HAWK, THE SADDLE HORSE

Difficulty accessing this blog has, for some time, kept me from reporting on the wild horses or those being trained, but I have recently fixed the problem and will try to post some updates before the next season starts.

I will get to updates of the bands remaining in the park, but first must share more of Hawk's story, because I am so excited at the progress he has made.

By spring of 2011, Hawk was doing everything he needed to do to be ready for his under saddle training. He was obedient and gentle with every part of his handling and enjoyed each new aspect of his training. It was time to start the riding. Since I have not started a horse since my 11 year old gelding, and since Hawk has always been extremely timid and sensitive, I had decided to find a natural horsemanship trainer to start his under saddle training. Birgit Schwartzenberger had bought one of the stud colts from the park; in my many conversations with her, I had decided she was the perfect trainer for my sensitive boy.

We took Hawk to Birgit on one of our trips to the park so that he would have company in the trailer for such a long trip. He seemed to accept his new, temporary home very well that first day. I was wondering how he would accept a new leader in his life since I had been his only handler for his first 1 1/2 year in captivity. Birgit had told me that she starts every horse as if it had never been touched so that she would know how it would respond to her and so that there would be no holes in it's education. I was pretty confident in the things I had taught Hawk, but was not surprised that he would struggle to accept and trust this new person. The first report Birgit gave me was that he was unwilling to give her 100% of his trust. She said some horses took months, even years to fully trust, but she would not skip this vital step in his training. She was hoping he would one day yield himself completely, especially his right side, to her patient persuasion; it might be the next day or several months down the road. The good news was that what he knew, he knew well. She was amused at how much he liked to play games and play with obstacles. He had also gained a friend, a goose; they became unlikely buddies and playmates.

After a few more weeks, Birgit called to report again on Hawk's continuing education. This time she was delighted to report that he had began to trust her and give his whole body to her. She was not riding him because, at first, he would not stand perfectly still with nothing on his head and allow her to saddle him. Even though he had been fine with my English saddle and small western one, he wasn't sure he wanted her big western saddle with all it's attachments. More time, patience, and determination on Birgit's part convinced him that it was easier to let her saddle him than have to run around the round pen. She was planning to ride him the following weekend, when her husband would be home to pick up the pieces if there was a wreck, though she knew Hawk would be fine.

I was anxious to hear how the first ride had gone, but waited for Birgit to call because I knew she would when she had time and something to tell me. The next report was again a bit of a downer for both of us. Birgit was pleased that Hawk did not attempt to buck, but he also did not want to move. It seemed pretty logical to him that he should stand still no matter what she did with him. We had both been teaching him that for the last 20 months, so why would she suddenly change the rules? Actually, he knew very well how to move away from pressure when his leader was beside him, but he could not seem to transfer those cues to having her on his back. Birgit is not one to use spurs or whips, so it took a little longer, again, for him to understand that she wanted him to move forward, but he eventually got it and began to walk around the pen. She had hoped again that the light would go on and he would start feeling OK with moving forward with her on his back, but he seemed confused or unwilling to accept this new arrangement, so each day was a challenge. Having trained wild horses before, Birgit found that they were more comfortable and willing to move out when they were out in the open, so Birgit took him out to the yard and into a field. What happened next surprised even her; he ran. Well, that was not in the plan, so she stopped him and took him back to the pen for more training.

Weeks went by with less progress than Birgit wanted to see. He was starting, stopping, turning and backing, all on light cues, but he just did not seem to enjoy having her on his back nearly as much as he liked having her next to him. It was soon time for me to pick him up, and Birgit was still not satisfied with where he was in his training, but she assured me that he had no holes in that training; he just needed time to get used to the riding. When I came to pick him up, we spent a couple hours working with him so that I could see what he had learned. He was timid and unsure, but he did what she asked. Again she reassured me that I could take it from there or, if I just wasn't comfortable with riding him, just give him more time to grow up and bring him back the next year.

