THE LITTLE BRUMBY WHO COULD
‘I’ll always love and protect you,’ I whispered into his fuzzy brown ears. The little bay Brumby’s story was compelling, superceded only by the awkward way he stood, warts and all, with the disproportioned body of a growing foal making Trooper the most adorable horse I had ever seen.
It was nothing short of a miracle that Trooper had survived the trauma of capture and removal from his homeland in the Snowy Mountains when he was just a baby, followed by rejection at the Camden saleyards and the terror and smell of death of the abattoir, before being rescued at the last minute along with another Brumby foal and stallion. Kath Massey of the Hunter Valley Brumby Association and her friend, horse trainer Adam Sutton, had swept them to safety.
While I had searched far and wide for a horse, something never felt right about buying a horse from a breeder when I knew that horses were dumped as readily as cats and dogs, so surely there’d be plenty needing homes. It made good sense to adopt a Brumby after researching the breed and talking to people intimately familiar with them. All confirmed they were the best all-round horse you could ever want and more.
Two thousand one hundred and ten kilometres later, my partner Bruce and I returned to Victoria from the Hunter Valley, after adopting Trooper and floating him to our farm. As they say, a thousand-kilometre journey starts with a single step—even if it’s not so steady. Trooper had a bit of a spill when we pulled away on the float but he righted himself and stood solid for the entire journey home. Every two hours we stopped, giving his body, heart and mind a rest. Seated on a bale of hay to have our coffee, we reassured him, ‘You’re a good boy, Trooper. You’ll have lots of horse friends at your new home.’
It was hard to look at the little guy and not cry. I could only imagine how horrific it must have been for him to lose his mum, dad and herd. He had sustained a massive gash down to the bone on his left hind leg and witnesses saw him beaten with poly pipe at the saleyards. It all left me wondering what it was inside this little fella that made him so resilient and still so trusting. My only explanation was that, like all beings, he must just have known the difference between a good person and a bad one—and I hoped that he sensed I was the former and that our hearts were completely open to him.
Having moved to Australia from the United States, I was well aware of the controversy surrounding wild horses in other countries. The Mustang in my country has received poor treatment for decades and I was horrified when I found out that the Brumbies in Australia had it even worse. There weren’t any specific laws here to protect or prohibit the slaughter of Brumbies and only a handful of Wild Horse Annies lobbying hard on their behalf.
We spent the night at the Tarcutta Halfway Motor Inn, or ‘Horse-O-Tel’, so the three of us would have a good night’s rest and feed. As we drove along, we’d check the outside temperature and had a hard time imagining Brumbies thriving in sub-zero temperatures up in the High Country where Trooper was from. Yet they did, with thick winter coats and years of evolution on their side.
Trooper’s homecoming had been planned well in advance of his arrival. We had converted an old covered cattle crush on the property into a small shed and strung Tibetan prayer flags across the gum trees above it. A big pile of hay was waiting there, begging to be eaten. Trooper, once off the float, was led non-eventfully into his new paddock then snorted and buried his nose deep into the mound.
Every day, three times a day for the first week, I would go out and just sit on an overturned bucket and have my coffee in his ‘Snowy Mountains’ paddock. Trooper was curious and would come over and sniff me. I’d give him a pat and he’d go back to grazing. A week later I introduced Trooper over the fence to Charlie, Tex, Max and Shadow, our other horses. Little did he know that old Charlie and he would become best mates.
A rescued former trail horse, Charlie was a Zen Master. He was twenty-one years old to Trooper’s twenty-one months. It was the perfect teacher – student relationship, as Charlie taught Trooper how to be dignified, calm under pressure and to respect boundaries. I had learnt that young horses do well when paired with old schoolmasters like Charlie as it helps them to establish good habits.
