Author: Photographer — Journalist

“I see things changing, soon. The heart speaks volumes, the mind does listen, although a little slower than what the heart shows as truth. Change is in the air, it is in the water we drink, and the mountains we climb.”  — article and quote by John Cox, Cascade Journal

Let’s discuss, for a moment, the “Spirit” of the horse. There apparently is a lot of difference in this term, from one rider to another, or those that do not ride but love horses. So many, that when we discuss “Spirit” these days, I ask point blank, “What is it you think spirit is?”

I am in agreement with very few others when the matter discussed, as I believe that “Spirit” is the pure essence of the horse, and can sometimes only be found with others that are with their horse’s often. It is that inner “wild” part that all are born with. When left untouched or unaltered by humans’, it does allow the horse the power to remain true within itself, and to who they are as an individual. Today, I very much believe people have a problem with the term Independent as well, and feel uncomfortable around those of us who have an Independent nature about us – that inner-spirit that is elusive to many.

More so, it also gives the horse the power, or essential form, to be a member of their Band of Horse’s or family, or when placed together, as a Herd, and to remain prominent among the others. This is something that has taken millions of years of evolution, and their indigenous nature so to speak (which the wild horses are and have been indigenous to the America’s – their link is complete, as their actions also show us this when we leave them alone, or when we view without perceptions of myth, which are quite obvious) and which also ensures the survival of both the individual and the species as a whole. It is the human-nature of ignorance, of entitlement, of arrogant perception that demands this to be taken away from the wild horses.

Unfortunately, as other’s have pointed out to me as well, this is the type of “Spirit” that many old horse trainers wanted altered, or “broken out” of them, which they assumed would make them better at utility objectives, like transport or being ridden without temperament, or being usable. And just as unfortunate, this “Spirit” I speak of here, has indeed been intentionally watered-down by humans, through many centuries of selective breeding, of the domestic horse.

I believe this ancient “Spirit” I speak of here is lacking in domestic horses, and those that deal with wild horses, at least a few, must understand this to break a wild horse correctly – although, most do not understand this at all, and apparently many go to auction — and the trainers, no doubt, not knowing what it is they do not know.

This is mostly due to not having a thorough knowledge of how to work with them, all the while to maintain this “Spirit” as discussed here. The fact is, all the things that make a horse a horse, are those things within this “Ancient Spirit” — a horse that remains untouched by human’s, no intervention what so ever, and the known fact, other than and beyond human perception, the natural nature of a horse is its connection to the “Wilderness – to the Wilds”.

As a result, most horse people have never experienced or even seen this “Ancient Spirit” I speak of here. It is this “Spirit” (i.e. or lack of knowledge on how to reinforce the same, rather than train the horse), when ignored or left unseen and onward with domestic training, that the horse appears erratic, high-strung, and with very animated behavior; which, are the attritional aspects of breeding, unintentional consequences, that were never meant to be; but, remained within the ancient portion of the horse’s mind-set itself – which, and I am not surprised, ends up as some sort of new explanation as what the “Spirit” of the horse is, within this false perception or lack of thorough knowledge about the “Spirit of the Horse” that in simple terms, many horse people do not understand at all.

What develops here is the term “Spirit” no longer refers to the horse’s internal or external presence, and as dictated by Nature – but rather toward a horse’s human-made behavior. So, we use human-made breed controls, dangerous pesticides, and roundups that establish a pre-tense to slaughter and edible product, mostly because human’s do not understand the very elements, or mental-mind set as a basic-aspect, within the domestic horse and what we have created.

So, understanding the wild horse, all the while placing it within what we supposed to be understandable-terms we use today, that actually, and in realty, have nothing to do with a truthful explanation of wild horses at all. We lose so much, to include our wild horses, by our menial attempts at humanizing Nature’s Best, the wild horse, so we can manipulate or become predatory-profiteers from them. And off we go, hypocrites with hands in pocket, and those involved wanting to blame everyone else. . . Change is eminent, as ignorance only lasts for so long.

John Cox and Wild Horses

I stood on a small knoll, but high enough to overlook a large valley basin. Looking back toward the three horse trailers still hooked to the trucks, complete with three wild horses in each trailer, my heart beat fast; which, my gut told me everything was okay.

The friendly sun, high in the blue sky complete with a few white clouds around, shined its light directly upon us.  The slight breeze smelled of fresh rye in the vast basin fields to my front.

Mother Nature has blessed us this day, as we return her children to their rightful home. We placed no chemical or other methods derived from human-perception, within their bodies – we will leave them with how we helped them, with pleasant memories, and know that a proper respect was taken and given, from living souls, one to another – human to horse, horse to human and each in our way.

We setup block-transmitters, to block GPS, so our final unload-destination, or telemetry, was not recorded, anywhere.  The wild horses finally safe from the mediocrity, from the lies, from the deceit they experienced from humans.  Oh yes, they understood the abominations and the plight they faced.  They understood all right, it was in their eyes, in their jerky and stressed reactions to every movement, when we first picked them up.

Now surrounded by the smell of the rye grass, they stood motionless inside the trailers.  Silent, unmoving, and their eyes – I could see their eyes while I walked toward the trailers.  Love is the only term I could really think of at that moment, and the child-like anticipation they showed.  They knew they were safe.

I raised my hand in the air, gave the slide-out sign.  The trailer doors opened simultaneously.

The first horse, in the far trailer stepped out, the mare, the Queen.  Her majestic manner expressed a Queen, for sure.  Her stance as she watched her Stallion, James, step out from the trailer nearest me.  I simply knelled and watched, along with the crew, at such amazing and majestic movements from these horses.  They knew their homeland well.  Each sniffed and snorted for a moment.  Finally, they understood in total, the ground they stood, being safe for all of them.

A yearling stepped out, then another from the middle trailer.  Another yearling, a mare beside it we named Princess, then the other mares, stepped beside their yearlings, nudging, licking.  Nine wild horses.  Nine horses to start something we knew would become of a natural circumstance, within a natural environment.

The need for our ego-blessed manipulations did not exist – we saved them from those who believe their manipulations correct, and Mother Nature wrong, for some odd reason.  But one thing we all believed in doing this, was that we knew the twisting and reworking of the term Humane was worthless – their definition not of Humane Reasoning what so ever; because just like the wild horses, we knew those who benefited from birth controls and castration, were only mindful toward greed, toward wild horses no longer existing on this planet.

The small band of nine horses come together in the knee-high rye grass.  James stopped, looking back at me, his eyes glowed, his stance majestic, his black coat swayed, his mane blew upward, in contrast with the green rye grass around his legs.  The breeze swayed the grass very slight, as if bowing to that same majestic stand of James.  His chest thrust out.

He was telling me, Thank You.  I know what you did, and for my family and I, Thank You.

I am pretty sure a tear run-down my cheek, but I wiped it away.  As the Queen nudged James, he snorted, turned toward her, then they, all together galloped off.  A band together.  A band free of intrusion, free from humans.

I gave the signal to load-up.  As the trucks started, and everyone on the crew in the trucks, I stopped at the door of the truck.  I stood for a moment, then could not resist.  I glanced around one last time.

James’ band was running over the knoll a short distance away.  He had stopped, turned, and was looking at me for the last time, as if a salute given, between both he and I.  As he turned and galloped off, to catch up with his band.

I turned and got into the truck, not looking back again.  We done something good in life and saved some souls.  How much better can life become?  Well, to do it again, in another area, band by family band, another time, and save another soul.