She arrived on the summer solstice, a beautiful little mustang, a dusty dun-colored pony with a bright white blaze that at the top had smudges of brown through it. Her feet were very neglected, with about four extra inches of hoof extending off her toes as if they were flippers. It was her feet that had brought her to the attention of the local humane officer about a month earlier. Faced with neglect charges, the owner surrendered her to the humane officer, and she came to live with my two mustangs and me. She came with the name Star, but, given her big white blaze, we promptly renamed her Summer Star.
According to the owner, Summer was adopted from the government’s wild horse adoption program when she was two years old. The owner had never had a wild mustang before and had little knowledge of horses. This eventually led to a very bad situation and finally the owner finally decided the best thing he could do was to leave her alone. He left her alone in a field for 14 years with only her aged thoroughbred buddy for companionship.
Even though we were told she was unhandled and would “strike out,” she was kind and affectionate with her rescuers. She was easily caught, haltered and led away with her 30-year-old companion onto the trailer. Getting off the trailer at my house was a problem, not because she didn’t want to leave her buddy, but because she couldn’t back off the trailer with those flipper feet. Once her buddy was unloaded, she readily turned around on the trailer and walked off and into a stall next to my old quarter horse. Oddly, she never whinnied for her buddy when he left with the other rescuers. I like to think she felt like she was “home.”
In true mustang style she quickly befriended my three mares and became part of their herd. I was glad to see she had not lost any of her mustang-ness even though she had been removed from the wild at a young age. Like all mustangs she had a sweet and gentle disposition with both horses and people. She accepted being in a stall with typical mustang curiosity, exploring all the items in it. Like all untrained mustangs she believed that walking with people was just like walking with other mustangs: either behind you in single file formation or alongside but closely pressed against you. We started the “leading with people” lessons right away.
She had great difficulty walking with her flipper feet, and several times I saw her fall down when the extra long toes jammed into the ground before she could complete a stride. Trusting that she would understand we were trying to help, I bought a pair of hoof nippers and a rasp and the day after she arrived, this unhandled pony let me take about two inches of extra hoof off each foot. This required several passes with the nippers to accomplish and a great deal of patience from her. She did seem to know we were trying to help, because she was very cooperative. Immediately afterward her gaits improved and she started moving like a mustang again. There came the very prominent mustang trot with each knee raised high in the air and the foot carefully and solidly placed back on the ground. She was thrilled to canter again and relished stretching her body out with each reaching stride and then curling it back together so she could bound into the next stride.
She found joy in other ways too, like her joy at discovering the salt block in the field and realizing she could have some whenever she wanted it. Or like her amazement at the water bucket in her stall that was always filled with cool fresh water. She would periodically check it as though she couldn’t believe it was still there, and she seemed to savor each sip. I wondered how many times she had looked unsuccessfully for water at her old home. She was starting to like the new people in her life because we could be counted on for simple pleasures like neck scratches, petting, grooming, and treats! And what luxury to be hosed off with cool water during the heat of a summer day. A few weeks after she arrived, the blacksmith came and took off most of the extra toes. We all watched when she was first turned out with her new feet. She literally danced around the pasture—such joy! She was thrilled at being able to move so effortlessly again.
About a month after she arrived, the new halter I had ordered for her arrived. It was bright orange to match her sunny, cheerful disposition, and her name was embroidered on the side. I walked out to the pasture and called her. She came right over and I slipped off the old halter she had been borrowing and slipped the new one on. She just beamed. I stepped back to admire her, but she walked toward me and buried her head in my chest as if to say “thank you.” Then, she turned her body sideways and swung her head around to look at me. I got the impression that she was inviting me to give her a massage. I wasn’t sure if she would be willing to trust me enough to do a deep tissue, full body massage, but I decided to see what she would allow. Summer did trust me enough. She even turned her body at different times to show me where she hurt. I discovered a great deal.
I knew she had some back damage, because of the multiple white marks in the area where a broken saddletree would have scarred her. But there was more. Where the back of a saddle would end, one of her vertebra was missing a part of the bone on the right side. A saddle had also severely damaged the muscles and tissues on both sides of her back. The lines of muscle and tissue damage were asymmetrical—higher on the left side of her back than the right—indicating an asymmetry in the saddle. She also had severe muscle damage in both hindquarters and on her neck directly in front of her withers. In fact, her neck was so damaged that she had an actual dip in front of her withers where the muscles had shortened in the healing process. I cried and cuddled her and apologized for the cruelty my species had inflicted upon her, this beautiful gentle creature. I hoped the experience with me would be the beginning of a good life with people.
Later that night, as I brought hay out for the horses, Summer waited a short distance away. I was puzzled by her distance and walked toward her calling her name. She looked me right in the eye and then crumpled right in front of me and started rolling. I recognized what she was trying to tell me immediately and called the vet. Despite our best efforts, we lost Summer the next afternoon to colic. We were fortunate to be able to give her the kindest passing. The vet and other horse rescuers believe that the colic was probably caused by extensive damage to her digestive track due to long-term parasite infestation.
Summer is buried on my land and I feel privileged to have her with me. She will always be there to remind me of three things that I should never forget: (1) The ignorance and cruelty of man; (2) The God-like ability of animals to forgive us; and (3) The true noble beauty of a mustang.
