Kobi- Memoirs of a Mustang

by Heather Hamel

  KOBI:

  Memoirs of a Mustang

  Prologue

  I have learned that there are three kinds of people in the world: the good, the bad, and the ignorant, the latter of which can be even worse than the bad.

  I have also learned that most people have at least some good in them. It’s the bad and the ignorant ones that you have to watch out for, and you can’t always tell when you meet someone which kind of person they are.

  This is my story, my journey, in which I have encounters with all those people: the good, the bad, and the ignorant. But don’t worry; everything works out just fine.

  After all, I am Kobi.

  CHAPTER 1 — THE BEGINNING

  One of my first memories is of running free alongside my mother, in a herd of wild mustangs, across the scorched earth of the Nevada plains. The wind tore through my mane and I ran faster and faster, hitting the ground hard as it thundered under my hooves. I squealed in delight and kicked up my hind legs as I ran. I felt wild, alive, and free.

  “Keep up, son. You have to stay with the herd. Remember, there is safety in numbers.” Mother urged me as she circled behind to nudge my hindquarters. “Get going.”

  You have never seen a prettier mare than Mother. She was dark bay, her coat a deep, dark brown, the color of the ground after the spring rains have soaked in. Her thick black mane reached down past her heavily muscled shoulders. Her tail was longer than most other mares’ and brushed across the ground when she ran. She didn’t have a single white mark on her. She was strong and powerful from running wild. She could move the fastest and the farthest in search of the most succulent green grass or cool blue water, which was why she was the lead mare in our herd.

  Father was, of course, the only stallion for our herd of mares and yearlings, which included me and several of my half brothers and sisters. He was a handsome animal, the largest and thickest horse in our herd. His neck alone was thicker and more muscular than my chest. I hoped to be just like Father when I grew up: big, strong, dominant, and the leader of my own herd. We already looked identical; I was just a great deal smaller. We were both as black as a moonless, starless night, without a single white mark to distract the eye from our beautiful, pure color. While Father’s forelock was so long and so thick you couldn’t see his eyes, mine was just little tufts of frizzy black fuzz growing out of the top of my head. I had high hopes, though, that I would grow up to be just as striking as Father, if not more so!

  Lost in my thoughts of becoming the greatest stallion in all of Nevada, I didn’t notice that the herd had stopped to drink and I ran past the watering hole. I kept daydreaming and running for what seemed like miles. I was just enjoying being free. As my hooves drummed against the hard Nevada plains, I felt the vibration running up my legs with each stride. I kicked up so much dust that I couldn’t see anything behind me. At first, I didn’t realize that I was on my own.

  I had run straight into the mouth of a canyon. I slowed to a trot to catch my breath as well as gather my bearings. I circled the inside of the canyon and turned around in order to head back out and rejoin my herd. Just then another horse caught my eye and stopped me in my tracks. Every muscle in my body tightened on alert: head up, neck tense, nostrils flared to catch any scents the wind might bring me. My entire body trembled with anticipation. I had never seen or smelled this horse before. Was he in our territory or had I ventured into his? I was much too young to be a threat to a grown stallion like this one, but it was still extremely dangerous for me to be in his territory.

  My feet screamed “RUN!” but my mind wouldn’t listen. I had spotted something else: that horse had an animal on his back. It was the size of a mountain lion, but it wasn’t attacking the horse. The horse didn’t appear to be in distress. He wasn’t running, bucking, or screaming. No, he just stood still on the ridge and calmly watched me with this strange creature sitting on his back. Interesting, but I didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about that. I had to leave. Getting out of there safely was more important than figuring out the strange creature.

  My feet jumped into action, striking the earth in the same rhythm as my pounding heart. I ran faster and faster until I could see the canyon’s opening getting bigger and bigger, closer and closer. I was almost out.

  When I reached the mouth of the canyon, I saw a shadow pass across the entrance. Oh, no! What was that? Was it another stallion? Fear was starting to take over my senses. Then I heard a horse cry out and the shadow became a solid figure at the entrance: Mother!

  I slowed to a trot as I approached her. “Where have you been?” she demanded as I came closer. She nipped me on the ear to chastise me. “I panicked when we stopped for water and you were nowhere to be found. You must always pay attention and stay with the herd. Stick together; there is always—”

  “Safety in numbers. I know, I know, Mother,” I was so relieved to be safe that I was a little sassy as I finished her sentence for her. She nipped me again for being disrespectful. My delight in seeing Mother made me forget all about the strange horse with the creature on its back.

  Mother nudged me forward, “Don’t ever do that again. Now we must get back. Your father is furious with you for not staying with the herd.”

  As we trotted back to the watering hole, Mother began lecturing me again on the dangers of going off alone. She had to be sure that I had learned my lesson. “You must stick with the herd. You don’t want to end up like that little filly from last summer. She never got a second chance to learn her lesson that there is always safety in numbers.”

