What? We’re finally leaving? And not coming back?
I quit listening. My mind was spinning. I couldn’t believe it! We were going to a trainer that could help us become a better team. Then I’d get to live with Daisy all the time! No more abuse from the hands of Lilith! No more being tormented from the sassy mouth of Malevolent. No more looking at a pasture full of grass across the way while my stomach rumbled from being hungry.
Hooray! Daisy was going to take me out of here. From that point on she was no longer just my owner and my rider, she was my partner now, and the one who I knew would take care of me! She was keeping her promise. And I knew I would keep mine, too.
*****
I could hardly contain myself until Sunday. Moving Day! I didn’t know what this new barn had in store for me, but I figured it had to be better than where I was. I walked onto the small red trailer the first time Daisy led me up to it. There was grain and hay in there waiting for me, so I got to eat and get out of here. It was going to be a great day!
Rex was in charge of driving me over to the new barn. Daisy and Holly followed along to make sure everything was going to go smoothly. I kept turning around just to make sure they were still behind us. And there they stayed, right behind us as Rex crawled down the street, making sure I wouldn’t be bouncing around too much.
Finally, the trailer came to a stop and so did the truck’s rumbling. Daisy jumped out and was already opening up the window by my head, clipping my lead rope into place so I could see my new home. I backed out slowly, taking in the new sights and smells. I couldn’t believe it. There was grass everywhere. There were horses everywhere. Already, this place was so much better than living with Lilith, Malevolent, and Brownie. I nuzzled Daisy to say thank you and dropped my head to munch the sweet, sweet grass.
Our new trainer, Wendy, came out to greet Daisy and to meet me. “I have his stall all ready for him.”
Stall? A stall of my own? I don’t have to worry about some mare peeing on my hay anymore? This place is fantastic.
I didn’t stay excited about my own stall for long though. I stayed inside 24 hours a day for the first few days, so that Wendy could be sure I was eating and drinking like I should, and not being run off of my food by others. Like I’d let that happen! By the time I finally was released from the prison, I was so frustrated I took it out on the horses who were in the pasture with me. I chased them all over the place, nipping at them if they didn’t move fast enough, and kicking at them if they got in my way. It felt so good to be a dominant mustang again. I had so much fun.
However, Wendy wasn’t impressed at all. She told me that if I couldn’t be nice to the other horses, then I wouldn’t get to play with them anymore.
To be honest, I didn’t think she was serious, but I quickly found out that she was. I was confined to my stall again for bad behavior. I could only go out at night, when all of the other horses came inside. It was boring staring at the same four walls all day long. The only things that kept me from getting cabin fever was watching all the comings and goings at the barn and Daisy’s visits twice a day to ride.
Each time Daisy would pull up to the barn, we would play a game. She would call my name, “Kobi. Oh, Kobi,” and I would nicker to her in response. Then she would ask, “What do you want?”
I would always yell back to her, “Let me out of here!” and she would. We had so much fun together. Every time I saw her I realized how much more I looked forward to her visits and the time we were able to spend together. I was so glad we found each other.
One afternoon, after a particularly intense workout, I was dripping with sweat when Daisy untacked me.
I heard one of the barn girls, Ruth, holler, “Do you need some help getting him on the wash rack?”
“Yes, please. That would be great. He’s so stubborn when it comes to hosing him down.”
Stubborn? Ha! That’s putting it mildly. You know how I hate that thing. You know how much I hate getting wet. Just let me roll around in the dirt. I’ll be fine.
“Lead him out to the rack and I’ll follow behind with the dressage whip, just to encourage him,” said Ruth.
Another one of the younger barn girls, Bianca, came bounding out behind us with her whip. “I wanna help too!”
“Alright,” Ruth said. “But if you come out, you have to stay in the back with me.”
“Okay.” Bianca’s short, red curls bounced up and down as she nodded. “This is gonna be fun.”
“One more thing. After we get him hooked up, your job is to keep him from trying to back off of the wash rack. I’m sure Daisy doesn’t want him to flip over and hurt himself.”
