On such a beautiful day, yesterday I went on a road trip. There’s a place I’ve wanted to visit for sometime. I took a little drive out to the Palomino Wild Horse and Burro Center operated by BLM.
No.
Not THAT BLM.
The one and only, original BLM.
The Bureau of Land Management of the United States government.
The wild mustangs of Nevada are always in the news, forever in the way. Trying their best to avoid people, they have a hard time doing so as people move further and further into the wilds. Everyone has opinions about the horses. Some people LOVE them. Some people HATE them. Some people feel SORRY for them. In the middle, the horses are caught in a trap of the worst kind.
I’m the first to admit there is absolutely nothing more wonderful than seeing a foal, only hours old. They are beyond precious, but also fierce. Within hours, they must be up and ready to follow the heard. Without complaint, they get up and run after the lead mare. Somedays, I can barely make it to the mail box, while they are constantly on the move.
When VST and I first moved to Nevada, we were told about the mustangs.
“Where can we see them?” We asked this innocently, assuming we’d need to hide behind bushes on the highest hill top overlooking a secret meadow that only locals knew.
The person we asked didn’t answer because the horses are everywhere. We just needed to be patient and wait a bit. After a few months, we knew where they were during different times of the year. Many times, our Virginia City herd was either in our front yard or back yard. It mattered not. While they were there, it was THEIR yard.
One day, hearing strange noises, I went out on our deck, later to become known as the Mustang Observation Deck. 15 feet below, in the middle “A” Street, fought two beautiful stallions. On their hind legs, they batted each other with razor-sharp hooves, while trying to bite viciously. Hoof-shaped scars from past fights told me these two were out for blood. It was a real life episode of Wild Kingdom right at my feet complete with snorting, squealing, and squalling. I earned an appreciation for the brutal power of these “ponies” that afternoon.
Here in Nevada, many people have been badly injured by colliding with black horses on a moonless night. Slowly, I’ve been introduced into the nightmare of Mustang Management and it’s a terrible problem. Both horses and people suffer without too many workable solutions to a delicate situation.
The horses aren’t native, but feral. Over the years, unwanted domestic horses have been released to the high desert. They usually don’t do so well, being domestic and all. These have bred with the mustangs. A native man pointed out that pure mustangs (a smaller horse with a larger head and distinctive almond eyes) aren’t seen that often. It matters not, as these are still wild animals that weight 1,000 – 1500 pounds.
Typically, the horses are moving from one place to another, traveling miles every day. You can see your favorite herd next to the road and, an hour later, they’ve vanished. I’ve witnessed galloping mustangs a handful of times in the 8 years I’ve lived in Nevada. Normally, they stand or walk, but, they’re always on the move.
This winter, the push to round up the herds has been more intense than usual. We’re coming off a terrible drought, and there isn’t much left to eat. Yet, more foals are being born every day.
The mustang round-ups aren’t done by spur-booted cowboys in Stetson’s. With helicopters, pens, and trailers, horses are chased and collected. Some aren’t so lucky, getting badly injured. The females are chemically sterilized. A small portion of the healthiest horses are released. The others are trucked to holding areas. Many of those areas, such as the one I visited yesterday, resemble cattle feed lots.
Make no mistake. These horses aren’t released to the wild again. Their necks are tattooed with their new number, and they’re now taken care of by you and me through our tax dollars. They are marked property of the US Government.
You didn’t know you own a horse or two, did you? Well, we all do. Over 100,000 horses cost us $115,000,000+ per year. Domestic horses can live 25 -30 years. I was told by a person who knows things that these horses don’t suffer for years, as an unspeakable fate awaits the un-adopted.
All that is truly not a nice thing to ponder before falling to sleep, but I find this a bit worse.
These are WILD ANIMALS. They aren’t a kitten or puppy. They weren’t birthed in a barn by a 4-H family. These are huge, wild animals. There are thousands of them offered for adoption. But, by whom will they be saved and under whose terms? Until they have a home, they’ll be kept in a feed lot situation because there isn’t another solution. To keep WILD ANIMALS captive is the most cruel thing a human can do. Even zoo animals have minimum standards for space and cover from the weather. Their emotional well being is considered.
With all that dismal news, I will report that the horses I saw were calm and collected. There was plenty of food. They looked relaxed as they stood around like lawn ornaments. The corrals we dotted with fresh hay. Of the hundreds of horses I saw there, all looked physically healthy. Nobody was limping or starved. I sensed the captives were collectively plotting a curse on mankind.
The center was as clean as it could be considering the number of horses locked up there. To no fault of the facility, the odor of the place was awful. You can’t expect anything different when you have so many horses in so many corrals, with a smell exactly like a feed lot full of cattle. With plenty of room to move around, the only thing missing was an open gate. Nope. Those horses are in a terrible spot for the rest of their natural lives.
The next time you have a moment, pray for some bureaucrat to come up with a logical solution to this very big problem. If you have room, consider adopting a few of these horses and burros for yourselves. Know, you have one hour to make your selection from hundreds of choices. Bring your oldest trailer, as I hear they get quite upset and kick a lot on the way home. Be sure that you have the next 25 to 30 years cleared off your calendar to give them all the love and care they need. Some situations are extremely wicked in the Wild, Wild West in which I live.
More tomorrow.