New life, new Mustang

I have always been a series enthusiast. I admired that ability to intoxicate the viewer; to bewitch them with a story with its characters to the point of provoking a state of feverish anticipation between one chapter and the next. Almost unwittingly, I seemed to have achieved that same effect with my team: much to their chagrin, the destination to which I took Max remained undisclosed during the holidays. There were complaints and requests, but the "pause" remained in place, immobile, and they had no choice but to respect the times and silences of their narrator. 

Not that I enjoyed keeping the secret, of course not. I wanted to find a special photo with which to tell you the next chapter of this Californian story, even though I knew that so much waiting could have the opposite effect: the loss of steam in my small enthusiastic audience. To do so, I had to go through old notebooks, diaries and drawings. Those who know my dreaming capacity know that this is a double-edged sword, since memories of trips and experiences always come with new ideas to work with. Finally, the search paid off and I presented the image to the team, like a riddle to be solved. The answer was the same answer he gave me when I announced the surprise, years ago.

***  

 

-Where is it? - Max asked. His voice gave no hint of nerves, but I knew I had him puzzled.

-Wait and see," I said. 

The road snaked in front of us and the desert continued to slide on both sides. I drove confidently, knowing that we would eventually reach our destination. Little by little, the panorama was revealing traces of vegetation that were becoming more frequent, until a road turned off to the right and I took it. 

-Are you sure we're on the right track? - Max asked again.

I smiled, smug.

*** 

 

- But you had kidnapped him! - said Sofia.

Everyone laughed. 

- You're just like him, you have no idea where he was taking him - I said, enjoying my last seconds of mystery.

-I think I have an idea of what you intended," said Joaquín, handing me his cell phone. I looked at the spot on the map, and then at him. Joaquín and I had a very powerful connection when it came to storytelling.

-Very good! 

*** 

On a piece of wood, large white letters read "Wild Horse Sanctuary". We left the car near the entrance and walked to the largest cabin, which seemed to be the main cabin of the facility.

-Where did you discover this place?

-My grandfather visited him a few years ago and, because of his stories, I've always wanted to come," I replied.

The Wild Horse Sanctuary was created with a single purpose: to preserve California's legacy in the form of the Mustang horse. There are 2,000 hectares of wild territory, where more than 300 protected horses live, forming a large herd. Now anyone can visit them and imagine that virgin California of the past, the original land of Calafia.

Mestengos or mostrencos were the horses of the Spanish conquistadors that escaped from their stables and returned to nature. They abandoned the wedge for the desert, the horseshoes for the sun and the stirrups for freedom. 

-Today they form a race of their own," I said, as we approached the hut. I turned around, realizing that Max wasn't following me. He had run back and was already catching up to me again, drawing an analog camera. 

-This is worth recording," he said, smiling. I have to confess that I liked the feeling of having awakened his artistic, journalistic or childish curiosity instinct. That sparkle in his eyes had been triggered by me and I wanted to maintain it at all costs.

We entered the lodge and were greeted by a woman and, after a brief introduction, hired her as a guide on a horseback tour of the reserve.

-Have you ever ridden a horse? - I asked Max, as we were being led to the stables. 

He smiled, nothing more.

Dianne, our guide, told us that this was home to the few domesticated horses on the reserve that accompanied visitors on rides and trails. Max was assigned a black horse and I was assigned a white horse. 

As soon as I was given the reins I approached the animal and stroked his face and mane with affection. He, with an appeasing calmness, snorted, satisfied. When I turned around to see how Max had gotten on with his black stallion I saw that I had already mounted him and that they were both watching.

-Ready? - he asked, amused.

***  

-I knew how to ride! Who will win the challenge, Manuela or Max? Do you bet? - asked Fernanda, laughing.

-Shut up, I want to know how the story continues," Sofia cut her off.

-My money's on the boss, I'm sure she had an ace up her sleeve," said Joaquín, making me smile. 

-Well, not exactly under the sleeve. It was the reserve that had something prepared for us.

***  

The first Mustangs soon appeared in front of our eyes. Many wandered through the vegetation alone, some grazing and others just enjoying the sun. They were rather small in size and short-necked. Being descendants of Spanish breeds that mixed with each other when they regained their freedom, there were specimens of every possible color: white, black, bay and brown.

It was while passing by a small pond that we saw her. She was lying on the ground under the shade of a large tree. The movement of her chest indicated that she was still breathing. Dianne jumped down when she saw it and approached the animal. After a brief inspection she returned to us.

-She's going to give birth," she said, unhooking a large bag from her animal's saddle and hurrying back to the mare.

Max dismounted from his horse, handed me the camera and reins and went after Dianne. I heard him comment something to her and she nodded. They both arranged their clothes and knelt down in front of the horse. They both seemed to know very well what they were doing. They began to pull and soon hooves, heels, carpals and paddles came out, until finally the head appeared. The rest of the process went very quickly and the foal finally lay down next to its mother, who began to lick it and pull up pasture to clean it.

In the meantime, I had dismounted our horses on a shady fence and experienced the scene from a safe distance, absolutely fascinated. Max was still beside the foal, mesmerized, and I was focusing on him with the lens of his camera. I watched him reach out and stroke its little mane and speak sweetly to the mother who was resting after foaling. Then he stood up and came toward me. He took my hand and asked for my camera.

He took a picture that, to my surprise turned away from the mother-son scene and showed only our horses. 

When I asked him why he didn't photograph the birth, Max shrugged his shoulders and said by way of reply:

-I don't want to forget this story, but I also don't want to steal this moment.

And I turned, watching the mother caressing her little one, knowing that this moment would stay with me forever.