Lucky friday the
13th, or at least for one little foal it was. As Ryan and
I were driving along on his ATV, we saw a few horses along the road.
Pretty cool, so I was taking some pictures, when suddenly Ryan says,
“hey, there's a horse in that hole!” Sure enough, the head and
front hooves of a little foal were sticking out of the ground.
Mama
was there with two other horses, and was quite distraught. We
stopped to investigate and try to help. Ryan tried to approach the
horses, but Mama got very aggressive, stomping the ground, thrashing
her head, and pushing Ryan away. She also decided she didn't like
what one of the other horses was doing, and kicked him hard in the
front of the neck with both hind hooves.
At this point I became pretty nervous. Here we were in the south unit, hours from the nearest help of any kind, assuming we could reach it by radio or cell, which often don't work here, and no one knows where we are. We discussed options, which were few. We could hear coyotes on all sides, circling in, so it would be too late if we left to get help. Ryan tried approaching a few more times, and the mare seemed to figure out that when she got close, he backed off. Eventually she let him over to the foal, and he could see the situation. Deep, narrow hole, foal well wedged inside. He tried pulling the little guy out by the front legs, but then mama came running back at us and we backed off. We discussed options some more, and discovered that my cell had the tiniest bit of signal, probably coming from Red Shirt. We were far in the north end of the south unit, otherwise we would have had nothing. We called Ed at work, hoping to get a phone number for the south unit park ranger, thinking maybe he would have phone numbers for the ranchers who keep livestock out there. At this point at least Ed had some idea of where we were and what was going on, so if something went wrong and we didn't show up later, we might get help. The ranger didn't answer his phone, so we were back to our original options: take the risk to ourselves and try to help, or drive off and know the foal is doomed. We looked at each other again, and both felt that we couldn't just leave it there. With some more careful back and forth movements between us and the mare, she seemed to decide that we weren't going to hurt her foal, and pushed the other two horses further away. We were mighty nervous, as she did continue to come back a few more times, but in the end she backed way off, turned her back to us, and grazed. Ryan tried pulling the foal by the legs again, but the foal would squeal in pain. I suggested he try from behind, to get a grip under the front legs by reaching around and down into the hole. It worked, except the foal would sometimes start fighting to get out of the hole, and butted his head into Ryan's once, pretty hard. So that was too dangerous. No way could I manage to lift Ryan away for help if he needed it, he's a big guy. We went back to the front legs, figuring the foal is a goner if he stays in the hole, so we have to try. Ryan and I each took a leg and pulled at an angle, but again he squealed. We rested a bit, and gave the foal some water to drink, not knowing how long he had been without anything. Got in there to try again, and thought perhaps the hind legs were caught up on something. Ryan got a good grip on the front legs so the foal couldn't kick me with them, and had me lean and reach into the hole to work on the one hind leg we could get at. I was able to pull the hind hoof out of a ridge, and then together we pulled the foal out of the hole. Once out, he just laid there, not moving, but very close to slipping back into the hole. Ryan managed to avoid getting kicked and rolled him over to his other side, where he sat for a while.
At this point I became pretty nervous. Here we were in the south unit, hours from the nearest help of any kind, assuming we could reach it by radio or cell, which often don't work here, and no one knows where we are. We discussed options, which were few. We could hear coyotes on all sides, circling in, so it would be too late if we left to get help. Ryan tried approaching a few more times, and the mare seemed to figure out that when she got close, he backed off. Eventually she let him over to the foal, and he could see the situation. Deep, narrow hole, foal well wedged inside. He tried pulling the little guy out by the front legs, but then mama came running back at us and we backed off. We discussed options some more, and discovered that my cell had the tiniest bit of signal, probably coming from Red Shirt. We were far in the north end of the south unit, otherwise we would have had nothing. We called Ed at work, hoping to get a phone number for the south unit park ranger, thinking maybe he would have phone numbers for the ranchers who keep livestock out there. At this point at least Ed had some idea of where we were and what was going on, so if something went wrong and we didn't show up later, we might get help. The ranger didn't answer his phone, so we were back to our original options: take the risk to ourselves and try to help, or drive off and know the foal is doomed. We looked at each other again, and both felt that we couldn't just leave it there. With some more careful back and forth movements between us and the mare, she seemed to decide that we weren't going to hurt her foal, and pushed the other two horses further away. We were mighty nervous, as she did continue to come back a few more times, but in the end she backed way off, turned her back to us, and grazed. Ryan tried pulling the foal by the legs again, but the foal would squeal in pain. I suggested he try from behind, to get a grip under the front legs by reaching around and down into the hole. It worked, except the foal would sometimes start fighting to get out of the hole, and butted his head into Ryan's once, pretty hard. So that was too dangerous. No way could I manage to lift Ryan away for help if he needed it, he's a big guy. We went back to the front legs, figuring the foal is a goner if he stays in the hole, so we have to try. Ryan and I each took a leg and pulled at an angle, but again he squealed. We rested a bit, and gave the foal some water to drink, not knowing how long he had been without anything. Got in there to try again, and thought perhaps the hind legs were caught up on something. Ryan got a good grip on the front legs so the foal couldn't kick me with them, and had me lean and reach into the hole to work on the one hind leg we could get at. I was able to pull the hind hoof out of a ridge, and then together we pulled the foal out of the hole. Once out, he just laid there, not moving, but very close to slipping back into the hole. Ryan managed to avoid getting kicked and rolled him over to his other side, where he sat for a while.
He had had one hind leg out straight, down into
the hole, and the other kinked up under him. Looked like perhaps
that straight leg had gone numb, and it had some good scratches and a
little blood. After a few minutes he started wiggling again, and
worked himself up to a very wobbly stand.
He limped around us for a
bit, going between the two of us, nuzzling up.
Mama stayed far away
through all this, which surprised me. I had expected her to come
racing over the second he was out of the hole. The foal's leg got
stronger, but he continued to stay with Ryan and I. A little while
later, mama and the other two horses came running over, and we backed
way off again. She nuzzled the foal some, and they headed off
together, trotting away. We told Ed the details later, and as
someone who grew up on a farm and around horses, he seemed to think
we were quite lucky to have managed to negotiate the situation safely. High
five for rescuing a doomed little foal and managing not to get
ourselves in trouble. The only reason we even found him is that Ryan
missed the turn off he was looking for. Unbelievable. And on the
drive out we saw a rainbow behind Sheep Mountain.