  The story about the filly going off by herself is one every newborn foal hears. She was a free spirit and didn’t listen to the elder horses much. She was also a silly little filly with more dust in her head than smarts. She preferred playing, frolicking, and chasing butterflies at dusk instead of being safe. She was already weaned from her mother’s milk and eating grass, but she was still much too young to not pay attention to where her mother was. Her fun and games took her away from the safety of the herd and too close to a cave where coyote pups were just learning to hunt.

  Her mistake wouldn’t have been deadly most of the time because horses are too big for a coyote to take down, but food had been scarce for them that year. They had begun to hunt in packs for larger prey, like a filly. She didn’t stand a chance against them. They took her by surprise and had her throat in their powerful jaws before she could even whinny for help. Darkness had settled on the plains and it was morning before the herd found the lost filly—or what was left of her—from the coyote’s feast.

  I shuddered at the image in my head.

  I was relieved when we finally rejoined our herd and I could put some distance between me and Mother’s lectures, not to mention the gruesome retelling of the filly and coyote incident. On the trek back I decided not to trouble her any further, so I didn’t question her about the strange horse I had seen. When we returned, though, I found Father and asked him about it. He was distraught by what I told him.

  “Tell me again, son, how many horses were there?”

  “One, but there was something on his back.”

  “Now, wait. Are you sure there was only one horse?”

  “Yes, only one. Father, what was that on his back? It wasn’t attacking him. It was just…I don’t know…a strange creature.” I mumbled, becoming more confused the more I thought about it. Maybe my eyes had played tricks on me. Maybe I wasn’t remembering all of the details right. Maybe there wasn’t another animal on the horse’s back.

  “It was a human,” said Father.

  “What’s a human?” I asked.

  “A predator. Humans are, by far, the worst predators that we have to fear. While a human has four legs,
they walk on only two. This makes them move slower than us, so we can always outrun them, but they are smart and cunning. They can hunt us down more swiftly and surely than either coyotes or mountain lions can.”

  “But the horse didn’t seem to be in any distress. Was he being attacked by a human and I just couldn’t tell?”

  “No, son. That horse had been tamed to allow a human to ride him like a beast of burden.”

  “Tamed? Ride him? But why?”

  “The horse may have had no choice. At times, humans will chase us down and capture us. Then we only have two choices: let them dominate us and we can live, but by their rules, or fight back and probably die.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible, Father. Which would you choose?”

  “I would rather die than to allow a human up on my back. But come, son, I must get the herd moving again. That human you saw was searching for us. We must not let him find us.”

  With that said, we were on the move again before darkness fell across the plains. My thoughts, though, were on that horse, and humans.

  *****

  Soon the strange horse and his rider became a distant memory. My days were filled with running free with my herd, seeking out grazing lands and watering holes. Living the life of a wild mustang was all I craved.

  Life went on this way into a second winter. Somehow, though, I knew things would have to change soon. I was becoming a grown stallion in my own right and knew there could only be one stallion in a single herd. Without a doubt, that stallion was Father.

  One gray evening, Mother trudged towards me through the knee-deep snow, heavy with foal. “Son, you are almost fully grown; you are nearly as tall as I, and you have a long tail now instead of baby’s fuzz. In spring, when the snow melts, all of the new foals will be born, and it will be time for you to leave with the other bachelors to create your own herds.

  “But I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you and Father. I’m not ready to be on my own yet!” I shook my head in frustration.

  “Oh, yes, you are,” she replied as calmly as only Mother could. “I know you are frightened, but I’m telling you this now so you can observe and learn as much as you can from your father and me before the time comes for you to go off on your own.” She nuzzled me on my forehead and nipped affectionately at my withers before she headed off to go rest with the other mares, all of whom were heavy with foal.

  I was furious and a little hurt. I always knew I would have to leave my Father’s herd when I got older, but I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. You never want to hear your Mother tell you that you have to leave home, either. I needed time to think and figure out what I was going to do, so I started running.

  At first, I galloped as fast as I could and felt the cold wind whip through my mane and burn away all of my rage and frustration as my hooves tore through the snow. I tried to forget that soon I would have to find my own range and my own herd.

  Once I had spent most of my anger and started to calm down, I heard a blood-chilling sound from my distant left.

  Awoooooooooooooo.

  Coyote!

  Then from my far right, I heard an answering howl.

  Awoooooooooooooo.

  Coyotes!

  I stopped in my tracks and swiveled my ears around as I tried to locate the coyotes. I flared my nostrils and blew hard trying to catch their odor. My neck was tense and my head high. Looking, I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I smelled nothing. They must not be too close, but they were out there waiting, and had caught my scent. My mind went to the story about the poor filly. I shook my head to clear it. They must not catch me by surprise.

  Awoooooooooooooo.

  The howl came from in front of me and was answered quickly by two more howls on each side of me.

  Awoooooooooooooo.

  They were closer now!

  That only left one direction without coyotes. Behind me. I spun around to head back in the direction I had come. Then I saw them: a pack of five coyotes trotting after me. Stalking me. Sizing me up.

  I ran faster. Not to be denied a meal for their pack, the coyotes ran faster too and closed the gap between us.

