” voiced jeers that rose like fiery arrows flying toward our backs. “You can’t load stallions side by side, they’ll kill each other!” and “He’s never been in a trailer … whatta ya think you’re gonna do? Just walk him right in?” and “That big paint horse is gonna kick the fire outta that little black and white guy!”
Troy stood with a very “soft” posture and just stroked the youngster’s neck. I could tell that he was praying. More
Unfortunately, perhaps acknowledging that daylight was fleeting by, the volunteer lost his temper and began to lash the spent horse until the horse collapsed in absolute exhaustion under the trailer. Among those who came to give aid, this incident incited a verbal riot. Everyone was so anxious to help, yet no one seemed to know how or where to start.
Several women literally ran up to Troy and begged him to do
something
. Before he could answer, their composure disintegrated like an earthen dam besieged by a flood. Their frustration, anger, and anxiety gushed out in a wash of tearful words pleading for a “kinder” solution.
Understandably, the emotional intensity of the day was exacting a toll on everyone. There were so many more people with far greater horse experience there than Troy and I; who were we to go to the front and lead others with vastly superior skills? It was already after one o’clock, and our window of daylight would soon be closing.
Very quietly, Troy asked the lieutenant if he could please try to move a few of the stallions off the little hillside up by the garbage pile. While talking on one cell phone and waiting for a reply on another, the overwhelmed lieutenant simply nodded and waved Troy in the direction of the trash heap. That was good enough for us.
In our earlier evaluation, we had noticed that many of the stallions that were being kept in the pens had, in fact, been handled before. We were able to approach several who allowed us to scratch them a bit. These would be the first few that we would try to convince that a better life lay waiting for them on the other end of this trailer ride.
I went to our truck and retrieved all of the rope halters that we had brought with us. Troy expertly backed our three-horse trailer through a maze of downed fences, tiny pens, and trash. When he was as close to the corral of amiable stallions as he could safely maneuver, he shut off the ignition and met me behind the trailer. There, in the fading light of the afternoon, we held hands and prayed. Both of us asked for wisdom, for ourselves and everyone else present … wisdom to do something we had never done or seen before … load 130 wild horses.
The first pen held two adult stallions that had obviously been living together for quite some time. Both allowed us to quietly approach and catch them with ease. With gentle reassurance, Troy let the first stallion know that he meant him noharm and that all would be well. The first stud stepped right up into the trailer without hesitation.
The second stallion was a monstrous paint that stood easily more than sixteen hands. Had he been inclined to do so, he could have seriously hurt anyone who got close enough. Instead, he was a perfect gentleman and, like the first stallion, peacefully stepped up into the trailer.
The third stallion was living alone in a tangled wire pen that shared a common line with the pen of the two horses already in the trailer. He was a very small, very beautiful black and white colt. By the time Troy and I had convinced him to come and just “look” at the trailer … a small crowd had started to form.
This stallion was clearly the youngest, and perhaps had never been in a trailer before. As Troy led him up to the open door, he balked and snorted in fear. Although most who had gathered were there in hopeful support, some of the “strong personalities” voiced jeers that rose like fiery arrows flying toward our backs. “You can’t load stallions side by side, they’ll kill each other!” and “He’s never been in a trailer … whatta ya think you’re gonna do? Just walk him right in?” and “That big paint horse is gonna kick the fire outta that little black and white guy!”
Troy stood with a very “soft” posture and just stroked the youngster’s neck. I could tell that he was praying. More
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