The old mare, Taz as her rider called her, looked out over her herd; it had been her herd for as long as she could remember. Sometimes it was larger than now, other times smaller, but always hers. New horses to be set straight about who was boss, and the constant reminders she had to keep giving the others kept her firmly in her job. While she could not count she knew exactly how many horses were in her herd, and just where they were most of the time.
The perks of being boss were few in a pasture, she got to eat from the hay feeder when she wished, drink when she wished, making anyone who might wish her spot to wait for her to vacate it. When she felt mean she could pick on anyone she wished, and woe to anyone who thought picking a fight with her was a good idea. She could, and did, have a buddy that she spent most of her pasture time with. Right how it was the Big Red, a large Sorrel gelding.
Then her rider returned with the trailer he had left with early that morning, and her attention left the herd completely and rested solely upon what was in the trailer. In the trailer was the new horse that had been living in her pasture for the last month. The rider had kept it separated from the rest of the horses, including herself, and they had only been able to become acquainted from across the driveway that separated the south pasture from the east dry lot.
Taz, along with all the other horses in her herd, ran to the fence and followed the taller as her rider pulled into the driveway. They nickered their salutations as the trailer stopped and the rider took the horse out and put it into the dry lot. After the rider had moved the trailer to in normal spot the herd ran up and down the fence line as the new horse did the same in the dry lot. She could tell there was something not the same with the new horse, it smelled different, and somehow it acted different. It did not make any differences in any case since he was over there and she was over here. What she did not know was that the new horse had left a stallion and came home a gelding.
She and the herd fell back into their normal routine, which was mostly eating. They would go out into the pasture and separate into singles and pairs to graze the grass, then go up to the shed with the round bail feeder in it where the rider always kept hay in it, no sooner would it be eaten up when he would put a new bail in the feeder. They would take their water from a large troth that the rider seldom lets go dry, even in the hottest weather, and never let freeze in the coldest of weather.
At times they would break into a wild run up and down the pasture and around the fence line. Knowing no bound in their limitations, running to the end of their desire only to rest and run again. As wild as any wild horse hey roam their pasture, fill their stomachs, fight their fights, and sleep as they will.
Running is a game they just loved to play before a thunder storm sets its wind and rain loose upon the pasture. And though they had shelter they were free to take, more often than not they would bunch up and stand in the rain with their backs to the wind. If you were to turn them loose upon a hundred thousand acres they would not live much different than how they live on their five, except for paying the rent.
Every now and then, sometimes more now than then, others times more then than now, the rider would come into the pasture and take some of them out of the pasture. Sometime they would stay near their pasture, others they would be loaded on the trailer and taken away. When this happens they never knew their fate, for each had taken one or more trailer rides that they did not end up where they had left, and had been introduced into a new herd.
They had all learned to become a different animal when they were put under tack. They all had learned their job, some better than others, but none as good as the old mare had. She and the old gray gelding, Gal, had been with him the longest. When she had come to live with him there was only this gilding to share his attention with.
They, together, had watched their rider clear, fence, and sow the pasture with grass. They has watched the shelters go up one by one, sometimes he would send more time working on his place then he did with them, but they knew that he would come back to them, and he would never let them go hungry or thirsty. And just what was that stuff he kept forcing them to swallow the short tubes he stunk into their mouths?
One by one her herd had grown, from the two that she was one of in, this last horse, making six, oh, and let her not forget the mule. When he had come to her pasture he had been kept separated from the rest of the herd too. She and the other four horses would, at times, run up and down the fence line across the driveway as the mule ran up and down his fence across the way. He did not keep by himself like this new horse was, her oldest pasture mate, the gray, had been put with him and they had budded up.
The mare did know how the gray and the mule had first been introduced but as it turned out the gray was just used as a device for the rider to catch the mule. The mule, Jim Bo as the rider called him, had been in her world for two years before he came to live with her. His scent would drift down to her every time the wind blew from the southeast. He had been born in a pasture less than half a mile away two years before he had come to be in her herd.
As soon as the mule had been weaned his owner sold his mother and kept him alone in his ten acre pasture. He had never had a halter on, never been taught any human relational skills, not that he would call them that, and had a great averse to being caught. After two days of the rider trying to get close enough to throw a rope on the wiry little mule he gave up and took the gray up to the pasture where the mule had lived all of its life, and mostly by itself.
The mule had only known one horse in its life, and that was its mother. Oh the great pleasure the mule remember from the time it had spent with its mother, running by her side, sleeping next to her, and, let him not forget, the milk she would let him suck from her tits. So it was quite natural that the mule though that Gal was his mother returned to him when the rider turned the gray loose in his pasture. Jim Bo ran to Gal’s side and imminently dropped his head down to avail himself of the milk that he just knew would be waiting for him just for the sucking.
Gal, the old gray had absolutely no idea what the hell was wrong with this horse that was not a horse, but he was going to have nothing to do with letting him, or any other animal, to try and suck on him. So with a quick side kick Gal took off around the pasture with the mule in hot pursuit. Every time he coughs up with Gal he would drop his head down and stick it under Jim Bo trying for the milk that was not there. Gal would stop, spin, and let go with a double barrel kick. Then run off as fast as he could. Jim Bo has been just as fast at Gal in the short range, but Gal was an Arabian and his ability to keep running finally wore the mule down.
After about two hours Jim Bo was resigned to the fact that he was not going to get any milk from Gal, and had even come to realize that Gal was not his mother. Still he found great pleasure in being by Gal’s side, and where ever Gal went the mule went too. This was just what the rider had known would happen.
The rider had left the two alone for three days then he went back to Jim Bo’s pasture and called Gal over, and Gal being not only the rider’s horse, but had a great regards for the rider (besides he just might have a treat), Gal walked up to the rider, and the rider slipped a halter over his head. Which he did not mind at all, maybe he would get to take his rider for a ride, Gal had taught his rider just about everything he knew about riding, and they rode hundreds of miles together in the eight years they had been together. Though how he rode the Mare much more than he did him, they still would go for long rides together.
But a ride was not in the cards today, instead the rider just led Gal (that is short for Gallivant, incase you are wondering) down to the barn and into a large stall. Jim Bo would not leave his new friend’s side so he walked right into the trap. As soon as the rider, Gal, and Jim Bo were in the stall Jim Bo’s owner, who was not a rider, closed the stall gate on them. In no time at all Jim Bo found himself with a halted on his head, and a lead rope attached to that.
The gate was open and Jim Bo walked for the first time in his life with a rope on him to hinder his chosen direction and to force him in the direction the rider wanted him to go, and he did not like it at all! And as soon as he cleared the stall he took off, jerking the rider off his feet and dragging him up the pasture. Had it not been for the Jim Bo’s owner, a big man, being able to catch up with the runaway mule and dragging rider he might still be running around that pasture for the rider was not about to let go of the rope that had taken so long for him to get on the mule. Well make that long story short Jim Bo came to accept the rope and let the rider lead him to Taz’s pasture.
About two weeks after the rider had brought the new horse, a Dun he calls Doc, back and putting him in the dry lot he took Doc from the dry lot and turned him loose in the main pasture with Taz’s herd.
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