As the other guys got to know Trooper over the fence, we started introducing them one at a time into a larger paddock with Trooper and Charlie. Trooper quickly learnt his place—he was the baby and would make his baby mouthing gestures when the big boys came close so they knew he meant no harm and was vulnerable. With the other horses being so much older than him, I had to create an environment of play for Trooper, so I put yoga balls and witches hats in the arena for him to entertain himself with. He took to them so well that he would tease the other horses, as if asking them to come and play, by dragging a fluorescent orange cone nearly his own size across their path. In a king’s court, Trooper would be the court jester.
It became a daily routine for Trooper and I to have coffee and breakfast together and have a play. We’d try one new thing every day for about 15 minutes twice a day, just to get him familiar with different stimuli. It was often simply a tie-up lesson or receiving a brushing. When the blue tarp came out, he wore it like a superhero cape and would run and chase it if it blew off his back. On occasion we’d find a small hill to climb or cross the stream on our land and head into the bush. Trooper was so keen and curious about life that we could strap saddles on him, put our friend’s micro dog on top, and introduce him to fetlock protectors—all with no dramas. Trooper, the Sherpa brumby, would also carry my jacket, jumper and scarf.
While Trooper fascinated me no end, Bruce was in awe of him because he had never known a horse that was as curious and playful as Trooper—and he’s had horses for years. Other horses I had met seemed a bit vacant and switched off in comparison, seen as a utility animal and only allowed to engage when something was being done to them. My own curiosity about Trooper led me to read everything I could on horsemanship. I also visited trainers only to find myself cringe when I saw what they were doing to train or ‘break in’ horses. I swore that Trooper would never be hit, whipped or spurred for any reason and would never have a bit in his mouth even under the guise of so-called natural horsemanship.
I’ve had Trooper now for a year and a half and he still remains joined up with me and as curious as ever. We still share brekkie together, he’s never been chased in a roundyard and we’ve been guided on the ground by horseman Carlos Tabernaberri. I can lie down next to Trooper while he’s napping, and when the horses hoon through the paddocks, he stops just ahead of me and turns to see if I’m coming. He won’t leave me behind and will turn back and come and touch his nose to me before taking off with the others. I still tell him that I will always love and protect him and that together we’re helping Brumbies all over Australia by sharing his story.
Mr Social Butterfly has also managed to find a girlfriend a kilometre from our farm—a buckskin filly named Elsie who loves him just as much. They call to each other when we walk past her paddock and she runs to the edge of the fence line to greet us every time. They’re inseparable and when Elsie’s owner Sue allows Trooper in with her, he grabs her neck in his teeth and they just stand there together. It’s very stallion-like and thank god he’s gelded or we’d be in big trouble!
Because he did spend his first year in the wild, his instincts and intuition are strong and quite possibly have saved my life. Conscious and aware, it was Trooper who stopped me from trying to cross a crevice cut by floodwaters that left the ground on either side of where we found ourselves quite unstable. We had lost our way off of a bush track but Trooper quickly turned around and pointed himself back towards the way we’d come, not budging until I followed him and he could lead us back to the trail. Although I was doubtful at first, my gut said, ‘Trust him’, and he didn’t let me down. It’s the kind of behaviour I now look for when we go on outings together—something Brumby owners will understand. However, Trooper, like any Brumby, cannot be underestimated. I need to be on my game 24/7 to help channel his intelligence and curiosity to keep both of us safe.
I don’t know what our bond is, what you’d call that kind of connection with anyone, let alone a horse. The best thing about it is that I never have to worry like some people do about behavioural or psychological issues with their horse because I am committed to working on myself as much as I work with Trooper—and that’s truly the basis of any kind of healing and growth. He’s also fortunate to have encountered only good humans since his traumatic capture and rescue so that the scars didn’t settle too deep.
Bruce and I hope to find more ways and means to help Brumbies, including my continued commitment to write about them and adopting an older Brumby sometime in the not too distant future.
Image 26: With care and training, Trooper, like most adopted Brumbies, has thrived alongside his domestic paddock mates, proving that rehoming is a viable option for helping to ensure Australia’s
Brumbies are able to be enjoyed by future generations.
Image 27: Wildfire takes in the morning sun.