We suspected that “Doreen” (real name Wreath), a young bay Mustang mare, had been obtained through a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) program that provided financial incentives for adopting wild Mustangs. Unfortunately, adopters sometimes take the money and bring the horses to sale lots. Well-meaning horse rescuers try to buy the Mustangs before the meat buyers get them, but more than one has found themselves without the facilities and resources to feed, train and handle the wild horses, especially if they are injured or sick.

(Note: I had to use a pseudonym for Wreath in my earlier two columns, as she was on a court hold and the details had to be kept confidential. Now she has cleared the legal holds. In defense of the name, which always makes me think of “Wraith,” we were on a Christmas theme during that intake. You try naming 500 horses a year!)

The Background

Law enforcement had removed Wreath and eight other Mustangs from such a place when the overwhelmed rescuer agreed to surrender them.

All were in poor condition when they were delivered into our care, but poor, emaciated Wreath had a facial nerve injury that left her unable to eat hay normally. She was only 4 years old but looked closer to 20, and her hind limbs were slightly contracted from the malnutrition.

In our care, Wreath was started on soft wet mashes, and our starved, wild filly quickly became a cross between a food diva and Jaws. Wreath would lean into the barn aisle from her stall and rattle the door as hard as she could when she heard staff start scooping hay pellets and a special concentrated ration into her bucket. We quickly learned not to socialize with her when food was coming, as she wasn’t shy about headbutting the person who blocked her view of the preparations.

The mixture had to soak in the warm water until it crumbled to the touch, otherwise the hungry filly could bolt it too quickly and possibly choke. She’d dance in anticipation until a brave soul entered her stall, dodging Wreath’s efforts to dive into the bucket, and dumped the contents into a large trough. Wreath would lunge at the food, mouth wide open and drive her face deep into the mixture. She would jockey against herself for the best eating position, and her typical routine was to eat and dance, and eat and dance, until the tub was empty.

Slow Improvement

We slowly increased the amount and the frequency of her feedings, and I started her on a prescription vitamin E supplement to help heal the damaged facial nerve, and a product called Leg Aide to help her hind fetlocks, which had already improved dramatically.

The amount and the type of the vitamin E had to be exactly right, as horses cannot process excess vitamin E, and too much of any supplement can cause unpleasant side effects and lead to toxicity. The research on the E was very encouraging, and we all felt that the young Mustang deserved the best chance we could give her.

Wreath gained better control over her lips and muzzle, but still needed to improve to the point where she could live on hay alone. If we couldn’t find her an adopter willing to provide mashes multiple times a day, we still might have to consider euthanasia.

Nevertheless, we had to move her along in the rehabilitation process, and when I received an email from the staff telling me that Wreath had gained 120 pounds, she moved from the hospital barn to the lower barn, where she would begin to work with a trainer.

Time to Train

Our pretty young Mustang was a very quick learner. She mastered leading, tying, picking up her feet and working lightly on a longeline. As she continued to gain weight and muscle, she learned to carry a saddle and accept a bit and bridle.

Wreath was always provided hay along with her mashes, and I got a very excited phone call from her trainer one day to report that she was chewing and swallowing the hay almost normally. We were able to taper back on her mashes, and one day, she didn’t need them anymore.

Unfortunately, as things often go, the ranch had a massive intake of sick horses, and the horses in the training program had to take a short break. Wreath was turned out with some of the resident horses, and when I had time, I’d stop and enjoy watching her eat her hay. She was also weaned off her supplements.

Wreath was found limping one day, but was walking normally by the time I arrived. Judging by the behavior of one of the other pen residents towards Wreath, who was still very pushy, I diagnosed her with “schooled-by-older-mare-itis.” The two eventually worked out their differences, and soon Wreath returned to training.

Ready to Move On

It was a great day when I watched Wreath and her trainer effortlessly cantering around the arena. You could still see a slight left muzzle deviation if you looked closely, but the bay Mustang was more recognizable by the confident way she held her head and the shine in her eye.

I felt like I’d already known in my gut that this mare would make it, but it was still emotional. It was even more emotional for us when our beautiful mare finally became available for adoption and began meeting the public for the first time.

I’d love to end this column with a description of Wreath’s new family, and photos of her in her new home, but she hasn’t met them yet. Right now, it’s enough to know that she defied incredible odds and recovered completely.

But if we’re talking about gut feelings, I am certain that her family is out there, and that when they adopt this amazing young Mustang, they will love her and care for her forever. (And also change her name to something that doesn’t sound like “Wraith”!)

