Kate MacDonald
Special to the Sun
 A hug for Jackson: The author wraps her arms around her adopted horse, Jackson. Jackson is a BLM wild horse that was given a new home in the mountains. |
Adoption Day
Rising at the uncharacteristic hour of 4:15 a.m. on May 8, I grab a thermos of black coffee and my cowboy hat and hit the road. I am on my way to do a crazy, exciting, possibly dangerous, ill-advised thing - adopt a wild horse.
It's a beautiful, lonely drive through the high desert dawn, passing cactus gardens and ancient barns as the cool of the night succumbs to the rising sun. At the Bureau of Land Management's facility outside Ridgecrest, I'm relieved to see only four cars lined up outside the gates. There are pillows and sleeping bags in the trucks and cars - they have spent the night there, from places like Ventura and Riverside to be early for the first-come, first-serve adoption of 300 wild horses and burros.
The BLM has operated the adoption program since 1971, managing the wild herds on public lands by capturing excess animals and offering them to the public for adoption. Since the beginning of the program, over 140,000 horses and burros have been adopted throughout the United States.
At 7 a.m. the gates open. Under the cloudless sky stretch pen after pen of wild horses: leggy yearlings, delicate mares, bold stallions, sturdy geldings. I don't even go to look at the burros; I'm focused on finding the right horse to take home, to care for, to partner with, to love and even - with time and luck - ride. I walk from one end to the other, overwhelmed by the number and variety of these wild horses. How to choose just one?
I have some criteria. I'm not a patient person, so the yearlings are out, as adorable as they are. According to the people I've consulted for advice, a horse should be three to four years old before their bones have developed enough that it is safe to ride them; I hope to get a slightly older horse so I don't have to wait for it to grow up.
I send up a quick prayer that somehow I will find the right horse - or it will somehow find me. The first one that catches my eye is a black mare. She actually approaches the fence and accepts a carrot. I didn't know a wild horse would do that! Some behave more according to my expectations, however, in particular a flashy bay stallion with four bold white stockings: he prances, tossing his head, high-stepping in the corral, bossing and biting the others and making short, desperate charges back and forth in the small enclosure. "You're too much horse for me, bucko," I tell him.
Each horse and burro has a plastic tag with its number around its neck for identification. I walk up and down again, writing down the numbers of the ones that stand out. The black mare is Number 1. The first people in line are already in the office, having made their choices; it's time for me to finalize my list. I go to look at the black mare again, and as I pass the geldings, I see some people petting one of them. He is a chunky chestnut horse with a sweet face. I check his number - he's Number 2 on my list. The black mare is friendly but I notice a flaw in her confirmation. We live on a mountain and if my horse is to be useful it has got to be strong. So I reluctantly cross the mare off the list. I go back to see the chestnut gelding.
He turns and looks at me from the far side of the pen as I approach, then begins to come right over, and I notice how sturdy he is. Nice color, too, a big white blaze down his face, dapples on the belly and legs, a multicolored mane and tail of silver, burgundy, brown. He clops up and takes a carrot; I stroke his neck. I look into his eyes. It is love at second sight.
I go into the office, pay $125, and he is mine.
Corral building for novices
If you have never split rails, notched trees with a chainsaw and chisel, driven 11" spikes, drilled, hammered, dug post holes and set posts, building a six-foot high, roomy corral with your bare (well, well-worn gloved) hands out of 70-year old wood from a rescued barn, then you will just have to take my word for it - it's hard work. Our projected five-day project takes eight muscle-wrenching days. Even as I drive down the road to meet the delivery of the horse, my husband, Thomas, is still putting the finishing touches on the corral.
But the work is finished just as the horse arrives. The truck and stock trailer get into position, pole gates forming a corridor to the corral. The wrangler opens the gate and there he is. He looks over his shoulder at the opening and at us - dubiously. The haulers flap their hands at him and make noises. He turns, slips, almost falls, then hops out. We guide him into the corral, where he immediately starts munching alfalfa hay. The haulers accept a glass of water and then leave, without a word of advice.
Sighs of relief - he is really here! We admire him. He's beautiful! But - what do we do now?
Training Days
After four straight hours of munching hay, Jackson (Jacks for short) finally begins to explore his new home. He comes to us at the fence rail and accepts carrots. He is mad for carrots. He doesn't shy away from our touch, and as we walk along the outside of the corral he follows us. I consider these to be good signs.
