Tale of the lost pony

 

Well, all right then.  The sun has crested the hill.  I’ve done my chores.  I’ve added nectar to the two hummingbird feeders, filled the three bowls with kittie kibble, and tossed a bunch of alfalfa into the corral for the horses.  I’ve brewed a cup of hot tea, and it’s time to tell a story.

As pets, horses can be a big expense.  Aside from the joy of admiring these handsome huge creatures and getting the occasional affectionate face hugs from them, they need to offer more to make it worth it. One should be able to climb up their backs and be carried out into the day.

Patas Blancas has been through various efforts by three different people to train him, in his four years. Lack of continuity has been our downfall.  It is high time that he cooperate and accept the saddle and bit.  In fact, he does accept certain people on his back.  But to give a good ride is yet beyond his reach.  He is willful.  A good horse will not only accept a rider, but will agree to also work together with the rider to accomplish a mutual goal.  Although he is healthy, and in the spring he was even fat, I have been negligent in his care.  I have made a firm commitment to turn over a new leaf.

Each morning at dawn I separate him from his filly, and lead him to a small enclosure.  Knowing a hungry horse cannot think of anything but food, I give each of them a small portion of alfalfa.  I keep the filly in the corral so that she will not be a distraction to him.  I go back in the house for my morning prayers and first cuppa.

My theory is that in fifteen minutes a day, he will slowly learn to understand and accept basic commands.  I lead him in moves around the 25 foot long rectangle, on a rope, and at the end of each revolution he is rewarded with a slice of apple. 

One day I was returning from a shopping trip to town, when I saw a yearling colt standing in the road, at my fence, communicating with my two horses.  I left the gate open, and he wandered in.  I had no idea who he was or where he came from, but wandering free on the road could not be a safe option for him.  I did not put him in the corral with the horses, but left him free to give them time to adjust to each other.

I started putting notices on my Facebook page, knowing that a few local women followed it.  No one responded.  For three days, I wrote reminders that the little guy was still here, waiting for his owner.  I went around asking if anyone knew of a missing pony.  I found out where the center for registered brands is located, in Canatlan, and went there.  The young man took a copy of the horse’s photo and said he would end out a notice to his list.  Days passed, and still nothing. 

Pony walks up to the fence and goes nose to nose with the filly for a moment.  Then suddenly she draws back and whinnies; an unseen message passed between them, and she did not like it. 

When they are all freely grazing around the two acres here, the pony keeps his distance.  When the pair go down the embankment to the riverbed pasture, he follows along behind them at a safe distance.  They all spend hours down there grazing.

They all three come back up and continue grazing.  If the pony gets too chummy, Patas lunges for his neck.  If he gets too close to the filly, she aims a hind kick at him.  I feel sorry for him.  It looks like they are not accepting him.

Sometimes he goes down to the riverbed alone.  I might bring him his morning rations of alfalfa down there, where he won’t have to fight the othr two for it.  The undergrowth is so thick there that I can walk the length of the area and see no sign of him.  He senses my presence, and before long reveals himself to me.   

One rumor had it that a woman at a ranch called La Luz was missing a horse.  Not knowing where that was, I drove to Rancho Seco, the nearest town down the road and heavily invested in horses.  I drove slowly down the dusty roads looking for someone to ask.  One old man sat on a stone under the eaves; I asked him; no.  I drove on a little further, and saw a bent old man leaning on a cane in the street in front of a car and a house.  He said he knew of this place.  As he described its location, towards the town of Sauceda, I knew that was too far a distance for this horse to wander lost. 

The untamed horse now walks after me, looking for food.  He follows me to the stable, and I close the door behind him.  My firewood guy rides up on his motorbike, asking about the sale of my two horses.  We agree on a price, at the moment he has the money but it won’t stay in his pocket long.  I am not ready to part with them.  I show him the pony and ask if he recognizes him.  He does not, but while the guy is here and the pony is enclosed in the stable, we put a harness on him.  First the guy makes a lasso of a thick rope, and tosses it over the resisting head of the pony.  It slides nicely into place, and we have the means to hold him still while we put the harness on him. 

This week the moon is full.  I am awakened by a strange noise, a thud.  I put on slippers and walk outside into the moonlight.  The two horses in the corral are close to the fence.  The pony is just a few feet away, standing by the locked stable where the hay is kept.  I walk up to him and talk with him a bit.  The still night air is magical.  He remains very still, relaxed, aglow with moonlight.  I freely pat his nose, and then his neck.  It was a tender moment.  My filly had been with me a month before she would let me touch her like that.

After a week, I heard that Tocho, here in El Pozole, had lost a pony.  I drove to the last known residence and left a note in the door.  I returned the next day, and found the note untouched.  I knew he had another place, out towards the Sierra.  One time when my horses had wandered off from the river onto the other bank, he had put them within his gates and, after a day, came on his motorcycle to tell me I should keep my horses in check, they were causing damage, the usual tirade.  that day I jumped in my car and followed him the few miles out.  There I saw my horses out in the distance on a slight hill, mixing with the cattle.  There were no damaged fences or crops in sight.  My horses do not rampage.  I called them to me, they ambled down the hillside in their own good time, and walked out the gate I had opened for them.  They returned the way they came, to the riverbed, across, through our fence and up the embankment to their corral.  That’s how I knew that Tocho had another place.

This day I drove back out to that place, as best as I could remember it.  In the dusty roadway there are various tracks leading off into other fenced pasture lands.  I could not find the gate and hillside I had in my memory.  Frustrated, I turned around and headed home.  I had not gone but a few yards when a motorcyclist, passing on the left, greeted me.  I recognized him as the youngest son of Tocho, the youth who had first tried to train Patas Blancas.  I threw my arm out the window and hailed him to stop, as I fumbled with the other hand to switch off the radio. 

I told him I found a pony.  A broad smile melted his face.  “You found my horse!” 

I drove back home, and waited for him.  After a while he returned, with a length of thick rope.  While I waited, I went down to the riverbed side of my property, where the three horses were.  The pony followed me up the embankment, no doubt in hopes that I would have some alfalfa for him.  I got him into the small stable, and closed the door. 

I showed the kid to the stable.  He went inside, and fashioned a halter with the rope he brought.  He removed the harness I had put on him.  While the kid went to bring up his motorcycle, I held the horse still and calm.  I said my goodbyes to him.  He is a sweet pony.  The kid led the horse away behind his motorcycle.  I thought my horse would be happy to be rid of him, this intrusion on his well-ordered life as king of the pack.  I was wrong!

Patas was in the corral as the pony was led away.  He went ballistic!  He whinnied angrily.  He galloped down the length of the corral towards the gate, whinnying noisily.  He galloped back and again, at full speed, to the corral gate, and back again towards the road.  He did it again, dancing and bucking.  It was quite a show.

I think I learned something that day about the nature of the horse.  He had put the colt through days of hazing, teaching him lessons he needed about his place in the herd.  Patas was not rejecting the pony, though it might have seemed that way to me.  As the leader of the herd, he was nurturing him, teaching him the way of horses, teaching him his place in the pecking order.

I am always humbled, when the horses teach me something, increasing my awareness of the nature of these most noble of beasts.  I have waited literally all my life to finally realize my dream to have my own horse companion.  I cherish every day, knowing our time together is so short. 

Here is Cinderella at dusk

Blancas and me, signing off