No worries. I don’t want to flip over and hurt myself, either. Can’t we just forget about this whole wash rack thing? I’d rather go back into my lonely stall than the wash rack.
Bianca only needed to hear that she could come and help too. They took me out and convinced me to get on the wash rack with the help of some cookies and by waving their whips as if they were going to pop my rump. When I finished eating all the cookies they clipped me to the cross-ties. Any time I moved, even if it were to just switch feet to find a more comfortable position, Bianca popped me in the rump for moving. She never popped me hard enough to hurt, but it sure was annoying. It didn’t even matter how much Daisy or Ruth yelled at Bianca to stop hitting me and told her I wasn’t trying to back up. The only response they got from Bianca was a small “Sorry.” As soon as I’d shift my weight again, though, POP! Next came, “Sorry.” POP! “Sorry.” If it wasn’t my rump that was getting whacked, it would have been comical: POP! Sorry. She reminded me of a young filly trying hard to please, but more trouble than she was worth—especially to my rump!
*****
After I became adjusted to Wendy’s barn and my new surroundings, my training with Daisy began in earnest. Wendy always watched, and she always knew when we did things wrong. She even knew when we were doing things wrong I didn’t know were wrong!
Daisy came out twice a day to work me. In the morning Wendy had Daisy and me work in the round pen, improving our communication and making sure our signals meant the same thing.: like when she would pull back on the reins and quit riding, it meant for me to stop moving forward. Or when I didn’t feel like moving forward, she would spin me in a circle and show me how much easier it was to move forward in a straight line than in a circle where my nose touched her knees. That was our basic foundation for communication.
During the heat of the day I stayed in my stall. Daisy would come back in the evening, taking me into the arena to practice what we had been taught that morning. It was the hardest I’d ever worked in my life, but it was also the only escape from my boring stall. I liked having something to do with my mind and my body, and I especially liked spending my time with Daisy.
I learned a lot of other stuff in those early days, too. I learned that humans like to make sure you can’t escape when you’re being groomed and tacked up, so they created what they called a ‘cross-tie.’ A cross-tie is a lead rope clipped to each side of the halter. I couldn’t go forward, backward or even move side-to-side when hooked up. I did figure out, though, that while my head was immobile, my rump was not. I would move my back end all over the place, much to Wendy’s dismay. It was so much fun to annoy her, so I made sure to do it whenever I heard her coming.
By annoying Wendy, I learned about a dressage whip. It enables the humans to have a longer reach than they would with only their arms. They can stand in one spot, away from horse’s moving legs, and still reach us. Wendy would just tap me on my shoulders to get my attention to stop moving on the cross-ties. I would let her think it worked until she put the whip down, then I would move again. She was so much fun to play with.
I also found out humans love to spray stuff on their horses. Now, back in Nevada, I wasn’t fond of getting caught in a snowstorm or even a rainstorm. I don’t like to feel anything wet seeping into my coat or onto my skin. We had a few bugs out there, but there are tons more
bugs in Florida. Oh, and the gnats. Did I mention I’m allergic to them? And they are everywhere! And it seemed that wherever those little beasties landed on me, I would have an itchy spot for days. It didn’t matter to me if I scratched all of my hair off in the process; I just had to scratch those itches.
When Daisy saw my torment with the gnats and biting flies she decided it would be a good idea to spray fly spray all over my coat. Now, I would rather scratch my own skin off than to allow her to spray that acid on me. Not that it hurt; it just annoyed every fiber in my being to be wet at all! Daisy wasn’t about to give up and let the bugs win, so she walked into my stall, sprayed everything like a mad woman, chased me into a corner so I couldn’t move away, and finally coated me with that smelly, nasty spray. While I’ll never admit it to her, that spray did keep some of the biting flies at bay, so eventually I would just stand there and allow her to spray me. All the while I gave her the stink-eye.
