Little Girls and Wild Horses: When I met the Mustangs

Have you ever seen a herd of wild horses? Heard the pounding of their hooves? Felt the wonder of beholding one of the last living pieces of the old west?

I am blessed to have had that opportunity, and it’s something that I will never forget.

Relive that moment with me, would you?

I was seven years old. Our family was taking a vacation. We got to see so many incredible things on our three-day drive - we drove through endless prairies, and the Badlands and got to stand in the shadow of Mount Rushmore. But it was the last stop on our trip that had my heart dancing: the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary, of SD.

Have you ever heard of the TV show called “Champion”? It’s okay if you haven’t - it was in the 1950s. I only know it because our family is obsessed with old movies. Anyway, a quick recap: it’s an old black-and-white western about a little boy and the wild horse that only he can ride. As a child, I was mesmerized by that idea. Somewhere there’s probably a dusty box of notebooks, their pages filled with my scribbled stories about the adventures I created with my own wild horse. My imagination was as wild as the horses that I dreamed about day and night. And now, I was going to see those Mustangs for real. 

Perhaps time has changed the face of the building and the landscape since the sunny, blue-sky day I was there; but as we pulled into the gravel parking lot, I felt as if I’d been transported back into days of stagecoaches and Stetsons. And as a child in love with all things cowboy, I couldn’t have dreamed up anything better. 

My Dad went inside to schedule our tour. As my mom tended to my younger brothers, I was skipping in circles hardly able to contain my excitement. When the bus arrived and our family climbed aboard, I clamored up on the seat near a window, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of what I’d come to see. I didn’t have to wait long.

My view of the winding dirt path, lined with scrub brush and pines, was soon dotted with distant figures. 

Horses. My wild horses.

The bus slowed to a stop. 

“Everyone that wants to can step outside to see them better…”

I was already on my feet, almost to the bus door. I didn’t hear the bus driver’s next words:

“Just stay near the bus and don’t get too close to the horses.”

My breath caught in my chest. There were at least twenty horses, their coats varying from grays, and blue roans to bay pintos; there were yearlings and mares with foals. It was as if my out-of-control collection of toy horses had come to life right before my eyes. 

“Smile, Madison.” My Dad said as he snapped some photos with his camera. He then turned to pick up one of my brothers so he could see better.

I’m not sure I was entirely conscious of each step I was taking, but somehow I was slipping further from the bus without being noticed.

Ah, I remember this part as though I can slip back into my childhood self. I feel the breeze, smell the dust, and hear the hum of voices from the group. But all I see are the mustangs. There’s a magnetic pull that draws me closer and closer to them. I move slowly, my small white sandals hardly make a sound on the dirt and rocks. A colt near its mother looks over his shoulder at me and I smile. The mare flicks her ears toward me as she nudges her baby to move a few feet further away. They aren’t afraid of me. These horses are cared for by humans after all, but they’re still living in untouched freedom. They don’t fear people, but their wild instincts are completely alive. 

 I am about about eight yards away from a small group of them now. Somehow they must sense that I am no threat to them. Or maybe they’re curious about this little human who can’t stop smiling. There was one horse in particular, an older mare whose color teetered between black and gray, who was intrigued by my presence. She let me inch closer.

I cross another couple of yards.

“Hi…” I whisper and her ears come forward.

In my mind, I can ride her. We can fly across these pastures.

I stop when she turns to face me. “You’re really pretty.” I breathe.

I’m not close enough to touch her, but I reach out my hand anyway.

She stretches her nose toward me. 

I hear her draw in a slow breath.

I could almost feel it.

We both stand there. It was probably only for mere moments. But to me, time ceased. I could see nothing but the horses in front of me. 

“Madison!” Mom’s voice reached me. 

The horse ambled away to join the others. And I reluctantly walked back to where Mom was hurrying to get me.  The whole thing lasted only a few minutes.

Back on the bus, I pressed my face to the glass, watching until the horses disappeared into the rugged horizon.

I floated back to our car. And as we drove away, a tiny piece of my heart remained behind. It’s still there, you know. Running free with the wild horses that captured me. I intend to go back to retrieve it someday. I may not make it back to South Dakota, but I will return to wild horses somewhere. Only then will that piece of me come back again.

 If you’ve never heard of the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary, you definitely have to check it out. You can hear more about them and read their story through the following link: https://www.wildmustangs.com/dayton-o-hyde.