We were on our way across the western edge of Wyoming, on the way back from my grandparents farm in Indiana, which we visit, for the most part, annually. The highway was empty save for a few cars, and so was the snowy landscape that we saw out of the windows. Out on the prairie there wasn’t a house to be seen, no signs of civilization. Nothing lives out here, I thought to myself. But I was about to be proved wrong.
I had entertained some hope that we would see wild horses as we journeyed across Wyoming, but we had passed the place that it was most possible to see them, and so I had resolved myself to the fact that it was likely we wouldn’t see any at all. Which was a disappointment. But after all, the most that people who are driving on highways get to see anyway is a few specks way out on the great wide open.
My mother has excellent eyesight, so she was the one who saw a few black shapes perched on a low ridge about a half mile off the highway. We pulled over, and then saw a small gravel road. We turned around and pulled onto the road. As the shapes grew clearer, we saw that they were indeed mustangs. Five or six grazed atop the hill.
We drove further down the road, and the horses looked up. They spooked and then ran down the back of the hill. I figured that was the end of it. We drove about half a mile more, hoping to see the few horses behind the hill. We saw the horses, but no only six head, but probably seventy-five mustangs.
There were all manner of shapes and colors, and, as my parents remarked later, they were classic “BLM” mustangs, with large heads, large feet, and large bellies. Okay, so they weren’t much to look at conformationally, but the colors that they displayed, which were of a broad and unique range, surprised us. The horses seemed to be wintering quite well, most of them in good flesh. More than a few colts ran with the herd, although these were older, six months at least.
I jumped out of the car with a camera in my hands and fumbled for the “on” button. I turned the camera on and snapped a few pictures. Then the battery died and the camera powered down. I grabbed the video camera and tried to take some footage before that died as well. I got some footage, although it certainly wasn’t a 10 in cinematography.
We drove farther down the road with the horses running in front of us. Then the animals began to veer in, and the herd crossed in front of the van. My mom had restored batteries to the camera and she took more pictures as the horses pounded across the road and then ran, tails high, snow flying and heads up, over a small rise and the mustangs were lost to our sight.
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