Well, even though Henry was gone most of the fall, Hawk and I did "play" as much as we could in the round pen. I took him back to the beginning too, going through all the steps before stepping up on him. At first, he was uneasy; he even took a little frightened jump once in a while, but just one jump at a time and not too hard to sit, even with the English saddle. We started by having Henry ride Fire around the pen so that Hawk could follow him. That worked well, so that by the time Henry was gone to SD, Hawk knew he was supposed to walk forward. Sometimes he would get stuck and I would have to bend his neck around the side until he stepped forward. It also helped to walk beside him and give him the verbal cues as well as the pressure on his side. He was pretty good with verbal cues when free lunged in the round pen. Little by little he became more comfortable with the riding around in the pen. I slowly added cones, a rail, and the bridge. He began to enjoy walking around and over the obstacles. One day it was time to ask for the trot. Since I knew he would be startled if I asked too much, I just used the verbal cue to trot. He trotted! Then he realized he was trotting with me on his back; it freaked him out a little and he stopped, but I just reassured him and asked him again. Each time got easier for him.

When Henry got home again in December, it was time to move to the big arena. He was fine with that and seemed to enjoy having more space. He still wasn't completely comfortable with the trot and only wanted to trot in a straight line. That was OK. Again, I started adding obstacles to give him something to think about. It worked well for him. He became more and more interested in trotting, even trotting over the rails and around the cones. He was like a kid at an amusement park with the cones, rails, chair. Oh, and best of all, the bridge. Hawk loves the bridge; he thinks he should go over it every time around the arena.

I may not have made what some would think was a lot of progress with riding Hawk. We are still not cantering. He isn't doing fancy figure eights, roll backs, and sliding stops like some three year olds, but he loves to "play". He hangs his head over the gate after I have let him go because he isn't done playing yet. He has been an unusual horse all along in that trust came slowly, he had to have each new aspect of training introduced slowly and carefully. I believe that, if I or the trainer had pushed him too hard and too fast, he would have rebelled or become a horse that would tolerate something for a time and then blow up. Because we took our time and allowed him to use his own timetable, he is a happy, curious, interested horse who develops an incredible bond with those he knows. I could not ask for a more enjoyable riding partner. I think he looks forward to our sessions as much as I do.

2011 INTERESTING OBSERVATIONS

Though, because of the weather and unexpected budget cuts, the 2011 observations have been a challenge for all involved, I have seen some rewarding behaviors with the bands. Thunder and his mares are most often a challenge to get close enough to evaluate for condition and pregnancy. They have been coming up on the flats on the east side of the park quite regularly, so it pays to be patient and wait for them to appear on top and avoid having to search for them in the breaks below. On a warm morning in April, I found them grazing near the southeast corner. Not wanting to disturb them, I walked in to about 200 yards and sat down with my scope to get a behavioral observation. It is impossible to see them on the upper flats without them seeing you, but even though they had seen me come in, they were OK with me watching from that distance. The mares quietly moved along as they munched what they could find of the new green grass just poking through. Though I was sure Thunder had seen me walk in and sit down, after about 20 minutes, he decided to check who this new intruder was. We don't like to see any reaction to our presence, but it was not to be avoided that morning. Thunder trotted around me to the north to get down wind of me and get a better look. Usually, if he approaches, he comes alone, but this time the mares and yearlings started to follow. In family groups they trotted past me and formed a semi-circle east of me about thirty feet away. I just sat on the ground snapping pictures as they, all lined up side by side, looked at me as if the question what I was up to sitting out in their new grass. After a few minutes they walked away and resumed their grazing. It was a rare visit by some of the most skittish mares in the park and I relished the gift they had just given me.