He wears the halter and lead rope that I provided on adoption day. The accepted wisdom is that the wild horse wears the rope and halter until it can be caught and led. But it's a hard thing to watch, as every few steps, Jacks steps on the dragging rope and is stopped short. But he still manages to trot around, graze and explore, and after all that, he paws at the dirt, lies down, and has a luxurious dust bath. It must feel good because he does it again and again. I theorize that he has been penned with a gang of other guy horses and has not felt safe to roll like that in a long while. We can't wait to get the lead rope off him so he can move freely.
The next day, I stand outside the corral, trying to focus before I get inside with Jacks. My heart rate is accelerated - I'm a little scared. But I slip between the rails, Jacks crowding me. He rubs his head against me and I scratch him back. I walk away and he follows. I walk around the corral and he follows like a puppy. Each time I stop, I say "whoa."
I guess it's time to try something else. I stroke him and slowly reach for the lead rope. I gather it up, and give a gentle tug, clicking with my tongue. He throws his head a little and backs up. After a few more tries I figure out to give him more rope, start moving, and just barely tug on the rope. He turns his head and follows a few steps.
"Good boy, Jacks," I say, and in my enthusiasm for his success, I pat instead of stroking him. He throws up his head, he hates that. At that moment or thereabouts, I begin to settle down and concentrate. Pretty soon, I can lead him a few steps and even switch directions and stop. I don't feel totally in control, but it seems like an excellent beginning.
After dinner, Thomas goes inside the corral and makes friends with Jackson. He's able to lead him a bit, and then stands talking to him, rubbing his neck. Gradually, Jacks' head droops and his ears flop, and after a while he lies down at Thomas' feet and falls asleep. So much for being fearful of our "dangerous, unpredictable" wild horse!
Football and Freedom
Jackson's third day. In the morning we repeat the leading lesson. He appears to be left-handed. I try to keep him on my right side, but he lags behind and crosses over to my left side. But at least I'm leading and he's following, and stopping when I do. There's never a problem "catching" him, he is right there every time we're near, crowding up as we climb into the corral. So I decide it's time to remove that hazardous, annoying lead rope. In the afternoon, with shaking hands, I untie him. He's free, but he stands there, wanting petting. I oblige, then walk away. He follows. We circle the corral. I figure I'd better see if I can hook him back up - so I try and he doesn't seem to object. I tell him how good and smart he is. I take the lead rope off and give him dinner. As he eats I try grooming him for the first time. He turns his head to investigate the brush, chomping hay all the while.
So far, nothing bothers this horse. Our driveway runs right along his corral, and when visitors come, he checks them out, sticking his head through the rails to say howdy. He's completely unbothered by the noise of generators, trucks, weed-eaters and the barking and howling of our five unruly dogs. Thomas takes him a football and Jacks picks it up in his teeth and tosses it back. "Did we get a good one, or what?" Thomas and I ask each other with the pride of first time parents.
Sunday, I take off his halter. He likes that a lot. I make sure I can get it on him again, and yet again he surprises me by obliging. He has earned the right to be buck naked. He celebrates with a dust bath.
Lessons Learned
Eleven days after Jackson's arrival, it is hard to believe that last January, he was a wild stallion on the Jackson Mountains range in Nevada.
He accepts our touch and our carrots and craves our attention. I can walk around him, lead him, groom him and kiss him on the nose. He has learned so much, seemingly so easily.
I was unprepared to adopt a wild horse in that I had not studied, read, watched videos, attended classes or clinics or done anything else besides having read "The Horse Whisperer" to learn how to train a wild horse. I do plan to read up and get as much information on horse training as I can; in the meantime I have an on-line mentor, a fellow adopter, and trainer and the BLM to help me muddle through.
And then there is my main mentor, Jacks himself. I've learned that horse whispering is really horse listening. Jacks tells me what he's ready to do, and he lets me know when I'm being too pushy. And if I pay attention, I do believe that we will do just fine.
The next thing we will work on is picking up his feet for cleaning and for visits from the farrier (one who shoes horses). Somewhere down the road I'll put a blanket on his back, then a saddle, and eventually, a padded and helmeted me. And one day, Jacks and I will ride off down our driveway, and turn up the dirt road, heading up towards the national forest. And what adventures we will have.
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