The other thing I learned in those early days was that when my stomach hurt, I didn’t want to do anything. One day right after our morning workout, I started to feel a twinge in my stomach. It wasn’t especially painful, but something wasn’t agreeing with me. The feeling kept getting more and more intense as Daisy untacked me. I didn’t even put up a fight when she led me to the wash rack. Maybe, just maybe, cooling down would make my stomach feel better. It didn’t.
Daisy was in a bit of a tizzy that morning too. Her nieces were visiting her and this was their last day in town and she wanted to spend more time with them. She was trying to get all of her barn chores done as quickly as she could, so she didn’t notice I wasn’t grazing, she just turned me out to pasture. Before she walked too far away, the pain in my stomach became so severe that I dropped to the ground. I started biting at my stomach to see if I could remove whatever was hurting me. When that didn’t work, I tried to roll around on my back, hoping to dislodge what was causing the pain. That didn’t work either. By now, I had Daisy’s full attention.
She sprinted back into the barn and grabbed my halter. Then she ran back out to where I was laying down in the pasture and slipped the halter over my nose. I had never seen Daisy run anywhere before, so I knew that whatever was bothering me, it must be serious.
“Come on, Kobi,” she whispered with concern and more than a little fear in her voice. “We’ve got to get you up, boy. Then I have to go find Wendy. She’ll know what to do.”
Daisy kept gently coaxing me until I was up on my feet, but I didn’t feel like standing up. My stomach hurt too bad to do anything, so I kept trying to lie back down. At this point, Daisy was yelling for help. I didn’t want to move anymore. The sun was beating down on my dark coat. Sweat formed all over my body. I didn’t even care how hot I was because I just wanted the pain to stop. Wendy heard Daisy’s cries for help, and as soon as she saw me struggling to stay upright she grabbed the closest dressage whip and came running to the field.
“I think he’s trying to colic.” Tears spilled down Daisy’s face. “He has all of the symptoms: trying to lie down, rolling, and biting his belly.”
I wasn’t sure if I was trying to colic or not, but boy, my stomach was killing me.
“Don’t you get all weepy on me now,” Wendy chastised. “This isn’t the time to panic. Trust me, Daisy; I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to panic. This isn’t it. Now get him up! Start leading him to the barn. I’ll encourage him to keep moving from behind.”
Wendy really knew how to take charge of the situation. As soon as they got me in a dark stall, they turned the fan on to help cool me down. Wendy stuck something very sharp into my neck; I barely registered it pricking my skin, my mind was only on my stomachache.
“This is banamine,” she explained to Daisy. “It’ll kick in within the next 20 minutes. It’s just a pain reliever, kinda like aspirin for humans. These young horses can’t stand any type of discomfort, so they make a big deal about everything.
“In about 20 minutes, mix him up some bran mash and mineral oil and see if he’ll eat it. If he does, take him out to the round pen and lunge him for awhile. He needs to stay in motion to get his belly moving things around again. He may not feel like it, but it’s your job to make sure that he moves. Then offer him some more mash. But don’t give him any hay at all. Hay can get caught in his gut and keep the mash from passing, doing more harm than good. He can have all the grass he wants.
“Keep this up all day and don’t worry. Kobi is going to be just fine; I’d tell you if he’s not. Now stop crying!”
Wendy was right. Before long the pain went away and I was able to function like a mustang again. I devoured all of the bran mashes but hated all of the lunging. Daisy never did make it to say goodbye to her nieces that day. She stayed with me the entire time and prepared me snacks every little while before making me work out all of the gas that created my stomachache in the first place. I’m glad she stayed with me. I don’t know if I could have survived the day without her by my side.
By that night I had made a full recovery. I still wasn’t allowed hay or solid food for another day, but it was okay. If I never experience colic again, it will be fine by me.
Once Daisy felt sure my stomach was better, we resumed our intense training schedule.
One evening I was put out to pasture early before Daisy made her evening trek out to visit. When she came into the pasture with my halter, I saw something chasing her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a coyote running up right behind Daisy.
Daisy, look out! Coyote! Behind you! Watch out! You’re in danger!
