The winner of the “Name that Photo” contest is
Solitude
Nice title. And here’s the end of Thankful’s story… but it’s not very nice.
I called my friend Paul, who worked for the Bureau of Land Management for 18 years and managed their Wild Horse Program in Nevada. He said that when the horse was on public land, if someone puts food and labor equal to the value of the horse then they legally own the horse, and can legally take it away. He estimated that a wild yearling mustang was worth $300 to $400, so Susie already legally owned it if it lived on public land. But on Indian land it was a different story: she had to get permission from the Tribe to take it. Since the horse would’ve died and they’re liable to charges of animal abuse, he thought they’d agree the horse was hers, but that agreement had to be in place before he’d help her take the horse. And it was no problem for him to catch the little filly–he’d put up his portable corral with a one-way gate, and put his old mare inside it. Little Thankful is so lonely that she’d go into the corral for company, the door would shut, and he’d load them both into his trailer and take her over to Suzy’s. But she needed to get permission from the Tribe first. (Is that a nice guy, or what?)
Suzy had called the tribal headquarters back when she started feeding the horse late December, but no one responded. When I gave her Paul’s information she made a few calls, trying to track down permission to take the horse. Well, word gets around, and she got a call about it today. He wasn’t a bit nice. Not a speck.
He said that he heard she’d been feeding his horse. That he knew it was left behind on the mesa, and he’d tried to catch it but couldn’t. When the deep snow came, he tried to snowmobile in to take the horse out, but the snow was too soft. So he left her. And Suzy said, yes, it was starving and stuck in the snow, so she brought it food.
This is the horse when she started bringing it food,
and this is the horse last week, and the only reason this filly is so plumpy and nice is because Suzy skied in all those bales of hay.
We figure he was mean to her because he was afraid that she would file charges of animal abuse. He had an accent, and lived in Towaoc on the reservation–maybe his first language was Ute. He made out like Suzy had been overstepping to have fed his horse. And get this: he said he was coming with a portable corral to pick up the filly; would Suzy come help him get her? I thought, this guy has cojones that put the gelande jumpers to shame. No, I’m thinking, I won’t help. No. And I’m getting my chair back tomorrow.
But since Suzy is a much nicer person than I’ll ever be, she said yes, she’d help. That she brought the horse food every day last winter, skiing miles each way, because she wanted the horse to live.
And in the end he said
“Thank you”
in a very small voice. I say, Pooh pooh to you, you big poop. You shouldn’t be mean to someone who saved the filly you left to starve. You big poop.
And since I managed sludge for the Boston Harbor Clean-Up twenty years ago, that phrase has always held particular resonance for me. Ya big poop.
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