“Calm down and come here,” her grandma said as she patted her back and helped Shannon up the ladder.
“I have to get home as soon as possible,” Shannon squealed. “I have work to do!”
“I’m not sure what you’re so excited about. Your dad will pick you up in about an hour. Why, did you forget to do a chore or something?”
“No, not chores,” Shannon confided in her grandmother. “Something much more important! I think I have my first detective assignment.”
“This sounds serious,” Grandmom said as she wrapped Shannon in a large towel.
“It is! I have to look in our neighborhood for a license plate from Ohio.”
Chapter 30
The drive to the Painted Ridge Wild Horse and Burro Adoption Center went on for miles and Carrie felt as if she were holding her breath the entire time. Her mom’s fragile appearance and dark circles seemed to have disappeared as soon as they learned that Flannel had been found. “I think I see a big sign up ahead,” Carrie said, pointing out the window.
“Sam told me there’s nothing else out here for miles, so that must be it,” said Brenda. “You brought Flannel’s leash, right?” Carrie winced. Earlier, in a haste of harsh words and lack of sleep, her mom told her the dog would not have escaped had she been kept on a leash. “I’m not blaming you and I’ve already apologized,” said Brenda. “I feel bad enough for losing my temper.”
“I brought everything,” Carrie said. “Her leash, her food, and even her favorite chew toy.”
They came to a road that branched off the main highway. A large brown and white sign read, “Bureau of Land Management—National Wild Horse and Burro Center of Painted Ridge.” They pulled onto the gravel road and viewed the sloping landscape covered with sagebrush and rolling brown dust. They slowly drove down the long bumpy road, admiring the hundreds of horses in corrals spread out in all directions. It was an incredible sight and they exchanged glances yet said nothing. The mustang supporters had harsh things to say about similar centers that operated throughout the country. They said that many of the horses rounded up by helicopters were eventually sold for slaughter and shipped out of the country. Carrie and Brenda had read the graphic posters and pamphlets and found the described conditions quite disturbing. How ironic that the manager of this very facility had found Flannel and was keeping her safe under his watchful eye.
Flannel jumped up and ran to the office door, almost knocking Carrie over before she had a chance to open it. Brenda stood behind them grinning. “I’m not sure if the collie found you or you found it, but thanks,” Brenda said to Devon. “You’re the only person around here who would even know she belonged to us. How did you find her?”
“I was on my way to work when I saw a familiar collie with a band of mustangs out on Tompkins Highway. She looked like she was doing her best to herd them. I swear, Brenda, she treated those wild horses like big sheep. She’s lucky she didn’t get hurt; one swift kick can be fatal,” he said.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” said Carrie, smothering Flannel with hugs and kisses. She clipped the leash to the dog’s collar.
“I hear you’re a dog trainer,” Devon said. “Ben here is just going out to work with the foals. Would you like to go watch him?” he asked.
“Can I, Mom?”
“Sure. Leave Flannel here with us and I’ll give her some food.” Carrie gave her mom a huge hug and turned to Devon. “Thanks so much for finding her, Mr. Spencer. I’m so glad she came to you when you called her and that she already knew you.”
“No problem.”
Ben threw Carrie a large cowboy hat that was hanging on a peg and as Carrie placed it on her head it fell down, covering her eyes. She laughed as she pushed it back and headed out the door with the wrangler.
“I had no idea that this place was so enormous,” Brenda said as she peered out the window toward the sea of horses.
“We can hold quite a lot of animals,” Devon explained, “but we only have about seven hundred head right now. We have another round-up scheduled and then this place will be jumping.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’ll bet you’re getting a nice earful from the anti-round-up people staying at the B&B,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m new around here,” Brenda told him. “I’m not for or against anything and I’m trying to keep an open mind, but I have to tell you, some of the news reports and the photos I’ve seen are just tragic.”
“I agree,” he said. “Nobody around our facility wants to see injured horses, let alone the ones that don’t make it.” He got up from his desk and walked over to a pile of brochures and pamphlets. “I think you should read this,” he said, handing her a document with a headline that read, “Wild Horse Annie and the BLM.”
“‘Wild Horse Annie,’ huh?” Brenda said, looking at the old black-and-white photo of a woman in western attire sitting proudly on top of a horse. “I love her name. She sounds like a renegade.” Brenda folded the pamphlet and tucked it into her purse.
A woman popped her head into the office. “Excuse me, Devon, but we need to get moving. We have a foal down out behind Canyon Run Road and Annie’s already called a vet.”
“That’s right behind my neighborhood,” said Devon.
“Yeah, well, we got a call from a woman who said she found a kid sitting in a field with a tiny foal and the kid gave her your number.”
“Thanks, Brit,” said Devon, taking the slip of paper handed to him. “I’ll deal with this one myself.”
A male voice hollered in from another office. “Devon, the dispatcher just called—the kid that found the foal is Milla and she’s not letting anyone near it until someone from our office gets there.”
Devon looked over at Flannel stretched out and sleeping after gobbling down her food, and through the window saw that Carrie and Ben were returning from the horse pens. He turned to Brenda. “I think you two should follow along and see another side of what this center does. Those brochures and posters at the B&B don’t tell the entire story.”
