Streak, the Mustang
Hi everybody. It's me, your favorite cow-horse, Shakespeare!
Today, I'm going to tell you a story about a wild Mustang!
Streak is one of my pasture buddies. He's a stout sorrel, with a flaxen mane and tail. He grew up in the deserts of Nevada. when he was four years old, he was captured by the BLM, and put up for adoption. He was adopted by Lyall, a 76 year old man up in Montana, who was one of the owners of the guest ranch that Dad worked at for two seasons. I could tell you a lot of stories about Streak's years running wild in the desert, but I'll skip right to the part where Dad met him. I've heard Streak's version, and Dad's. They're both about the same.
Dad pulled into Cutbank, Montana on a warm day in May. There, he met Lyall, and they went about the preparations for getting the horses and gear up to the Guest Ranch. They worked on trucks and trailers... changing oil and spark plugs, greasing them up and getting them ready for the trip. They repaired saddles and tack, getting everything in tip-top shape. Then it was time for Dad to meet the horses.
Dad hadn't worked with horses in 15 years (this was in Dad's pre-PNH days). It's a long story, but let it suffice to say that Dad never lost his love for horses, and livestock in general. Lyall took Dad out to the Saddle Club, where all the horses were boarded. There were 21 dude horses and six mules. There were also three Mustangs who had been adopted two months prior. The black five year old and the sorrel yearling had gentled down real nicely and were easy to catch and halter. But Streak was a whole different story.
Streak was in a round pen when Lyall and Dad pulled up. He was wearing a halter with a lead rope, with a 20 foot chain on the end of the lead rope, and a tire inner tube tied onto the end of the chain. This was so there was always something close to the fence so Lyall could snub him up to feed and water him... 'cause Brother, Streak would tear you up! I mean he'd come at you if you got close enough... front feet, hind feet, teeth... he was going to get you if he could!
Streak saw Lyall and Dad get out of the pickup and come toward the corral, and his survival instincts kicked into high gear. Flight was out of the question, because of the halter and chain and round pen. So his fight instict came to the forefront. He faced Lyall and Dad, and stomped his front feet and snorted out a warning when they approached. Streak heard Lyall tell Dad to "be careful, 'cause he's a rough and dangerous one."
Dad just stood by the corral for a while and watched Streak. After a while, Streak calmed down. When he looked into Dad's eyes, he saw for the first time in his life, compassion from a predator. Dad put out some feed and filled the water tank, and left with Lyall. As they were getting into the pickup, Streak heard Lyall say to Dad "Well, if you think you can settle him down, he's your project. Otherwise, we'll take him to the Killers."
Next day Dad came back and fed Streak. He just stood next to the corral and watched Streak eat. Streak ate his oats warily, keeping an eye on the tall predator in the black hat. He knew any moment, that predator would jump at him, or tie the chain and lead rope to a post and pull him tight till his face was against the post and he couldn't get away. But he'd fight for all he was worth, and he stomped and snorted to let the predator know he meant business!
Dad waited till Streak finished eating, then slipped quietly into the corral. He dodged Streak's kicks, and moved to where he could pick up the lead rope. Streak had never seen a human move so quietly, nor be so gentle once he picked up the lead rope. Dad worked slowly, moving towards Streak until he could touch him. Then he backed off and left. Streak wasn't sure what to think.
Dad came back three times a day and stayed for an hour and a half each time. Before long, Dad had Streak's trust... well, as much as a Mustang could trust a human. After three days, Streak was leading for Dad, and allowing Dad to touch and brush him all over... and it felt pretty good. The fourth day, Dad took the lead rope off. Then each day, he'd hold his hand out when he slipped into the corral, and Streak would come over and put his chin in Dad's hand. It was the beginning of a bond of trust.
In another three days, Dad could pick up all four feet. But nobody else better come into the corral, cause Streak would tear them apart!
Things had come along real nice, and now came the time for the livestock to be moved to the guest ranch, halfway between Butte and Dillon. The ride was a long one, but the stock made it okay. The horses and mules were in a big gooseneck stock trailer. As they pulled off the interstate, they made their way up a winding, narrow dirt road. After 17 miles they pulled over, into a meadow by the road. Lyall and Dave, his son, began unloading the horses. Dave and Dad saddled up two of the horses, and the plan was to trail the rest of the horses and mules the last three miles to the Lodge and corrals. (The curves in the road were too tight for the gooseneck.)