I had to protect Daisy. I ran to position myself between her and the dangerous coyote. It didn’t back down from me or run away. I tried to chase it down to keep it away from her, kicking out at the offensive beast.
“Kobi, no! Whoa! Stop!” Daisy yelled at me, waving her arms to get my attention. “That’s just Cuzzin. He’s my dog. He’s not going to hurt you.” Daisy ran up and stood between me and the dog, scratching his ears. “You’ll just have to get used to him. You don’t have to worry about him. He’s not dangerous, but he’s not that bright.”
What? Let me get this straight. You have a predator. A dog…and a stupid dog, at that. He gets to go home with you every night while I have to stay here? This really doesn’t seem fair. I don’t trust that dog. I’ll be keeping my eye on him, making sure you’re safe and that dog doesn’t do anything stupid.
Daisy brought that dumb dog, Cuzzin, out with her a couple more times. Each time I would find Cuzzin alone, I would corner him, letting him know I didn’t like him. Not one bit. Once I chased that dumb dog all the way across the field and Cuzzin had to run into the barn for protection. I think Daisy got the hint after that. She stopped bringing him out. I didn’t miss him at all.
After all of the our intense training, the excitement of my colic, and the drama with Cuzzin, the rest of the summer passed in a blur of more riding, baths on the wash rack, trying to avoid the fly spray, and scratching all of those bug bites. When the days turned cooler and the nights became longer, it was time for Daisy to go back to school and our visits were cut back to just evenings and weekends.
CHAPTER 8 — BIG JAKE
I will never forget the following winter. That’s when Big Jake entered my life. Most humans had no idea what kind of beast he was: horse, mule, or maybe even a buffalo. Rex didn’t help matters much either. He kept telling everyone Jake was a Muffalo: part mustang, part buffalo. The funny thing was that most people didn’t even question it. They actually believed him.
In their defense, Jake was a strange looking creature. To start with, he was massive. The top of my back only came up to his shoulder, and I would have to stretch my neck to its limit to rest my head on his back. Not that I had any intentions of doing it!
To complete his colossal appearance, Jake was the thickest animal I ever saw. A single one of Jake’s legs was as wide as two of mine put together. You couldn’t see a single rib on him, and when you saw him from the back, his rump looked like th
e largest, most perfect giant apple. Adding to his bulk was his hair. He was the hairiest creature I had ever laid eyes on. Jake’s hair was so thick it curled all over his body. He even had a full beard under his chin, not to mention a moustache that curled from his lips. Jake smelled like a horse, acted like a horse, but he absolutely, positively did not look like a horse!
“What are you?” I asked him when we were out to pasture together, about a week after he joined the herd.
“Horse,” Jake mumbled through mouthfuls of hay, not even bothering to lift his head up. “What do you think I am?”
“I know you’re a horse,” I said, getting frustrated with this apparent dimwit, “but you sure don’t look like any horse that I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, have you seen everything, then?” Jake’s mouth was still full of hay. He still hadn’t looked up at me.
“Well, no, but I’ve seen you, and you sure do look odd.”
“It’s the donkeys; they ate my tail.” He grabbed another bite of hay before he turned his ample hindquarters toward me to show me his half-eaten tail. “They ate everything. And I do mean everything.”
“It’s not just your tail. Why do you have all that long hair?” I had never seen another horse with a coat that thick and shaggy. “Is something wrong with you?”
“Oh, all of this?” Jake bit at the hair on his side. “All of the horses back in Kentucky have this much hair. Especially all the other work horses.”
“What do you mean ‘work horses’?”
“I was a work horse. Back in Kentucky, I pulled logs out of the woods. Humans would put a really tight work collar around my neck.” Jake pointed out where he had a gash above the withers on his neck almost as deep as one of my hooves, where a collar had bitten into his skin. “Then they would tie me to the trees they had cut down. As soon as the tree was all hooked up to my collar, they made me pull them out. If we horses didn’t move fast enough, we would get whipped for our troubles.”
Kobi- Memoirs of a Mustang Page 7
