Apples for the Mustangs

Needing to get out of the house, I drove up into the hills behind Lockwood, east of the Truckee River. Once on the familiar gravel road, I found a band of wild horses and with a bag of red apples I proceeded to feed them, though I know I shouldn’t do so.

Eleven Mustang, by my count, swarmed around me, nudging one another for a place closest and in front of me, where they could get the best access to my gifts. In no time I was out of the tasty treats and I was no longer the focus of their food-centric minds.

Soon they were spread out, grazing at the tufts of dried grasses and the sage that cover the hillside. Still facing the stallion, I started walking backwards from where they’d been gathered about me only a few minutes before.

Without warning, the stallion, a large gray with a milky right eye and battle scares covering his neck, face, flanks and hips, came charging at a full gallop at me. He came on so quickly that I had no time to react to his apparent aggression.

In a flash, I found myself knocked off my feet and blasted sideways, where I landed in a heap and then tumbled end-over-end into a bunch of dried up Russian thistle. However, the stallion didn’t give chase.

I figured that he believed me to be far enough away to no longer be a threat.

But before I could get fully to my feet, I heard hooves beating into the loose stones near where I’d been standing. Never have I had a wild horse move to protect me from a rattle snake, but as I sit here, nursing my aches, pains and scratches, I’ve learned that there is a first time for everything.