Wrangler Dani

Part 1 is HERE.

One night, around midnight, campers were tucked in their bunks and the whole ranch was peaceful, taking time to itself after a long day.  The only noises were the gentle breeze in the pines, an occasional muffled giggle from girls too excited to sleep, and the snorts, knickers and whinnies that accompany a horse herd at pasture.

I was sitting on the corral fence, enjoying the peace of the night after a long day of trail rides and working cattle, relishing the cool night air as it swept its rejuvenating powers over the hot, dusty landscape.

Suddenly I heard the frantic pounding of little feet galloping down the gravel road, and bigger ones in hot pursuit.  “April!!!!” screeched one of the cabin leaders, and I knew we had a problem.

It felt like hours. My heart pounding in my chest when I realized that she really had run away, the sound of her distracted cabin leader in tears on the road, other leaders shushing frightened campers back to sleep. Our camp medic managed to catch and calm April down before she got too far, but the damage was done. About fifteen minutes later, April was bundled up in a blanket and calmly informed that the police were coming over, as running away was in violation of her already fragile parole.

All the work that horses had done, pulling her out of her shell and seeing that mountain-moving grin erupt more and more was abruptly erased. Now, she surveyed me coldly, tousled blonde air poking out from the blanket, piercing blue eyes hard with fear and anger.  The same emotive eyes that had danced with anticipation of riding Willow and longed to please us – the wranglers, her heroes – now looked on me with disdain.  Her thin body shook with rage for having her plans of independence foiled.

I hated to give her up. I knew we had to, after all, we were just a horse camp, and could not deal with such serious needs. It had just been a dream that she had done so well in our care, I told myself.

But, still, she seemed so small and helpless as the police questioned her and took her home.  I wanted to interject, to explain how she and Willow were friends, how different she was on horseback, how just a little longer, one more day of lessons, of laughter, might help her. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. I was angry with myself for not preparing better for this, with her cabin leader for not telling us sooner, and with April herself for jettisoning her own future on the ranch.

Who knows what kind of plan a lonely little girl can dream about, thinking of a better life.  Personally, I think she just wanted to be like the horses.  I couldn’t blame her for wanting to run out to pasture and feel the freedom of kicking up her heels – I had given in to the temptation of cool nights and sweet smells of hayfields and horsehair many times myself.  There she would have no pills to take, no memories to conquer.  It’s the ultimate freedom – just her and the open pasture, stars and horses.