Nervous, on shaky legs, and with every muscle ready to spring into action, the colt slowly moved into the void using the old geldings chewing to guide the way. It was a cool, moonless night and as the colt closed in on the sound he was following, he could make out little more than the old horse’s silhouette toward the back of one of the pens, head down and eating from a large pile of hay. In an attempt at getting close to the gelding, the colt moved into another opening, only to find he was in a smaller pen than the one he had just come from, and the gelding was in the pen next to him. His instinct told him to retreat back the way he came, something wasn’t right, and he knew it. But hunger was guiding him now and as he inched his way closer to the back of the pen and nearer the old gelding, he found a large pile of hay sitting there, as if waiting for him. Torn between going and staying, the colt moved toward the opening he had come through, stopped, and went back to the gelding and the pile of hay. Cautiously, he lowered his head and took a quick bite from the pile, then moved back toward the opening.

Standing near the open gate of the pen, he was suddenly surprised by the flavor of the dry grass in his mouth. He was used to foraging on dry grasses with little flavor and even less nutrition, except in the spring when the grass was lush and green. That seldom lasted long though and usually within a month or so into the summer, with little rain in the region to keep the grass nourished, it would begin to dry up and turn brown, losing much of its flavor. The hay in the pile was dry, but he could tell by the smell it was still green, and with the one bite the richness of it instinctively told him it was still packed with nutrition. He chewed what was in his mouth then returned to the pile, then back to the opening. For several minutes he repeated this pattern before finally settling near the pile, dropping his head and relaxing enough to enjoy the food in front of him.

The whole thing had been Tug’s idea. He absolutely didn’t want the mustang on the ranch, but when it became obvious the colt was going to be staying, Tug wanted to make sure to cause him as little stress as possible. It would be hard enough to deal with a wild horse, but one that was unduly stressed would be a nightmare, and he knew it. It was he who instructed Cat to trim the old horses and turn them out one at a time. Normally, the herd would be kept together while their feet were trimmed, and when the last one was finished they would all be turned out together. The colt’s instinct to want to be with the herd during a stressful time would force him to want to stay bunched up with them, and if all the horses left at once it would no doubt panic the colt. But if they left slowly—one at a time—the transition would be so gradual he may not notice the shift in numbers and even if he did, it would give him time to get used to the idea.