“Um...okay,” Brenda said hesitantly as she watched Devon suddenly exit and run to his truck.
Devon sped off down the highway while Brenda and Carrie were doing their best to keep up, hoping to witness the rescue of a newborn foal. As they followed him down an unpaved road, Brenda realized that their New Jersey car wasn’t meant for such bumpy adventures. Devon maneuvered through a maze of sparsely populated lanes that eventually led to a crowded neighborhood. He pulled into the driveway of his home and jumped out, motioning for Brenda to park nearby. There was a crowd of people gathered behind the house. He stepped over a few abandoned bikes as kids everywhere had come to see what all the excitement was about. After cracking the windows, Carrie left the still-sleeping Flannel in the car and followed her mom and Mr. Spencer. Some of the people recognized him and waved and Devon motioned for them to back up and allow him through. There in the center of the gathering he found Milla cradling a tiny palomino foal in her lap. She looked at him and started to tear up. He knelt down and began to examine the shivering foal.
“I couldn’t let anyone touch it. I knew that someone from your office would know what to do but I didn’t expect you to be the one who would come,” she said.
Devon patted her on the back with a reassuring touch. “We have to take her to a place that specializes in rescuing foals, Milla. The woman who handles these special cases has a vet waiting. Can you hold her in the backseat or should I ask Mrs. Anderson to help me?”
Milla looked up and saw Carrie and her mom standing in the front of the crowd. She nodded meekly at them and Carrie gave her a little wave. “I want to hold the foal,” said Milla, “but can Carrie come with us?”
It was a long ride to Anne Burke’s farm. Carrie and Milla sat in the back seat of Devon’s truck with the foal resting on both of their laps. Brenda, with Flannel, followed behind, doing her best to navigate the hairpin curves. Bands of wild horses w
ere scattered throughout the land. The few buildings that dotted the landscape seemed out of place in the wide-open vista that was home to the free-roaming mustangs and burros. The scenery was stunning, but Brenda was unable to appreciate it; her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. At last they saw a sign that read “Bareback Ranch” and Devon slowed and put on his turning signal.
“Thank goodness,” Brenda said as she massaged her fingers. She followed Devon’s truck down a dirt road that led to a home with a few barns and some white fenced corrals. The woman who walked out of the house waved to Devon.
“What do we have here?” Anne Burke asked as she looked at the two girls holding the baby foal. “Seems like we have a fine rescue team.” She turned to Milla and said, “Now I need you to carefully hold her head while I pick her up.” Anne gently lifted the tiny foal that attempted a tiny whinny.
“I need you girls to wait here while the vet has a look,” she said as she carried the foal into the barn. The girls leaned against the corral and Carrie felt something soft and warm push against her back. She turned and saw a black foal with a white spot on its forehead looking out at her from inside the pen. “Who are you?” she asked as she began petting it. The soft fine hair on its neck felt like the fur of a baby rabbit.
“Oh my goodness, look at them,” Milla said, pointing to the three foals that were frolicking in a different pen. “What is this place?” asked Brenda.
“Anne is a very special lady,” replied Devon. “She works with a lot of agencies in the area taking in orphaned foals. Sometimes she sits up with them all night long and she’s on call twenty-four hours, seven days a week. I don’t know how she does it sometimes.”
Brenda looked over at Milla and Carrie petting one of the foals. “How do they become orphaned, Devon? Are these the babies that get separated during the round-ups?” Brenda asked.
“Some are,” he said, “and some simply become very ill and need care that we can’t offer them. Some end up here because a mare in the wild will just abandon it for no reason at all. Still others find their way here because their mothers were killed either in an accident or from natural causes. I think this little palomino we just brought in lost its mom to a road accident last night.
Anne came out of the barn to speak with the anxious group.
“It’s a little filly and she’s pretty weak. The vet is treating her but he’s not very optimistic. I’ll stay close by her for now, but she’s really not breathing well. To be honest, I’m not sure she’s going to make it. Do we know which band she’s from or what happened to her mom?”
“We think the mare was killed in an auto accident,” Devon explained. “Oddly enough it was in my own neighborhood. My daughter Milla found the foal this morning.” Carrie looked down at Milla who slumped against her and bit her lip. Milla was fighting tears and breathing hard.
“We can’t leave her,” Milla protested. “Can’t we stay and help?”
“Anne works alone,” her father replied, “but she has our number and she’ll call us with updates.”
“That’s right,” said Anne, turning to the children who were eager to help. “But I’ll tell you what. You two look the perfect age for my camp. It runs all summer and I think you would learn a lot about caring for these little guys.” The girls noticed that the foals had knocked a feed bucket to the ground and were pushing it around like a soccer ball. Anne reached into the window of her truck and pulled out a flyer that looked familiar to Carrie. It was the same one that had been lying on their kitchen table. It read, “Hidden Valley Horse & Art Camp.”