One of my other challenges earlier this spring was to find Sidekick to record any new foals. Sidekick and his band had been hanging in the area east and southeast of Buck Hill most of the last month. Generally a team would go in on horseback since it is a long hike from anywhere, but I didn't have my horse with me this trip. Earlier, one of the Biologists had seen Bella from afar and determined that she was close to foaling. I wanted to check on her so started in from the east side. Sidekick saw me, but was unconcerned, but when Bella saw me, she moved off to the west with her new foal. I sat down and started a study with them. They were moving among the breaks and sagebrush, so it was difficult to see them all from my distance. I had to get a little closer. Sidekick had moved to the bottom of a clay butte to the left while his mares grazed on either side of a butte to the right. My only way to see them all was to try to get on higher ground. Since Sidekick was paying no attention to me, I headed for a rise beyond him. Bella, by that time had settled in to grazing. I was able to get to the small rise and sit down to wait for the other mares to come over the top and join Bella. As I hoped, the other mares gradually came my way over the small butte to graze with Sidekick and Bella on my side of the butte. I was now committed to stay where I was because I did not want to frighten them. I was able to start a new observation while Bella and her new foal laid down and slept about 60 feet from me. Still not wanting to frighten them and needing to determine the sex on the foal, I waited until the foal rose to nurse. The little filly pestered her dam until Bella stood and allowed her to nurse. Bella then turned and brought her week old filly within 30 feet of me as if she knew I wanted to get a photo of this pretty little bay. After they had moved off and Mist had allowed me to determine that she was close to foaling, I walked back out the way I had come, marveling at how trusting these horses are of me. I truly think they remember those who have tracked them in the past and sometimes even welcome us into their herd. The little filly's name is Larkspur.
On that same trip, I saw Sidekick and his band from Buck Hill one cold snowy morning. There was a new foal, so I had to slide down Buck Hill to check out this new baby of Mist's. They were in the exact place where Eileen and I had been caught in the terrible storm that had damaged 100 home in Dickinson a couple years earlier. This time the ground was sloppy with melting snow. I didn't take time for a study this time but walked in so they could see me and know I meant no harm. To my surprise, I realized it was Ember's Girl who had foaled, not Mist. The little foal was very new and miserably cold. Every time it tried to lay down, it would immediately get up again because of the cold snow. I was able to get close enough to get a photo by kneeling in the snow, but since it was a dark, cold day and a dark foal, I was having trouble telling the sex. After Sidekick had come by to check me out, I finally got on my stomach to get a shot of the little one's under side. Having me flat on the ground upset Embers' Girl and she uttered a strange alarm, so I popped back up again. She was fine with me again as long as I stayed upright. Checking my photos confirmed that the new foal was a colt. I thanked Embers' Girl for her patience and headed back to the top of Buck Hill through the muck and up the slippery slope to the car. We called the colt Hawthorn.

Another week, after our riding team had covered the whole area by horseback and never seen them, I walked to the east rim with a scope was lucky enough to find them on top of a flat butte. Al had ridden on that butte the day before, but no ones knows where they were hiding. Again I took off on foot for the bottoms southeast of Buck Hill. This time I could see them from quite a distance without them seeing me, so I started a study while walking in. I could see that the expected foal from Mist had been born and Mist was already in her foal heat. I was struggling to see all of them so decided to move around the south to higher ground and have a better angle on them. Unfortunately, by the time I got to my vantage point, they were coming down for water. I had to retrace my steps and get an advantage from another small butte. Mist and Snip's Gray were uneasy seeing me there, but there was nowhere else for me to go where I could see them. I sat down to east my lunch and wait them out. I was finally able to get my 30 minute observation just before they moved behind another small butte. Knowing I didn't have time to find any other bands that day, I decided to go in to determine the sex of Mist's foals and maybe get a photo. I carefully crawled onto a tiny outcropping and watched as they grazed. Eventually they were on all sides of me, seeing me, but now not caring that I was close enough to photograph the foals. I was able to photograph tiny Primrose, one of Ember's last foals, a cute bay roan filly.

In all of these instances, the horses accepted me when I was patient and allowed them to see and smell who and what I was. These experiences are gifts that I will never forget. There is nothing like the feeling of acceptance by these marvelous animals.

THE STUDIES AND STRUGGLES OF 2011

The feral horse studies of 2011 have been difficult and frustrating with the weather and ground conditions in the Park this spring. Though we were supposed to began the study in March in order to find all the foals, we were held back by storm after storm. It would be safe to say that there has been a snow storm at least once a week since our target date of March 15. With only one full time person, our new tracker and office manger, Maggie, it has been a daunting challenge to even find all the bands. If not for the help of the Biologists, Mike and Wade, we would still be looking for some of the more remote bands, since it has been so wet that even Al and his horses were prevented from getting out.

With the hard work of the biologists, Maggie, Al, Jennifer, Henry and me all the bands have been accounted for and, to date, 12 foals have been found. Most of the bands were as they had been when we finished the 2010 observations in November, but there have been some changes, as there always are. Embers, the oldest stallion in the park, has lost his two mares, Bella and Mist, to the younger stallion, Sidekick. Bella has already dropped a pretty bay filly, Larkspur, that should roan like her sire, and Mist was about to pop the last time I saw her. Sidekick's mare, Embers' Girl has a new colt named Hawthorn.

Some of the red roan mares appeared to be trying to play some tricks on our trackers early this spring. There was a red roan mare with Mystery that they assumed was Shale, who had a yearling filly with a star with her, but the red roan mare from Gray Ghost's band, Ginger, was missing her yearling filly with a star and Nordie, the red roan mare from Little Sorrel's band, was nowhere to be found. They also had seen a few horses that didn't seem to fit the description of any of the bands. Maggie had never been able to get close enough to them to identify who they were, but they had a new dark foal with them.