This final installment of Wreath’s high-altitude rescue story within Vet Adventures appeared in the June 2023 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Vet Adventures: High-Altitude Rescue, Part 3 appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

I’d mistaken the emaciated mare for an old horse, but it turned out that Doreen was only 5. She had a facial nerve injury that made her lips droopy and her muzzle crooked. She also had a freeze brand on her neck, indicating that she was a BLM Mustang.

I’d seen many horses with her type of injury that coped just fine, and since Doreen’s head never came out of the feeder, it was several days before we noticed that there was a problem.

Eating Troubles

One of the ranch hands, a woman named Michelle, haltered the emaciated mare. Doreen was indignant at being removed from her meal and tried to bite both of us. Michelle offered her a handful of hay and I could see that Doreen’s jaw and tongue were working normally as she chewed. But then a big green wad dropped out of her mouth.

She managed to get the lost hay back into her mouth and eventually swallowed most of it. My heart hurt as I remembered the weakened animal trying to access what little hay they’d been fed at the previous property. The stronger horses continually drove her away, and the owner of the so-called horse rescue had done nothing to help her. The mare surely would have starved to death had the sheriff not intervened.

Doreen was moved to a bright, roomy stall with fluffy pine shavings, an automatic waterer, and brand-new salt and mineral blocks. She celebrated by cleverly biting me as I listened to her heart and lungs. I shooed her nipping mouth away but didn’t have the heart to correct her.

Her pelvic bones jutted painfully, and her spine protruded from her coarse winter coat. I felt a familiar surge of anger toward the humans who had utterly failed Doreen. Maybe I needed to go bite someone, too.

Do the Mash

Michelle busied herself making Doreen’s first small mash, running the water in the big utility sink until it was nice and warm and adding it to pelleted feed. When horses have been starved, it’s important not to overfeed them, or they can become very ill.

Since Doreen had had access to food, she would be fed a little differently than if she’d had no food, but it would still be a slow and careful process. We used pelleted timothy hay in our mashes, and over time, would add in an easily digested ration.

The mash had to soak until it was softened, and Doreen, who was clearly tired of biting everyone, stood listlessly in her stall, her head hung low and a hopeless look in her eye. I stroked her shoulder and told her that food was on the way, and we were going to take care of her.

I don’t know if everyone else talks to horses as though they understand every word we say, but I’ve done it for my whole life. Doreen pinned her ears slightly at my voice, but otherwise ignored me.

Michelle lugged the steaming bucket in and tipped it into a large rubber feed tub. Doreen sniffed at it, then backed away in surprise, licking her lips. We’d made sure the ration wasn’t too hot for her, but Doreen wasn’t used to heated food.

She tried curling her upper lip into the air, but couldn’t quite manage it because of the nerve damage. She snorted indignantly at the rubber bucket and pawed the ground, then quickly nipped at Michelle’s arm again.

Michelle scooped a little mash into a small pan and offered it to Doreen. “If you want to bite something, try this!”

Doreen backed up a few more steps, then bravely sampled the mash. She mouthed it, and I saw her swallow. She went for more but dropped the second mouthful.

I nudged the tub on the floor, and this time she lunged at the mash with her mouth wide open. I reflexively tucked my arms inside the sleeves of my thick coat and moved aside. As Doreen chewed in delight, she lifted her head and looked directly at Michelle and I, and there was unmistakable relief and joy on the hungry mare’s face.

We hunkered down in the corner and thoroughly enjoyed watching Doreen eat her first mash. The mare dropped wet gobs of food all over the stall floor, but she eventually cleaned everything up and looked around eagerly for more. It was hard not to want to refill her tub, but we had to let her adapt to the new food, and it was critical to do so slowly. There was some fresh hay piled in the corner for her, and she’d get another small mash in six hours.

Next Steps for Doreen

As the days passed, Doreen got better and better at keeping the food in her mouth, and she bit us less and less. She learned to eat over the tub, so if she dropped food, she could easily recover it. After each meal, her feed tub was licked clean.

Her mashes increased in size and frequency. She was starting to gain weight and show an interest in her surroundings. We also realized how untrained she was, and I suspected that she’d been a victim of a program where people accept cash from the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) to adopt a Mustang, then promptly dump them at a sale lot. (Just in case your faith in humanity hasn’t already been tested enough today.)

Since we knew that the young mare was able to gain weight, the next step was determining whether the nerve damage to her face would be permanent. And the bigger issue was finding a permanent and stable home for Doreen, but who would want to take on a young horse that could only eat soft mashes?

The sensible thing to do was probably to euthanize her if she wasn’t able to recover, but I balked at the thought of snuffing out this mare’s life. She wanted to live, and we wanted to be able to give her a way to do that.

To be continued …

This installment of Doreen’s story within Vet Adventures appeared in the May 2023 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Vet Adventures: High-Altitude Rescue, Part 2 appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.

