Missing Mustang Sally

We adopted Sally in February 2007 when she was about a year old. She came to live with us, along with Hanna (who was pregnant) and Jennet Reno (a burro), all adopted through the Bureau of Land Management’s Adopt a Mustang program. Sally was beautiful. She was a lineback dun with tiger stripes on her legs, very primitive markings. None of our other horses have those markings. She had deep brown eyes and a white star. Her mane and tail were long and luxurious -- often to her disadvantage because she'd have twigs and mud embedded in all that long hair, and if we didn't groom her often, she'd end up with the next best thing to dreadlocks. We named her “Mustang Sally” because she’d been born at a holding facility near Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, and it seemed like a good name for an Okie. So, in essence, she’s always lived in captivity, except with us, and after some varied efforts to gentle her to ride, she was pretty much free to do as she pleased.

That meant that she had about 20 acres of grass and wood to wander with, ultimately two domestic ponies, a Morgan cross, 2 burros, and four other mustangs (after Hanna gave birth to Billy Joe McAlister). We tried to provide regular veterinarian care, but after one tried to inoculate her in 2008 – which resulted in her bucking and farting around the coral, shoving Billy into the side of the barn, and running away, no vet in the area would touch her. We were fortunate because mustangs are tough, and our herd was never exposed to any other herd. She was nursed through a few bouts of colic and a couple time coming up lame, otherwise, she was healthy as…well, you know.

She was a troublemaker. She liked to steal everyone’s hay and for the longest time, refused to stay in her own stall during feeding. (We always kept the gates open, except for Savannah, the princess, which is another story.) She stole hay from the burros, and her relationship with Savannah – about the same age – was like that of two teenage girls. One minute they hated each other and the next they were BFFs. I was caught in the middle of one of their spats once, ending up on the receiving end of a mule kick, as Savannah deftly moved away. I had a beautiful bruise, which was the perfect outline of a hoof, complete with frog. One day, while we were still deluded enough to think we could ride her, the Food Guy placed the saddle on her back, tightened the cinch, and she exploded again, much as she had done with the vet. That may have been the time she bit the Food Guy’s daughter on the face. She ran around the pastures nearly all day, with the saddle half on, until the Food Guy was able to fool her to calm down so he could get close enough to take the saddle off.

I finally reached the point where I didn’t trust her. However, she had a special bond with the Food Guy – back then, he was not the only one who fed her – and he eventually convinced her that she should let him trim her hooves (because no farrier in the area would touch a mustang, either). This was especially helpful when he split a hoof almost to the crown and was lame for several days. We tried to keep a “boot” on it with medication, with her in the yard to limit her movement. But after about four days, she was looking like she might jump our 5-foot fence (which she could do, flat-footed), so we opened the gate and let her rejoin the herd. After another few days, she didn’t even limp. 

So, after 14 years of relative health and stamina, something got her. It didn’t have the symptoms of any disease. She may have broken a bone, a hip, or damaged her spine in a fall. Vets offered advice on the phone. We gave her aspirin (for horses) with her feed twice a day because she’s allergic to phenylbutazone (“bute”) – a common analgesic for horses. She went down Friday, stopped eating yesterday, and died overnight. I’m glad the coyotes didn’t bother her, but I wish we could have kept her company. Hopefully, her horse and burro friends did.