A Mustang Looks Back for You

Dear Readers, all around the world tonight, people will celebrate the anniversary of the Wild Horse and Burro act. As someone who met Wild Horse Annie, I can tell you she wouldn't be happy at how we've allowed the intent of the law to be trampled by BLM.  Every day, U.S. taxes paying to end our horses freedom. Look at Annie's gravestone, above. See the very last desperate horse looking back /-- for you. 

Click this link to discover where you can join others for a candlelight vigil

http://keeptheirlightshining.wordpress.com

 

“I SAT DOWN WITH WILD HORSE ANNIE TODAY”

     I sat down with Wild Horse Annie today.  We had quite the conversation.  I complained of how convoluted her law had become, how  it  was now a life sentence for  the very animals it was intended to protect.  She listened quietly, never uttering a word.  “ We really need your help.” I told her.  She offered  no reply.
The grass surrounding us was cool & refreshing, the day warm & clear.  I closed my eyes and  imagined a band of wild horses grazing  peacefully nearby.  How fitting it would have been.  But alas ! Imaginings are nothing more than imaginings.  There were no wild horses and Wild Horse Annie was not going to answer.
Beside me was a small and unassuming  grave marker.  In that, it was much like the woman buried there.  Beneath the name Velma B. Johnston, Wild Horse Annie, and the dates March 5, 1912 – June 27, 1977 were three mustangs, running wild and free.   As I ran my fingers across the relief and looked closer at the image, I realized there was something  unexpectedly ominous portrayed there.
The  running mustang trio had reached  the edge of a  dangerous precipice with no choice left but to jump.  The last of the three is rearing and looking over his shoulder as if deciding  whether to fight or flee.  Tears started flowing  when I put  the scene in the context of the battle we’re waging today. I started sobbing like a crazy fool and blurted out, “ Help me! I don’t know what else to do.”
It was then that a voice came to me,  a strong but gentle whisper in my ear.

  “FIGHT”    it said,    “ FIGHT LIKE A WILD STALLION.”

Story and photo by Carrol Abel