Police radios blared, lights flashed from squad cars parked around the house, and a fourth police truck roared up the unplowed driveway. After the police served the warrant, we had a horrible time getting our huge trailer up the road and turning it around. The angry owner gestured furiously at us as we maneuvered the trailer around the junk and snowdrifts in the driveway, then backed it up to the gates of the back field.

A Sad Sight

An old bay mare with a large crescent star on her forehead stood a short distance away. I sadly studied her jutting ribs and prominent spine. Her hindquarters were atrophied, her winter coat coarse and dull, and her flanks were drawn up tightly. It seemed to take most of her strength to remain standing.

There were a few scattered, yellow hay piles, and the herd was jostling around them. The old girl tried to join the scrum at the nearest pile, but the horses just packed in tighter and wouldn’t let her in.

There were almost 30 horses in the herd, and it was obvious that the owner had only thrown hay out because they knew we were coming. There were several empty feeders on the property that were partially filled with snow, and it was clear that they hadn’t seen hay in a long time. Horses kept in these conditions should have feeders stuffed with free-choice hay, not occasional scant piles getting blown across the frozen valley.

The herd ranged from visibly underweight to emaciated, and I made a beeline for the only blanketed horse in the group. In my experience, the horses that we investigated in places like these were only blanketed to hide their awful condition. Sure enough, when I pulled the blanket off, the poor horse was nothing more than a skeleton with fur. I shook my head as I ran my hand over his sharp hip bones, then took some photos and put the blanket back in place.

The Mountain’s Challenge

My colleague was at the other end of the group snapping pictures and writing notes on a pad, and I shivered as the wind came screaming around the side of the old barn, pelting my face with tiny pieces of ice.

We were at an elevation of 9,200 feet in the Rocky Mountains, and there weren’t many trees to provide a windbreak. Immense snowy peaks loomed at the edge of the broad valley, and bands of sunlight illuminated the ice crystals in the wind.

Normally, those mountains delighted me. Every time I drove through this area, I’d have to pull over. I’d get out of my truck and just breathe the icy air and gaze at the silent behemoths, a trail of snow lifting from the mountains as the relentless wind tore at them. But today, they just seemed ominous. The wind screamed in the distance, and a few horses quickly lifted their heads from their sparse meal.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” my colleague promised them as she went to meet with the police officers. We had four more trailers waiting on the main road, and as soon as the officers had given us their blessing, we loaded the first group. The horses practically leapt into the insulated trailer, and soon we were headed back down the long driveway.

Within the hour, all the horses were safely loaded and we began our slow convoy back to the ranch. On a normal day, the drive would take about three hours, but today it would be more like five. The team chatted back and forth on the radio, making sure everyone stayed together, and I glanced back at the desolate property, growing smaller in the rearview mirror. The trailer rocked gently as the horses settled in for the ride, and I said a silent prayer for their safety on the long journey.

Road to Recovery

We reached the ranch safely, and the waiting staff opened the gates wide. Trailer after trailer backed up to the alley and deposited their charges, and soon the herd was gathered in a large round pen.

We moved them carefully through the chutes, where they were weighed and evaluated, then given ID tags and names as a medical record was completed for each one. Over 80 percent of the herd was in poor condition, and I was shocked to learn that the “old” bay mare that had caught my eye on the property was only 5 years old. We named her Doreen.

When the exams were completed, we moved the tired herd up to a large pen that had several loafing sheds and massive feeders brimming with fragrant green hay. There was a place for everyone at the feeders, and the hungry horses settled in quickly. The entire team leaned against the fence and watched the horses enjoying their hay. It was the best kind of therapy after a long, hard day.

Doreen found a place at the feeder too, and her head was so far down in the hay pile, I could hardly see her. I watched her for a long time, but she never lifted her head from the feeder, and I chuckled to myself. She was finally going to have some good food and hopefully would begin to gain weight soon.

Down and Out

Every time I checked on the herd, Doreen was always in the same position with her head buried in the feeder. I’d watch her for several long minutes, then move on, knowing that she was getting great care and high-quality feed.

About a week later, a staff member came into my office looking worried.

“Dr. Diehl, it’s Doreen. I was cleaning her pen today and I saw that she was dropping a lot of hay out of her mouth. I watched her for a while, and even tried hand-feeding her, but I don’t think she’s able to eat.”

To be continued …

This edition of Vet Adventures about a high-altitude rescue appeared in the April 2023 issue of Horse Illustrated magazine. Click here to subscribe!

The post Vet Adventures: High-Altitude Rescue, Part 1 appeared first on Horse Illustrated Magazine.