When I was finally able to get out, we were able to figure out the puzzle. The unknown band turned out to be Smokey and Shale from Mystery's band along with Shale's yearling filly, Teepee. Smokey had a new foal that we called Crocus. Then who were the red roan mare and yearling filly with the star now in Mystery's band? Finding them again that day, we were able to determine that they were Ginger and her filly, Whiskey, from Gray Ghost's band. There was only one more piece of the puzzle to figure out; the red roan mare with Gray Ghost had to be the missing Nordie!

With all of that mix up straightened out, we were able to determine that we had only lost one horse over the long, cold winter. The broken, Randy, who had been badly injured in stallion fights, had finally succumbed to the draining task of digging for grass through the deep snow. It was a blessing for him to finally die.

It wasn't long before the horses started playing their tricks again, but this time Maggie was on to them. Nordie somehow found her way back to Little Sorrel and was replaced in Gray Ghost's band by the dark red roan mare, Tanker. It must have been a pretty intense fight between Little Sorrel and Gray Ghost, because Tanker was Little Sorrel's darling who stuck to him like glue. One day I was watching Gray Ghost's band and thinking how boring they were making my job; the next day he had taken the two mares Mystery had lost. I had seen Mystery running from the area, but the emaciated Gray Ghost had been strong enough to win the mares. By then, Shale also had a new foal, a bay filly we called Lupine, but Smokey's foal turned out to be a colt, not a filly, so we had to change his name to Prairie Smoke.

We gave the name Crocus to a beautiful flaxen chestnut foal out of Flame until I saw the foal up close and found out that Crocus was also a colt! We named him Flax! Two other foals in the Double band are Frosty's Fool, a cute black filly born on April 1st, and Indian Paintbrush, a bay filly out of Pretty Girl.

The two latest foals hadn't been named yet but our very first foal was out of Raven, the pretty little Esprit. Another one of Mystery's mares, Cheyenne, had an extremely active little bay filly, Sumac. Copper continued passing his color on in his new filly, Buttercup, out of River.

I will soon add photos at the bottom of this blog, but 10 of the foals are up on the North Dakota Badlands Horse Registry page on Facebook.

The NORTH DAKOTA BADLANDS HORSE

In the fall of 2009, when we knew as many as 90 horses could be destined for removal from the Park and could be sold at public auction, my husband and I started an organization for these horses. The North Dakota Badlands Horse Registry was established to recognize, appreciate, promote, and register the the horses that were sold from the Park in that 2009 sale as well as any sold at past and future TRNP sales. To explain why we would want to start a new registry, I will give some history of these horses.

The horses from TRNP have a long and colorful history; they carry the blood of hundreds and thousands of wild and domestic horses who came before them. For centuries their heritage parallelled that of other wild horses in America. After being brought to the new world by the Spaniards, many horses escaped, reproduced, and dispersed. They soon caught the attention of the indigenous peoples of Central and North America who recognized the advantage of speed, strength, and stamina that horses could give them in daily life, hunting, and battle. The horse changed the lives of native people forever. When early American explorers and settlers brought more imported horses with them, either by intent or accidental breeding, these larger European horses interbred with the sturdy Mustangs and spread throughout the continent.

Early horses running in the North Dakota badlands carried traits of the Mustangs as well as those of horses brought by ranchers and farmers when they settled the area. At the time when the US Army was involved in various skirmishes with the Mexicans and Indians, horses were also bred in the badlands as Army remounts. As horses lost their popularity and grazing lands in other parts of the country, and farmers and ranchers in western North Dakota went bankrupt with the harsh conditions, hundreds of horses were dumped in the badlands to fend for themselves. Because they used a grazing practice known as free range, with no fences, all of these light saddle horses, draft horses, and Indian ponies ran together. Many breeds made up the badlands horse, including, Thoroughbred, Morgan, Percheron, Quarterhorse, Mustangs, etc. Early records record the Griggs QH mare, the Blue Nunn QH mare, the Orphan Brown mare, considered to be Thoroughbred, the Barnhart mares called "Indian Type" as well as several of unknown origin, the Crippled White Stud, the Fat Gray mare, and Pink Nosed Stud, and the Wild Gray.