So Dad was leading the way, riding Old Bourbon. Dave was riding Vegas, and pushing from behind. All the horses and mules began to string out on the road, following Dad. Streak and one of the other Mustangs were about in the middle of the herd. They smelled freedom and bolted into the trees! Dad and Dave tried to head them off, but their big Quarter Horses were no match for the fleet-footed Mustangs. They were free again!
Dad and Dave drove the rest of the livestock to the corrals, getting them settled right about dark. The next day, Dad went tracking, but he couldn't find the Mustangs. He searched every day for two weeks, on horseback and on foot. But he couldn't find them. All through the Summer, and all through hunting season, Dad kept an eye out for the Mustangs. But he never saw them, just some tracks and manure every now and then. 85,000 acres of National forest is a big area to look for two Mustangs!
Judgement error on Dave's part. If you take wild horses into wild country, keep them on a halter and lead, no matter how gentle they seem to be.
Next year, Dad came back at the end of May. First thing he did was ask around to see if anyone had seen the Mustangs. Sure enough, they had been spotted several times watering in a meadow. Some of the local cowboys had tried to catch them, with no luck. They had tried horses, motorcycles, and four wheelers. Even snowmobiles in the winter, but they couldn't keep up with the Mustangs as they dodged in and out of the trees. So Dad and Lyall decided to try a different strategy. They camped out in the meadow, with a horse trailer and a few buckets of oats. Around the buckets, they laid out soft cotton lariat ropes, covered in pine needles. And also with them, was a mare in heat.
Sure enough, down came the Mustangs for a drink, right about dawn. Streak and the Black were a little bit leery of the pickup and trailer... they'd been chased that Spring. But a mare's whinny brought them close enough to smell the oats. Aaaah... oats!
As they approached the oats, they saw the tall human in the black hat leaning against the trailer... the only human Streak had ever trusted. It had been a year, but something stirred in Streak's memory. And the oats....
Warily, they approached the oats. Streak took a quick bite. The Black took a quick bite, then stuck his head in the bucket... something closed around his forefoot! Dad had pulled one of the rope snares tight around the Black's leg, and grabbed a dally around a bar on the trailer! Streak headed for the hills at a dead run, and the Black hit the end of the rope and was captured. Dad and Lyall worked their way down the rope, put a halter on the Black, and coaxed him into the trailer. Streak stopped at the edge of the trees, looking back. The whinnies of the Black and the mare, and the smell of the oats lured him back. Aaaah, the oats...
Streak worked his way back to the oats, and snuck a couple of quick bites. The tall human in the black hat moved as quick as lightening, and Streak felt something tighten on his leg! He ran as fast as he could, but after about 20 feet, he hit the end of the rope. He hit the ground and came up ready to fight! The tall human moved slowly towards Streak, in a calm and sure manner. Before Streak knew what happened, he had a halter on his head, and was captured once again!
Dad and Lyall took the Mustangs to the corral, and turned them loose. The corral was made of stout logs, six foot high. The Mustangs weren't getting loose this time.
Dad sat on the fence and watched the Mustangs. He sat without hardly moving, all afternoon long. Next morning he was back, with more oats. Every day, he spent time with the Mustangs, and started working with them. Within three days, he was trimming their feet, and they followed him around like puppy dogs.
Respect? I reckon!
Every day, Dad worked with Streak and the Black in his spare time. He handled them, trimmed their feet, and saddled them. The second week, Dad rode the Black. But Streak wasn't quite ready. Then the season got real busy with guests at the ranch, but Dad spent a little bit of time each day with the Mustangs. He never got to start Streak under saddle, though.
Dad had both Mustangs following him around like puppy dogs, and the Black would allow himself to be handled by Lyall and the other humans. But nobody but Dad dared to get near Streak. He trusted one human, and one human only... Dad.
So Dad worked out a deal with Lyall and Dave to buy Streak and take him back to Texas. He knew what would end up happening to Streak, if he didn't.
So the bond of trust was kept intact, and lives on today in the Panhandle of Texas!
That's the basics of how Streak met Dad. Just remember, it's not easy for a horse to trust a human... especially a wild horse. Trust and respect are hard to earn, and easy to lose when you are dealing with horses!
I'm proud to have Streak for a pasture buddy. And I'm proud to have a Dad with a little bit of horse sense!!
Until nest time,
Shakespeare
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