Wild Horses Run Free

Little girls have a natural affinity for horses. There's something about their long, luxurious manes and their wild spirits that elicits awe and a longing for the freedom of wide open spaces.

One day, long ago, I was sitting in a canoe in my elementary school library... God knows why there was a canoe in there but... I was reading a Weekly Reader article about wild mustangs. The Western U.S. was apparently overrun with these wild horses and they were always trying to find people to adopt them.

Naturally, I decided I had to have one of those horses. I pleaded with my parents to at least consider. Otherwise, the government's Bureau of Land Management could have thousands of these Wild Mustangs slaughtered because of populations competing with livestock and some squabbling about grazing rights. It was sad. It was a crime. These majestic animals roaming free, galloping along the hills in the West killed. Dead. Flies landing on them. Buzzards circling.

"I can't let that happen," I told my parents. "We can't let that happen."

I'd always wanted a horse and wasn't this the best possible way-- to adopt a horse and save it from an almost certain death?

Instead, my parents sent me to Ranch Camp. That was one triumph along the path to adopting a horse, I figured. At first, I was overjoyed. Camp Kitaki, it was called. It sounded like something right out of The Parent Trap. Not only would I get to be around horses, but maybe I'd meet my long lost twin sister, too! After all, I'd always wanted a sister. None of this was to be.

Sure, I got to be around horses. I learned how to groom, bridle, and saddle them. More often than not, it seemed like I was stuck preparing the horses for rides with non-Ranch campers-- i.e. the generic summer campers. I'd see them trot off excitedly on their horses and wonder:

"When do I get to ride?"

I'd discuss this with the other grumbling Ranch campers as we baled hay out in the field. We always seemed to be baling hay. In the mornings, we'd have to get up early and walk up this gigantic hill to meet at the flagpole for morning prayer. I'd always try to hide. My internal thoughts during camp were a series of revolving questions, "Was this a thinly-veiled church camp? My parents actually paid for this? How did I get roped into this?"

One day I finally got to go on a ride with my camp-assigned horse, Sundance. I quickly bridled and saddled him and climbed aboard. In an instant, Sundance and I were off. We shared wild spirits. Galloping through the woods, we felt free. With the rustle of tree branches and the glimmer of the sun, we were one. I was ecstatic. This is what I'd been dreaming about. This is what had made it all worthwhile.

My moment was interrupted by a whiny camper behind me.

"Your saddle's sliding down," she yelled.

"What?" I tried to look behind me.

"Your saddle. On the left!," she yelled again with almost parental concern.

I turned again to face her.

"It's okay. It's fine. I saddled him perfectly," I scoffed.

I turned my attention back to Sundance just as my saddle loosened and gave way. In an instant, I slid to the left along with it and lost my reins. Then Sundance's hooves got tangled in the reins. He freaked out and reared up, tossing me onto the dirt trail. Then, he came down landing one ferocious hoof directly onto my foot.

"Aaaagghhh!!!!" It hurt, but more than that, I was humiliated.

"Told you," the stupid, little whiny camper said as she trotted on by.

I glared at her, but didn't have a chance to respond. My camp counselor had already come to investigate. She asked if I was okay. I nodded and led Sundance back to the corral. My foot throbbed a little, but I wasn't really hurt. Nevertheless, my camp counselor advised that I go back to my cabin for the rest of the afternoon. I nearly protested until I thought about it. We always baled hay after bringing our horses in for the night. I could escape it, just this once, and have a very valid excuse. With that, I got to spend the rest of the afternoon with another camper who'd sprained her ankle. We both wrote letters home about how much we hated camp.

At the end of two weeks, I was relieved to see my parent's car pull up. They were my way out of this God-forsaken Ranch camp business. As the car door opened up, the first thing I said to them was: " I don't think I want a horse anymore."

My parents were pretty smart after all. I'd been cured. Although, I still think wild horses should be able to run free.