When TRNP was established in 1947 and the fence was completed in 1957, many horses were enclosed within the Park. These horses were, at first, considered trespass animals and almost all of them wore brands. They were relentlessly rounded up and sold or broken by local ranchers. Tom Tescher and his brothers had a hand in the management and roundups of the horses for decades. After almost being eradicated in the late sixties, the wild, feral horses began to gain some recognition as being a representation of what Theodore Roosevelt saw when he live in North Dakota. Since that time the horses have been managed as a demonstration herd, though they are still rounded up and sold periodically.

Because their numbers were so low in the sixties, Tom began to see the results of inbreeding in the form of swayed backs, crooked legs, over sized heads, and weak hind quarters. It was decided to take out the stallions who had maintained bands for several years and introduce some new blood. In 1981 seven outside horses were introduced, three BLM Mustang studs, a Quarterhorse stud, an Arabian stud, named Tyger II, who was turned out with a QH mare, and the Brookman Stud, which was a Shire-Paint cross. The QH stud was soon injured and removed, the BLM studs ran with other lead stallions and had limited success in reproducing, the Arabian stud did breed the QH mare, but is not known to have bred any wild mares, only the Brookman stud gained a large band of his own, successfully passing on his blood. Another QH stud was released a few years later and ran under a wild stallion, but he too was soon injured and removed. After much investigation, I am convinced that he was not very successful in breeding mares. Though The Chestnut, sold in 2000, was accidentally called half QH, by Tom's records, his sire seems to have been Painted Canyon, a wild horse. If that is true, as of the 2009 roundup, the only recently introduced blood that still existed in the park was Arabian in a small number of horses and that of the Brookman in a larger number of horses.

Over the past several decades others have taken horses from the Park and began a breeding program to preserve them. The Nokota Horse is the result of that effort. To avoid severe inbreeding because of the small gene pool, those early horses removed from the Park were also crossed with domestic horses of QH and Paint breeding. Read more about the Nokota Horse from several on-line web pages. The Nokota Horse came from the same stock as the North Dakota Badlands Horse, but have evolved into a slightly different type because that smaller gene pool.

Since the Nokota registry appeared to be closed to horses coming out of the Park in 2009, it was necessary to have some way to keep track of them. Over the past year and a half, 40 horses have been entered into the North Dakota Badlands Horse Registry. There are horses registered as far away as California and Washington state, with most of the registered horses residing in Minnesota. A data base is maintained on all the horses in the Park and sold at the auction with lineage information going back over six generations, so owners of North Dakota Badlands Horses receive a six generation pedigree with registry.

If you own a horse from TRNP or whose lineage can be traced to the park, your horse can be registered and you can become part of a small, but growing community of enthusiastic supporters of these beautiful, unique horses. People who know the horses, know that they speak for themselves in their trust, trainability, willingness to please, common sense, and heart, but we, their human friends, need to work together to help them tell their story of survival and courage to the rest of the world.

For additional information about the organization or the horses, go to the Face Book page, North Dakota Badlands Horse Registry or contact me at

trnphorsetracker@gmail.com

BASHFUL, THE STEPS OF HIS LIFE

Spring of 2007, a dark colt opened his eyes for the first time, blinking at the sunshine streaming down on this land of buttes, juniper lined valleys, rock encrusted ridges, and grassy meadows. Theodore Roosevelt National Park had no meaning to him; this was just his world, his home, the place he would live out his life like all the other wild horses in his little band. Little did the blue colt know that his life would not be so simple, but for now he was intent on the only goal he must accomplish, standing up to nurse. His very first steps in life were pivotal in his survival. Stand and wobble on uncooperative legs to the sweet life-giving milk the pretty gray mare standing over him was patiently offering, or fall back to the ground, too weak to rise, succumb to the cold wind, and die. The dark colt took his first steps, reached his goal, drank in life, and grew in strength.

The first two weeks of a foal's life are tenuous with predators wanting to feed on their tender flesh and other stallions with flailing feet and biting teeth attempting to steal their dams during the foal heats. The land that provides shelter and nourishment to the band can be dangerous to foals running precariously on spindly legs through deep spring snow, hidden sink holes, and rocky gullies. Around 30% of newborn foals die in the first two weeks of life, but the blue colt was one of the lucky ones. With each day he grew stronger, soon adding bright green grass to his diet of milk.

