Tag Archives: stallions

Night Terrors

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The herd had moved back into the low rolling hills surrounding the shallow water hole keeping just below the ridgeline and bunching up with the foals inside the outer ring for safety. They didn’t have many enemies but once in awhile a grey wolf down out of the McCullough Peaks range just to the North would take a run at a new foal so they were constantly on the alert. The wolves were over from the Yellowstone area to the West and although the pickings were good there once in a while an outcast or a young male looking for a mate would find his way over and young horse flesh was a real treat if he could manage it.

The herd stallions and there were three with this bunch were nervous, constantly checking the sky and smelling the air. Their ears forward, nostrils flared, seeking any sign of danger, constantly shifting and circling the mares who were bunched as tight as they could be, keeping them as centered as they could in case they had to be moved suddenly.

The skies had that leaden gray look, the clouds filled to the brim with water and pent up energy. Dry lightning had been flashing off in the distance and that made the herd nervous and skittish. Prairie fires racing along ahead of the wind had caught an unwary horse or colt before and the mares were concerned for the new foals who didn’t have the stamina to keep up if they had to run.

The storm had held off throughout the afternoon but suddenly broke with a furious violence right after darkness had set in. A lightning strike in the center of the herd was all it took for the herd to ignite into movement and scatter to the four corners, mares racing off into the darkness in all directions with their foals in tow, the stallions frantically trying to keep the group together, but it was a lost cause for the moment. Total fear and self preservation taking over all thoughts of herd discipline were gone. In its place was only the thought of getting away from the nearest dangers, a reaction to the night terrors that were a constant part of their lives on the open plains.

Horses – Wild Ones

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This is the real deal. Wild horses. Not those tame ones a few of the western states rent out to stand alongside the road and look wild. These are the real bona-fide dyed-in-the-wool wild horses that belong to the McCullough Peaks wild horse herd. They live outdoors. There is none of this bring them inside to get out of the weather, or wear a blanket to keep flies off of them, stuff going on here. First off, if the stallions let you get close enough to even put a rope on one they’d tear that blanket off before you could say, “Hey! Dammit, that blanket cost 130 bucks”. Plus they’d chase you back to your rig so fast you’d have that embarrassed look on your face that you hope nobody saw.

If you look closely you won’t see any wear marks on them that indicates they wear saddles. Instead you will see all along their sides and legs and sometimes their faces, bite marks. Acres of bite marks. That’s because that’s what they do all day, every day, is have some kind of altercation with the other horses in the herd. If they’re stallions they have them because stallions fight, often, vigorously, and with malice a forethought. That is their job. They have to do it because, just like every pond has to have a bull duck on it, there has to be a dominant, I am the freaking boss here, stallion in the herd.  And since there are at least a half-dozen stallions in this group the fights go on, and on.

Same with the mares except they tend to get upset over more domestic matters. They handle their problems much like the stallion’s. “Get away from my kid, you great stupid cow” which is one of the  worst insults in the horse community. Someone gets kicked in the face after that is tossed out there. Or bitten. Or both. Usually though there is snorting, then swapping ends, then kicking, then biting, just to make sure you got the message. Anyway it leaves marks.

This morning it just felt like the time to interject a little reality back into the system. Wild horses do it for me. Just knowing that Wild Horses, not tame ones, just the real deal are still running loose out there. That feels ok doesn’t it?

Quiet Conversation

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It’s Monday morning for the McCullough Peaks wild horses. The sun hasn’t been up that long. It’s quiet around the waterhole. Soon the days activities begin in earnest, but right now it’s quiet. The air has that crisp tang that only occurs in the morning when it’s calm and the slight breeze off the snow-covered peaks barely stirs the grass. The pond is still and glassy as a mirror. Clouds can be seen passing across its surface and for once there is no dust in the air. That comes later when everyone begins the frantic pursuit of daily life in one of the West’s last wild horse herds.

Right at this moment though there is time for some quiet conversation. Blood feuds between the stallions will be formally commenced as soon as everyone has had that first drink of cold water and the various protagonists look across the herd to see where the competition is. The mares will gather together to bicker and keep watch over the foals so they don’t get trampled in the ensuing melee and the first feeding of the day for the youngster’s gets underway. Everyday is a battle for the herd and everyone in it and it starts again in a moment. Right now though there is blessed calm, a rare event. Time for a few brief moments of reflection, quiet exchanges of whatever needs to be said and to take in the surroundings. Another day begins.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys Whatcha Gonna Do

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The Stallions at McCullough peaks in Wyoming are shown here in a rare moment of peacefulness but don’t let that fool you. Before you can say “Glue Factory” they’ll be back at each others throats again. Teeth gnashing, hooves striking, kicking, every dirty trick in the “Young Horses guide to Street Fighting” will be put to use.

