Free Horse Lover by H. Alan Day

vaccinate them and turn them out of the squeeze chute calmly. They would not view us as the enemy and the scene would be devoid of this palpable stress. There was no reason to spoil an animal’s spirit with force and fear. I resolved then and there that I would help these captured horses and give them the next best thing to the life they had once known. That voice inside of me was right. It was time to work with wild horses.
    A week later I flew up to South Dakota. Al Jr. and I sat on the porch of the doublewide watching the prairie tuck itself in to sleep. Al had fallen in love with the ranch and everything about it. When I asked him if he could envision a sanctuary on the land, he said, “It’s a crazy idea putting wild horses out here. But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you, Dad.”
    The flock of wild turkeys waddled into sight, crossed the ranch road, and headed for the elm tree. One by one, they spread their wings and flapped into the tree. Since my first night on the ranch, I had watched them go through this routine. I wondered if they slept on the same branch every night.
    “Hey, I want to show you something,” my son said, getting up from the step. I followed him across the lawn. Only a thin line of light hung on the horizon. “Stand under the elm and look out over the pond,” he said. I moved next to the trunk and pressed a hand against its rough bark. Al stayed back. I was about to tell him to come take in the view when he clapped three times. The tree rustled, like sheets in a bed. I heard the drops hit the ground before I felt the warm liquid slide down the back of my neck.
    “What the  . . .” I was covered in turkey poop.
    Al burst out laughing. “Gotcha.”
    I pulled out my handkerchief. Now how on earth did he figure that one out? It was one of those questions that never got answered.

5.
    Two Cowboys Corral Congress
    The banking gears continued to grind through the loan process. I was trying to be patient, but by golly, it was hard. Since we had not heard from Roger Running Horse I decided to drive to his office, hoping to speed the process along. He met me with his usual big smile and a warm greeting. “My supervisor is on vacation but she should be back soon and we’ll get those plans in front of her before long,” he reassured me. I left his office mildly disappointed but with hopes of future approval.
    I couldn’t start making improvements on the old Arnold Ranch until it officially became the new Day Ranch, so in the meantime, in an effort to learn the trade secrets of Sand Hills ranching, I spent quite a little time chatting with neighbors. I wanted to determine what normal hay production should be. The Arnold Ranch produced one ton per acre, which for the area was substandard. I submitted soil and hay samples to a lab and discovered that the three thousand acres of hay-producing meadow were deficient in phosphorous and the hay was low in protein. Horses would require healthy hay. They also needed stronger corrals and more drinking water on the range. I was eager to get going on these projects. Finally, the phone rang. On a windy day, with silver-lined clouds scudding across the South Dakota sky and the sunflowers of mid-September in bloom, I signed on the dotted line.
    On the drive back to the ranch, I inhaled the sweet scent of freshly cut fields and thought about the horses. I now had a home to offer them, a safe harbor where they could roam and graze. Tomorrow John and I would start remodeling that home. Even if the horses never came, the place needed major upgrades. I turned onto the dirt road, hit a pothole, and bumped my head against the pickup’s roof. Yeah, the road. Better get on that one soon, too, or the horses would have to unload at the edge of the state highway and hoof it to the ranch.
    I bounced past the gnarled old fence post and the start of the ranch, my ranch. I was the caretaker now, the one responsible for every pothole, fence post, and blade of grass. I had