Some time during his gestation, his dam, Winter, another cute red roan, maiden mare, Little Brother's Girl, and another gray mare, Rain, with her two fillies, were stolen from his sire, Thunder Cloud. Thunder Cloud had most likely been injured in the fight with Blaze, as he was now running with another bachelor, Copper, while he gained strength to fight again. The mares stayed several months with the feisty bay roan stud, Blaze, but by spring, his blue roan sire had gained enough strength to win them back. Unfortunately for the blue colt, at one year old, he was now also considered a threat and Thunder Cloud chased him away from the band before the blue colt could learn the ways of a wild stallion from his majestic sire.

The colt didn't have much choice but to join another young stallion who had been fiercely driven from his natal band. Though he was curious when he saw us, the two leggeds he would come upon on a regular basis, he was young and shy, and didn't want to get too close to us. He would hide behind the older, braver, bald faced colt. The bald faced black colt was a son of High Star out of the beautiful gray mare, Bella. His family had been taken by Embers, so he too needed company. We called the black, Baldy and the blue, Bashful, because of his shy behavior. It was already apparent that both would gray like their dams, though both had colored sires. They spent that summer and the next munching on the rich green grass and playing with other young stallions in the "bachelor" bands. The younger bachelors were often referred to as the "young guns" because they cruised the Park play fighting and looking for mischief. It was an idyllic life for a young horse; the valleys were filled with lush grass, water was abundant, and the young Bashful had not matured enough to worry about acquiring a band of his own. However, on a rainy day in October, life took another change for Bashful, forcing him to make another choice and another step into an unknown world

The helicopters hung low in the sky that day because of the overcast sky. As they came closer, the young stallions became frightened and started to run away from them. They could already see the forms of other horses moving away in the distance, up, out of the flats and onto Boicourt Ridge, then down again into Talkington valley. Though the helicopters were a constant reminder, looming behind with their rhythmic roaring, thumping like the heart in Bashful's chest, they didn't get too close, so the horses settled into a comfortable trot that was easy for the suckling foals who had joined them along with their dams. Most of the mares moved obediently up the trail toward the east ridge, not wanting to challenge the throbbing beasts above them. One pretty, light red roan mare, Pale Lady, was not to be intimidated; finding just the right gully to make her move, she suddenly broke from the herd and led her golden dun colt, Marquis, to safety. The pilots saw her go and one attempted to go after her, but not wanting to lose the others, they let her return to freedom. Along with several other wild horses, Bashful ran into the catch pen and into another chapter of his life.

The trip though the handling facility can be very frightening, but the Park people stayed quiet and as gentle as they could be to move the horses, one at a time, through the chutes. Bashful was so distracted by all the sights and sounds above the chute as he was weighed and measured that he barely felt the needle as Doc expertly drew blood for a Coggins test. All Bashful wanted was to get out of this tight spot; he hated being confined by the high solid walls and tried to focus on the blue sky ahead of him. It must have seemed like an eternity to him, but he was soon released to run down the ally to a large pen where his buddy, Baldy, was already munching on grass. They spent three days in the large wooden pen. The green grass soon turned to brown as their sharp hooves churned it into mud. They were given fresh hay, which was difficult to learn how to eat, but filled their nervous stomachs. Water was provided from a tank that they soon learned would not hurt them. They must have wondered what would happen next.

The horses destined for sale did not have long to wait; soon large trucks came and they were herded onto the noisy, smelly stock trailers. What was more frightening was the fact that they moved under the horses' feet. The rocking and bumping must have seemed to never end, but before long they were unloaded at the sales barn in Dickinson. Nothing could have prepared these wild horses for the noise and stress of sales day with hundreds of people flocking through the alleys to gaze at the horses and plan their purchases. Bashful was particularly nervous, as he hated confinement; his only comfort were his buddies in the pen with him. On October 23, 2009 Bashful made another step that would be pivotal to his survival.

Stepping into the sales ring itself, he moved around in a daze with all the noise and lights confusing him. He could see what seemed to be hundreds of the two legged creatures surrounding him and two in particular, flailing flags at him. He couldn't get his bearings; where were his buddies; where was the light leading him out of this chaos? Then he saw it, the light of day high above him. Bashful took a huge leap in order to reach the light, a jump like he had never attempted before, to take him away from this cacophony of sounds and pressure, away to freedom. He gathered his body, tucked his front legs under his chest, rocked back on his haunches, and pushed with all the power and adrenalin within him. Up he soared toward the light, but he didn't make it to freedom; the cruel cable fence caught his hind leg and he came crashing into the crowd of people. The people screamed with fright and Bashful screamed with pain as the cable slashed into his leg. He pawed and fought furiously to get free, but it was not to be. A man under him felt his fury; a vidiographer, Brad, put himself in jeopardy and reached in to pull the man to safety; another man, Dan, threw his jacket over Bashful's head to try to calm him, but Bashful was in too much pain and terror to be calmed. He fought the jacket and anything else in reach of his teeth until his blood left crimson stains where once enthusiastic buyers had been.