If you look at the white spots on the side of Frazier there on the left and also on the legs of Tyson in the middle and of course Mr. Ali on the right who had the least number of scars visible but that’s because he is pretty and kept backing into the ropes and covering up. Those aren’t beauty marks. Those are bite marks. Bite marks that took out hair and hide and became permanent reminders that these bad boys play rough.

Why these guys are standing there not biting each other is a mystery. Especially Tyson, he’s really good at biting. The only answer could be that they were posing for the new Fight Club poster that will be put up at watering holes throughout the area.

This small break in the tension is so welcome by the herd, three mares had foals out of sheer surprise. This is a special event and every single member of the herd is taking full  advantage of the lull in the fighting. If you look in the background you can see horses standing quietly, reading, having a smoke, some even lying down. They know to take advantage of these times as they are very rare and short-lived.

When they were young foals or just out of foalburty they were known as Curly, Moe, and Larry. Then their true natures began to show and now they’re Frazier, Tyson and Mr. Ali or most commonly by everyone else in the herd, as simply the Bad Boys. Check them out, what with Spring coming on you probably won’t get the chance to see them this quiet again for a very long time.

The Maiden Voyage of the Bokeh Maru – Day 6

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Day 6 Mustangs!

There isn’t much that says the West like wild horses, Mustangs, or Broomtails as they’re sometimes called. The mental image one gets upon hearing those names immediately brings to mind long rolling hills, or desert flats, or herds grouped around the only water hole for miles. I see herds of horses running free before the wind, manes flying, hooves flashing, heads thrown back in the sheer joy of being free, racing from one part of their territory to another to do whatever wild horses do.

There is a place outside of Cody, Wyoming called McCullough Peaks and it is the home of a magnificent herd of wild horses numbering over 120 or so at last count. The terrain is made-up of slight hills and huge sweeping valleys, green at this time of year, dusty and grey as summer progresses and the heat dries out the summer grass and the watering spots.

The herd is usually made up of one or more stallions, a bunch of mares, and of course the resulting colts. These are not your typical herd of horses, standing quietly, heads down, waiting for whatever use we have for them. These are independent horses, aggressive, willful, wild, doing what they want to do, totally involved in their lives, not ours. They need to be approached carefully and not too close at that, as they, especially the stallions, will not tolerate any interference or threat and will defend themselves and the rest of the herd without warning. A person on foot is at risk here.

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The herd was located at a water hole 10 miles or so off the highway and reached by driving over a gravel road that soon turned to two ruts with spring grass growing up between them. We forded a small stream and as we came over the rise, there they were. The herd was clustered around the water hole quietly resting and drinking and calm.

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Calm didn’t mean motionless however and various small groups would break off from the main herd and run great circles around the water hole, racing the wind if nothing else.

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There is always drama in a horse herd, especially one that has more than one stallion. This herd had at least 5, possibly more as some of the herd was behind one of the low-lying hills. Suddenly and without warning a fight would break out and two of the stallions would battle until whatever disagreement they had was settled. These fights were serious but not deadly as they can sometimes be at the height of the rut. No blood was drawn but pain was definitely inflicted.

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The stallions weren’t the only ones that could get up a head of steam. The mares with colts wouldn’t tolerate any other animal to approach too closely to her offspring and would lash out with a jaw-breaking kick from her rear hooves to the offender. That usually got her point across.

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What appeared at first to be a calm setting was in fact a continual series of altercations, dust-ups, sparring, establishing who the bull duck in the pond was, and perhaps an opportunity to refine a few tactics if the fight got really serious. There were knee-biters.

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Neck-biters. Kickers, chewers, bumpers, runner away-ers, chasers, loud screamers, interested observers, dis-interested observers, ignorers and winners. And also losers.

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After several hours that sped by in seconds the herd finally finished their morning absolutions and headed off into the distance to their next destination. Their pace was slow and steady, paced about right for the foals to keep up. One mare leading the way, the stallions bringing up the rear, sometimes racing ahead then returning to take up rear guard again. It was as magical to see them leave as it was to see them arrive. It seemed that they had the entire west to travel in. They didn’t of course, highways and train tracks and fences and ranches and every kind of man-made obstacle we have created prevented that. This isn’t a gripe with the present, we all know that the facts of life are what they are. We co-exist. But it is incredible fulfilling to think that we have horses like these still running free.

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Earlier I mentioned about these horses being different. These horses, although wild, are looked after by the BLM and protected from many of the dangers from the outside world. The BLM researchers have done DNA testing on this stock and found that some of them can be traced back to the Spanish explorers losing them and some of the others have been traced back to the horses that were given to Buffalo Bill Cody by the Queen of England when he toured there with his wild west show in the late 1800’s.

The most different thing for me though, is that this is what freedom looks like. Can he be any more confident and proud, his head held high, displaying the bite wounds of his previous battles on his side, looking forward to the rest of what ever comes his way. Wild and free. Hopefully forever.