Taste of The Wild: Life Through the Eyes of a Wild Mustang

Chapter 4

          After hours of traveling in the small, cramped trailer that smelled of other horses, some of them dead it finally stopped. I was ready for them to let us out. When they did, I bolted out of the trailer and into a place that was worse than the first. Even though there were blue skies, they seemed to be gray storm clouds. Cries of weary dying horses reached my ears, and the smell of dead horses was worse than in the trailer. The cold mud went to miles in every direction and holding pens looked crowded. 

          I backed up into Ivy and would've gone back into the trailer if the men weren't blocking the way. I neighed and reared a few feet above the ground. My hoofs were already sinking into the mud. 

          "Come on you stupid thing move forward!!!" A man said and waved his arms. Ivy threw her head up and let out a squeal of terror. I was so confused about what they were doing. Rounding us up, separating us, putting numbers on us, and hauling us from there to here.

            Reluctantly we headed down the lane and into a big opening that had several horses in it. They eyed us and pricked their ears up at the sight of Ivy. I arched my back, lowered my head, bared my teeth, laid my ears back, and glared at them. Ivy was mine and mine only. No one was going to take her. We went into a corner and rested. Now, the world seemed to stop. What was the purpose of this place anyway??

**********

          Little by little, horses left the pen. Every day, men would come into the pen, pick a horse, and take it with them. Three times a day, an ATV would go down the ally between the pens and give dry, stale, flaky grass. Ivy sniffed the stuff and didn't touch it. I did the same. The water was muddy and algae were growing in it. Those who drunk it would come up lame. Either drink and never walk again or don't drink a single drop and die of thirst.

          One day, two men came into the pen. Most of the horses were gone, and the men walked towards us. I guarded Ivy with my body and showed the same behavior that I showed the other horses when we came in. Despite my efforts, they still got us. They pinned us down and held my neck down. A man came with a burning iron and branded us. It stung ten times worse than the time a bee stung me. I scrambled to my feet and shook my head. Dazed, I turned toward the open gate. 

"Alright, the dun mare goes into gate number 67," One man said.

"The one where all the slaughter horses go?!" The other said, still trying to keep Ivy in one place. 

"Yes. The grulla horse went into the number 89. The one where all the 'healthy' ones go,"

          The other gate opened, and Ivy trotted into it. Sickly horses covered the pen. If Ivy wasn't sick enough; all she needed was to leave my side, enter a pen filled with sick horses, and she'd be gone. I was put into a pen with skinny, but sum-what-healthy horses. They pricked their ears up at me and looked at me with soulful eyes. I knew this was not going to end well.