What would happen to Bashful now? How would they remove him from the cable fence? Not able to watch any more, I left my safe vantage point in the auctioneer's box. Sure that they would have to euthanize him to get him off the fence, I couldn't bear to see it. As people milled around outside the barn I wondered what Bashful's fate would be inside. As the ambulance rushed away with the injured man, I learned that Bashful was removed alive from the fence and was recovering from sedation far back in the lot, away from the crowd, away from the noise, away from the auctioneer's cry as he finished the sale in the back barn. I could hardly be happy for Bashful, since he had decided his fate when he took that leap. Injured and deemed a rogue, no one would want to take him home now.

At that instant, Michael Sparling, who I had known since he was a little kid, son of our good friends, a Parelli Professional trainer, came to me and said, "I want that horse!" I was a little taken aback and just said I didn't know if they would sell him right away but to go for it. When the decision was made to sell him, Michael stepped in and bought Bashful for $35. Michael had now made a step that would forever save Bashful from certain death. Michael had seen in him a challenge to turn a horse others had rejected into one others would one day admire. Since Michael was taking on a new job in Washington state and Bashful was too injured to travel, it was decided to leave him with Michael's dad, Dan, in Bismarck. Michael spent a little time, even one night, with Bashful before his job took him to Seattle. It must have been sad to leave the nervous, blue colt behind.

It happened that Dan was also a Parelli Natural Horsemanship trainer and, having wanted to buy one of the wild ones himself, he couldn't resist starting to see what he could do with Bashful.  Since Bashful was injured and Dan had injured his foot, his first tactic was to just sit outside the pen. Little by little and with generous use of treats, Dan was able to win Bashful over. He broke goals down into simple steps Bashful could understand and rewarded him for the right reactions.
With Dan's patience he gained Bashful's trust to the point of giving every part of his body up to be petted and scratched. Like other TRNP horses removed that fall, Bashful had winter ticks and loved to be scratched where they had been feeding on him. This became a way to keep Bashful coming back for attention. The scratching led to playing confidence building games, which led to under saddle training.

Over the summer Bashful became more and more reliable as a saddle horse. October 22, 2010 Dan rode Bashful back into the park. Bashful stepped with confidence onto the sun flooded ground where he was born, into the juniper lined valleys, across the rock strewn ridges, up the high buttes, and down the grassy meadows. He is in Dan's "herd of two" now and his future is bright.

MORE TRAINING FOR HAWK

It is now October of 2010, one year after the horses of Theodore Roosevelt National Park were rounded up, separated, and 77 sold at public auction. Unfortunately, we have lost track of some of them, but many of their owners are keeping in contact with us and telling us how well the horses are doing.

I will be telling the stories of some of these other horses in future blogs. One of special interest is Bashful, the horses who leaped out of the sales ring in Dickinson, but before I tell his story, let me continue Hawk's tale of progress.

As I related in the last post, Hawk is learning to be brave by playing with all the obstacles I have set up for him in the arena. Besides the can and bottle box, the bridge, the rubber tub, feed sack, and step stool, he has learned to jump over a rail and back through cones. Each new thing become easier as he gains confidence, though the tarp on the ground is still a little frightening to him. We are still working toward loading into the two-horse trailer too. He happily loads and backs out of the stock trailer, but the other one is much more enclosed. I have no doubt that he will be fine with the two-horse once he gets used to it, since he seems to be OK with almost anything once he has a chance to check it out.

Two big steps that he has taken recently are letting the farrier trim his feet and wearing a saddle. With gradual, patient, calm work, Hawk got to where I could handle his rear feet. It was hard for me, because I didn't want to take a chance of being kicked, but I had to stuff the fear deep inside and portray only confidence and trust as I asked for each foot. He has only had the farrier trim him twice since the time of his gelding, and both times he has stood quietly once the farrier pets him a little and shows him he's a friend.