As Brenda drove back to the B&B alone, the radio was playing a tune about surfboards and girls in bikinis. She was still a bit dizzy from all the excitement over the past twenty-four hours. Her daughter was spending the night with Milla so they could be together while waiting for news of the foal. The thought of a lost dog bringing the girls together made her smile. Yep, it had been a roller coaster of a day. She still wasn’t sure about leaving two ten-year-olds alone in the house while Devon went to work. But the girls begged and insisted that Flannel was their guard dog and they promised not to leave the house. Devon had arranged for a neighbor to check in on them and all of it seemed to have happened so quickly.
She arrived back at the inn and told Sam about the events of the day and then thanked all of the people who had been looking for Flannel. They were smiling as she told them about finding the dog. When they asked her where the collie was at that moment she told them the rest of the story. Their faces became serious and they listened intently. One of them said, “Anne Burke is an amazing person and the girls will learn a lot from her.” There was a general concern for the orphaned foal among the members of Save Our Mustangs. “It’s sad, but a lot of them just don’t make it.”
“Did they give the palomino a name?” asked someone, jotting down notes. Brenda thought of the two girls sitting side by side cradling the tiny foal. How they hardly knew each other and yet had let down all barriers and worked lovingly trying to help the orphaned baby horse. “Yes,” she said, remembering how Milla had made them stop the car to run back and tell Anne Burke the foal’s name. “Hope.”
Chapter 31
Sam laced up her sneakers and pulled on the neon green reflective hat she always wore for her early morning walks. The sky was just blushing pink as dawn slowly appeared. This was her favorite time of the day. No phones to be answered or interruptions from guests about forgotten toiletries. Not even Max was up and about when she tiptoed out the front door and stretched her muscles in preparation for her exercise.
She thought about all she had heard regarding Anne Burke’s commitment to the orphaned foals. And that two children, who were each going through rough times of their own, were able to focus their energy to do something positive together. Amazing, she reflected—just a few days ago they were total strangers, each child dealing with a broken heart. Now they were forging a friendship over a helpless foal. No one could have predicted the topsy-turvy days filled with a ten-year-old’s temper flare-ups or the havoc caused by a flick of Max’s tail. Sam began to walk briskly in the direction of a small trail that would take her toward the mountains. She marveled each morning as if seeing them for the first time. She walked beneath a beautiful canopy of Aspen trees and watched a few goldfinches fluttering in the branches. Like a painting, the landscape came alive—the white tree trunks and green circular leaves coupled with bright yellow birds against the coral and peach tones of the calico mountains. Off in the distance she saw a band of horses grazing—a white horse looked as if it were glowing as the early light twinkled off its glistening coat.
Walking a steady pace up the path she took time to contemplate the past week. Her friend’s arrival had not started without a few detours. It would take some effort to delicately separate the arrangement of landlord and friendship. Brenda could not afford to find housing yet and was actively looking for a job in a local casino. Sam had agreed to allow Brenda to stay in exchange for work at the B&B. There were plenty of jobs to keep Brenda busy all summer and the exchange seemed like a good idea. The unstable emotions of a ten-year-old and a dog that hated cats were things she hadn’t anticipated.
She went along her familiar trail, coming around a bend and down a little slope. There were huge boulders that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. They were immense and towered above her. She stopped to catch her breath and wondered how old they were. As she peered around the boulders she saw a herd of horses running freely with their manes flying and sleek tails stretched out behind them. She thought about the little palomino foal that was being nursed in a farm by a kind woman. She thought of the all the people who worked hard to protect the freedom of these beautiful creatures. She thought of Devon and how he worked tirelessly managing almost a thousand of these magnificent horses that were placed in the BLM facility. Did they really need people caring for them? It seemed the orphaned foal did—but then again it was only fighting for its life because a pe
rson had accidently struck it with a car and killed its mother.
She turned and began her walk back to the B&B. Sometimes she used this quiet space to work out problems and some days it was just to observe nature’s splendor. Today was a day to just stop and think. The freedom of the wild mustangs and burros was something that would always bring people together. She couldn’t help but compare the freedom of wild mustangs to the plight of the Native American Indians. The Indians had gotten in the way of people who wanted their land as well, hadn’t they? Were the Indians’ voices ever heard? She wasn’t an expert regarding the history of the tribes or the laws that were enacted to put them onto reservations, but to her it all kind of felt the same.
The sun was a little higher as she reached the crest and she looked back at the frolicking horses. There were so many differing opinions regarding their well-being. That they needed to be managed, she agreed, as she had read about the many interest groups that wanted the use of this valuable grazing land. But how that managing was to be handled…well, she wasn’t sure anyone had provided a solution yet. One thing she knew, though—the horses really did need to have their voices heard, but how will anyone ever hear animals if they can’t even listen to the voices of people?
Chapter 32
Brian wrote his name on the side of the wastepaper basket with the red nail polish his mother had left on the bathroom sink. It smelled nasty and he wrinkled his nose. As he began to make the “i” in his name, he accidently dotted too hard, and the basket toppled over, knocking the polish to the cream-tiled floor. Horrified, he quickly picked up a yellow bath towel and tried cleaning it up. Red polish was everywhere and he hurried to grab another towel to sop up the mess when Shannon knocked on the door.
Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail Page 13