  I was not going to go down easily. Without needing to turn my head, I caught a glimpse of my closest attacker. He was gray, the color of dirty snow. He kept his tail close to the ground as he ran, looking as if he would spring on me at any time. I also noticed that he wasn’t large. He came up roughly to my knees. I could handle him. I knew since they are so small, coyotes are usually not a threat to horses if they are hunting by themselves. However, they made up for their size by hunting in packs to bring down larger prey–like me.

  This was a pack.

  The gray coyote came closer. Before he could pounce on me, I slowed down for a split-second and kicked out my hind foot with all my force, energy, and anger. I sent the coyote flying back into the snow.

  I heard him scream. Ieeee! Ieee! Ieee!

  I didn’t stop running to see if he quit following me, but from his cries of pain I could tell that he wouldn’t be chasing me anymore. I didn’t know if the other coyotes in the pack would abandon the chase or double their efforts with one down, so I kept going as fast as I could.

  The coyotes answered my question by staying close without breaking their stride. Another gray coyote made his move before I was able to put much distance between me and the remainder of the pack. From my side vision I saw him leap at me, but not towards my hind-quarters, as the last coyote did. This one was leaping toward my throat. I couldn’t kick at him, but I could stop. Quick. The coyote didn’t expect me to stop, so his leap was too far in front of me. He fell hard to the ground. I started running again and stepped on his chest. I felt it snap under my hooves but I didn’t slow down. I was at full speed again before another coyote could take up the chase.

  I wasn’t going to slow my speed again for anything. It was a matter of life or death. Mine! I ran until I thought the coyotes had given up and then I ran some more. I ran until I had safely rejoined my herd. By the time I saw their outlines resting for the evening, I knew I had lost those predator coyotes. Mother was right: there was safety in numbers.

  I thought my deep wheezing breaths might give away that I had been running hard, but not a single horse stirred. Not even Father, who was guarding over the herd, gave me a second glance. I was home and safe. When my heart stopped pounding and my breathing came easier, I tried to get some rest.

  That night, though, sleep didn’t come easy. Every time I heard a lone coyote’s howl my heart started racing again. Whenever I managed to doze off I was jolted awake by the thought of having to leave the only herd I had ever known.

  I had no idea I would be leaving much sooner than Mother or I had ever imagined.

  CHAPTER 2 — THE CAPTURE

  The sun rose the next morning on a day that was as cold, dark, and gloomy as my mood. A thick haze covered the plains and snow hung heavy in the clouds. It was only a matter of time until it fell again. I could see the other horses only as fuzzy shapes in the distance, although I could identify them by their unique, individual scent. I saw Father travel through the herd and check on everyone. He nudged all the horses together into a smaller, tighter group. That meant there was danger surrounding us. You could feel it electrify the air, but in the thick haze it was hard to tell which direction it came from.

  Then we heard it. At first it sounded like thunder rolling in, but that couldn’t be right since it didn’t usually thunder when it snowed. Father heard it, too. He kept leaving the herd and dashing up on the ridge in search of the unknown threat. After scanning the horizon for a few minutes, he’d gallop back down to us to ensure that we were still safe, secure, and all packed together. Then he would run back up on the ridge.

  The thunderous noise kept coming closer. One of the yearlings thought it might be another herd, galloping into our territory. His mother scoffed at the idea. “Your father has never let a renegade herd into our territory. He’s not about to start now.”

&nb
sp; As soon as she said that, Father came galloping back down from the ridge, screaming only one word as he passed us. “RUN!”

  We didn’t have time to question or even wonder about his demand. Above the ridge where he had just stood rose an enormous bird with its wings flapping mightily to reveal the source of the thunder.

  It wasn’t any kind of bird I had ever seen before. It had no feathers, was too shiny, and too large to belong in the Nevada plains. Maybe it wasn’t a bird at all; maybe it was a gigantic dragonfly. It had huge bulging eyes on top of its head and its wings were on top instead of being out to the sides. Whether it was an enormous bird or gigantic dragonfly, it was terrifying. It was time to run.

  Its wings created such a fierce wind that our manes blew back and away from our necks as we tried to run away as fast as our hooves would carry us. Some of the yearlings’ entire bodies were blown back. It was all they could do to stay on their feet. They were almost running backwards just to keep up.

  Without hesitation, we ran as Father commanded and followed him at a dead gallop. My heart pounded in fast rhythm with my hooves. At first, we stayed together in a tight band, feeding off of each other’s terror, driving forward as fast as we could go. Within minutes the pregnant mares started to fall back, followed by the yearlings with their mares, and then some of the older ones.

  The creature followed us while spinning the air and the snow around us. This made it difficult for us to see where we were running. For some reason, though, it didn’t attack any of the slower horses that fell behind, which surprised me. Every prey animal that I’ve ever seen would have singled out the weakest horse and moved in for the kill. They would’ve left the rest of us alone to escape, but this one didn’t. It was strange. I shook my head to clear up all these thoughts that were causing me to slow down. When I caught up with Father, I was able to ask what was happening.