After wearing the surcingle several times, the English saddle was easy. I was able to get him to smell of it and just placed it on him back. So far, the stirrups are tied up, but shortly he will learn to carry a western saddle with the stirrups flapping. I'm quite sure it won't be a big deal to him because he had carried the surcingle around the round pen with the saddle blanket flapping in the wind and he has not minded it. Those of us who are training these horses have found that they are very tolerant when introduced to new things patiently.

I am anxious to be able to ride Hawk next year, once he turns three. He has become such a willing partner who responds with he slightest cue. I have no doubt that his responsiveness with carry over into his under-saddle work and he will continue to be a joy to work with through the coming years.

See photos belo w post

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF A NAME by Bonnie Overby

"Why can't you be like other women and prefer diamonds over horses?" This was Soldier Man's response from half way around the globe in Afghanistan when he learned that I had, indeed, purchased a wild horse.

Earlier, our grown daughter had accurately remarked, "Dad won't be happy, but he won't be surprised either."

"Well, I guess this will have to be both your birthday and Christmas present, " he said, knowing that my birthday had been the day before and that no gift was in the mail. My husband has always had trouble buying me gifts, probably because I don't feel the need for traditional stuff women like to receive.

Enthusiastically I replied, "This is a wonderful gift; thank you so much!"

I could hear the softening in his voice when he said, "Well, it's going to have to be your birthday present, anyway."

"Just be thankful it's a wild horse I'm chasing and not wild men!" I grinned over the phone.

When Soldier Man left for his one year tour of duty in Afghanistan, my friend, Mya, took it upon herself to make sure I would not sit home and sulk. Weather permitting, the two of us were off riding our horses whenever schedules and family allowed us to get away. During the summer, I noticed in an equine paper that there was going to be a wild horse auction in the fall some time. I called up Mya, "Mya, please convince me that I should not go to this auction."

"I think it's a great idea! That will be my birthday present to you."

Okay, it didn't take much to convince me, but we were going to leave the trailers at home. We eagerly waited for it to be announced when the auction would be. October 23rd, the day before my birthday, I arranged for a replacement at work for that weekend. " Remember, we're not taking a trailer with us, Mya, this is just a fun get-away weekend, we'll think of it as entertainment. Together, we could not think of a better way to spend a weekend.

"Bonnie, I'm hauling my trailer down. I know you, you'll buy a horse and I'll have to come all the way home and back again to get it. Besides, even if you don't buy one, maybe I can help someone else out by hauling for them."

We got to the auction ring several hours before the start of the sale. We carefully looked over each pen, made notes of horses we would like to own, visited with other enthusiastic and curious onlookers, and marveled at the unique colors represented by the herd. Could we manage one of these beautiful bachelor stallions and did we have the appropriate area for them? It was a no-brainer that we would be taking a least one apiece home, if not more, but decided we probably should stick with one of the younger horses.

We sat in the crowded arena nervous and excited for the bidding of the wild horses to start; we had an opportunity to take home a registered Quarter Horse weanling for next to nothing, but we wanted one of the mysterious, often forbidden animals that we had viewed from a distance in the Park. The bidding was competitive, and we realized , if we were serious, we would need to spend more than we initially planned, if the dreams we had formed were to come true. In the end, Mya purchased Cinnamon, a one year old pretty little sorrel as well as a weanling filly, Lindbo, a five month old gray overo filly with one blue eye, neither of which had been on our list to buy. I purchased number 364, Sugar, a red roan yearling that reminded me of a filly I had owned and lost to colic.

These horses were raw beauties that we felt honored and a little scared, for more than one reason, to be taking home. Nightfall had come but in our excitement we had no problem staying awake on the long drive home. We strategically planned how we would house these horses and honor our commitment to care for them, these powerful creatures that had neither known barriers nor the gentle touch of human hands. We wondered and laughed over what we had gotten ourselves into this time.

"Do you realize, Mya, that we purchased Cinnamon and Sugar?" We hadn't until this moment in our drive home. We both knew coincidences didn't happen without reason. "It was meant to be!"

When the North Dakota Badlands Horse Registry was up and running, I wanted to choose a name that reflected my horse and the significance of the event. I wanted to keep her Park name and chose "Autumn" to reflect one of the best birthday events ever, and "Diamond" in remembering the conversation with my husband. Thus "Autumn's Sugar Diamond was formed.

Afterward: My husband recently returned from Afghanistan. He was pleasantly surprised that my wild horse didn't seem wild at all. One of his concerns for me was that I would get hurt working with her. I found this very sweet since this was the first time in 27 years that he had voiced worry about me getting hurt around horses.