LIVING WITH THE HERD
Sunsets, rainbows, golden dusk light, mists, magical moons, enormous ancient trees, green paddocks and starry nights. Wild horses fit into this list of nature’s beauty, filling the human spirit with a sense of the mystic. Their freedom touches something deep within us, calling to our soul like an old forgotten memory. It’s an echo of longing for something that is denied in our culture—our own true freedom.
I live with over thirty wild Brumbies, all running free in herds on our property. They are my friends and my family. I don’t ride them or train them, but we are a herd together and there is nothing more rewarding than being accepted by a wild horse simply because he loves you.
I have been in horse rescue for over two decades now, and rehabilitated a lot of broken horse souls through my work in rescue and also as a professional animal telepath—a gift I was born with. Horses first called me to help them when I was a ten-year-old rounding up horses with stockmen in the bush. The stockmen’s horses all had bleeding mouths from rough handling and bits and, being an empath, I felt that pain. Confused that adults would cause pain to animals, I spoke to them about it, but was laughed at and ignored.
That was in the 1960s, but sadly I see and feel the same pain in horses today. Horse rescue is a bottomless pit and I wanted to educate people into seeing and treating their horses differently, with more respect and gentleness. And then I was introduced to the Brumby.
Wearing my hat as a filmmaker, I was invited to film the humane capture and natural training of Brumbies. It was a beautiful, heart-felt scheme, but on meeting a tiny wild stallion we called Finn, I immediately heard a stricken, ‘I don’t want to be dog meat.’ Unfortunately, that is where most Brumbies go after being culled. Finn was so frightened by the thought of his future that he refused all the normal, natural ‘join-up’ methods. Worse, when too much pressure was put on him, he attacked the trainers, flying at them with his teeth, kicking and silently screaming.
I heard his screams and felt his fear.
So I promised him a forever home for life and took him home. I rode in the back of the gooseneck with him to our place, where he never showed any aggression because his fear was gone. Instead, he is a sweet and shy member of our community, deeply in love with a wild Brumby mare called Cinnamon.
Everyone involved was very moved by Finn, and no one really wanted to see these beautiful wild ponies become slaves. So I took them all home and they now run free in a herd of eleven. There is nothing like the sight of wild horses running together, grazing peacefully, playing and forming deep and lasting bonds with each other. There is also nothing like that same herd running towards you because they love you.
In 2011 we offered a forever home to a truckload of wild horses from North Kosciuszko, who were headed for the slaughterhouse. We immediately began a program of building trust and goodwill with the herd by not creating any pressure, giving them lots of hay, not separating them from each other, and limiting human contact to our own family. We simply fed out and quietly cleaned up their paddock every day. Eventually, they got used to and accepted us.
One day, they gifted us with a beautiful foal. The mum trusted us enough to let us handle her baby. What heart-opening joy! We had become herd, and like another mare we could protect the baby and cuddle him, so he in turn could grow up without fear. We named him Emrys.
Four other foals followed and we set up a nursery in the paddock around the house. Each foal was different—some friendly and confident, others wary and determined to stick close to mum until they realised they were safe. It’s a beautiful thing to watch a shy horse blossom. It touches something sacred inside you and opens the door of your heart just a little bit wider.
The dad, Merlin the stallion, approved of the situation. And so did the mothers, who enjoyed the solidarity of being mums together and shared the upbringing of the babies, who always felt safe with their mother and their aunts.
Merlin is amazing. He is gentle, kind and wise. Our first sight of this large grey Brumby stallion was when he came out of the truck backwards. He was so big he broke our ancient wooden ramp, but he didn’t freak out or react. We were all holding our breath. He simply kept walking backwards until he reached our ancient timber yards with their trees, grass, shelter and peace. Then he looked around in approval. It seemed to me he smiled.
Image 8: Foals are able to grow up without fear with the help of animal telepath and filmmaker Billie Dean.
Because the ramp was broken, the other horses all had to jump out of the truck, and at first they were too scared to move. But Merlin nickered gently that it was safe, and out they came, one by one. Everybody involved was moved to tears. They were so young and so scared and there were so many of them! But Merlin was clearly in charge in a very gentle way. He radiated a contagious calm.
As wild horses don’t understand fences, we kept them in these large open grassy yards for a short time, letting them get over their stress and used to the noise, dogs and other horses. It’s a big adjustment after living in the quiet of the wilderness with only the sound of the wind and the birds. Because we didn’t rush them, the horses didn’t bolt or jump the fences. They weren’t ‘wild’. They were simply gentle and shy. When people asked me if I gentled the horses, my response was always, ‘No, they are already gentle. They gentle me.’
With wild horses it’s about coming into the relationship with mutual respect and understanding. It’s about being a partner, not a predator. Sometimes you don’t realise how far you have come with a herd until other people come to visit. Our herd trusted no one else in those early days, and meat-eaters especially could forget it. The horses would run away, bunched together for protection, wild-eyed. To them, a meat-eater is a predator, and they always knew. Our family is vegan, right down to our rubber work boots.
One of our objectives in taking on a herd of wild Brumbies, apart from deep compassion and an objection to slaughter, was to learn from them so we could educate others through our films and writing.
A wild horse is an unblemished canvas—one you don’t want to tarnish. Everything you do is a brushstroke that will determine their experience of life forever. We wanted ours to have a good experience. And that meant us talking to them a lot. When the shearer came for our poddy sheep in the spring, the rough energy and the noise sent the mares and foals flying over the fence to the other group of Brumbies who bunched and wheeled as one, galloping in fear and in danger of jumping the neighbour’s fence as well. I ran outside and called them, calming them with my voice. We quickly opened the gate to their ‘safe’ paddock and put down hay, reassuring them. When the mares and foals were safely back I spoke to a bay mare named Sassy and told her she would always be safe, and she would always live here and there was never anything to fear. I was struck by how intently she listened, giving me her full attention. They never jumped the fence again. And they felt a lot more settled.
Brumbies have taught me you don’t have to ride a horse to have an amazing relationship with them. You just have to be open and willing to listen and learn and leave behind an old paradigm. They are intelligent, warm, noble and kind. They are majestic and gentle—and yes, they are free. Imagine the world if people had these attributes in more abundance. If we were open to evolving as a species, it is the wild horse who could take us Home.
Image 9: A large mob grazes the plain.
Image 10: Sunset, the magic hour, captures the attention of the herd.