Borrowing Freedom
The frostbitten grass crunched loudly underfoot as two men walked briskly towards the holding yards, a thick white fog still enveloped the low lying valley but was starting to lift slowly; all in all it was a typical early November morning in Montana. Previous snow falls had melted a week earlier but with the possibility of a snow storm over the next week the two men agreed that they had made the move just in time, if the round up had been left any later they might have encountered more problems, the days were still above freezing which meant that any snow that fell overnight would melt and cause the clay heavy soils to turn into a sticky bog or the was the strong possibility a heavy snowstorm would make getting near the higher country impossible.
Every year the rancher would move his herd of mustangs out of the higher, rougher country where they usually called home down to the lower pastures where they had more grass and would last the winter. Usually he left a few gates open and the mustangs would come down in their own time, but every second year the herd would be rounded up and brought to the yards where they would be drafted into three groups; main herd, extra care and yearlings/two year olds. The main herd included the stallion; a solid bay in his prime at seven years of age, his large group of roughly two dozen mares with their foals at foot and the young, up and coming mares. The extra care herd included the older mares who didn’t have foals either due to old age, those that were pregnant and possibly due to foal during winter or had very young foals at foot. These horses would be kept in a closer pasture where they could be supplementary fed hay if needed to make sure they made it through the winter. Some ranchers would just leave the old mares out with the herd and if they died then so be it but this rancher, Jeffrey Kellerman let them pass away in their own time rather than letting them starve to death.
The yearling/two year old group would be drafted depending on their sex; the fillies were part of an exchange program between ranches that had developed as private mustang sanctuaries, they would swap their young female horses to build up their herds and introduce new bloodlines. The colts, however, had a different future. Occasionally a rancher would take one as a replacement stallion but their fate was usually unknown, if they were lucky enough to get bought by a horse breaker they would be gelded, broken in and turned into pleasure horses or occasionally kept by the ranches and turned into work horses.
Jeff had done much research on mustangs and learnt that when the oldest colts and fillies became sexually mature they would be driven out of the herd by the stallion, to ensure that inbreeding would not occur. Instead of having to round up several small bands of horses once every five years or so it was easier to get them all in every second year which meant that the horses that were foals at the last round up would now be roughly two years old and ready to be removed from the herd, the foals at foot would be matched to their mother and catalogued; dam’s number, year of birth, sex and color and markings would all be noted. However because they were rounded up every second year the foals born in the year beforehand could not be matched to their mothers, unless for some reason the mare didn’t have a foal that year and the previous foal was still nursing. All horses were in the catalogue, whether they were born there or had come in from other ranches. If a horse was missing at the round up, it was guessed that it had passed away and this was noted; Jeff, if anything, was a meticulous record keeper.
Yesterday the herd was brought down from the high country and put into a small pen near the yards where they were given hay and access to water; it also served as time to allow the mares and foals to pair up which made it a lot easier to catalogue. Jeff had the book under his arm as he walked to the yard, talking with the young man who had helped him with the round up; Dean. Dean was a family friend; his father Bill and Jeff went back a long way, they went to college together in Colorado and had kept in contact throughout the years even when they had moved to different states, so when Jeff wanted someone to help Bill was the one he called.
Dean had spent virtually all of his life in the saddle. He had been riding since before he could walk, was breaking in horses before he hit twelve and for the past nine years he had spent approximately nine out of twelve months doing the Prairie Rodeo Circuit around Kansas, Nebraska and Oklahoma. He started as a saddled bronc rider, but when that became boring he took up bull riding. In his free time he worked on his parents Warmblood ranch and between rodeos he worked as a hired hand at whatever ranch needed it. There were ranches that he’d return to year after year and had almost become like family, which also meant that he had developed a network of people who not offered only support, but if he was travelling around they offered a place for him to stay.
Dean looked out at the horses grazing contently in the pen attached to the yards. “You want the usual information; mare, sex, color, markings for the foals at foot and sex, color and markings for the rest?”
“And if there’s any unusual note it. We’ll put it all in the book when we’re done. After cataloguing we’ll draft the yearlings and two year olds out. Fillies are going over to Chuck’s this year.”
It took just over two hours to mark document all sixty two horses; including the nineteen foals at foot, three heavily pregnant mares and a single mare with a very young foal. Jeff and Dean drafted the yearlings and the almost two year olds out and it was then, out of the corner of Dean’s eye, that he saw him: a young buckskin colt standing alone. It wasn’t the biggest in the yard, and his winter coat made him look quite rough, but there was just something about this colt that got his attention. This was the third time he had helped Jeff with the roundup but had never even thought of taking one back with him.
Dean knew quite a few horse people looked down on mustangs as rubbish horses but there were also many who saw the benefits in horses that had been shaped by centuries of natural selection and living in a tough environment; endurance, tough hooves that never needed shoes and because they were still wild the mustangs hadn’t picked up the bad habits that he had seen in so many horses over the years.
“Hey Jeff.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you know about the buckskin colt?” Dean pointed towards the young horse.
“He’d be rising two, his mother was in the ‘extra care’ herd last round up, I remember he was born in February because I saw a young foal when was taking a bale of hay out to them and as that mare always throws either buckskin or dun I knew just by looking at him that it was hers. Why? Interested in a new work horse?”
Dean nodded. “There’s just something about him. He for sale?”
“I’ll make you a deal: if you can get a rope around his neck before the truck comes on Friday he’s yours.”
Dean smiled and looked back out at the group of colts, he could see good bone structure, confirmation and although the buckskin colt was a bit skittish around the other colts Dean was sure it would make a great horse, he just needed to calm it down. He also knew that normal methods of breaking in a domesticated horse wouldn’t work for a mustang that had only seen humans a few times in its entire lifetime; he decided to use natural horsemanship techniques he had learnt while at college. Starting with something called ‘Hooking On’ which was based on methods used by the mustangs themselves, if young horses misbehaved in the herd the head mare would chase the offending horse out and keep it away from the others until it learnt to be submissive and do as it was told. It was now Tuesday afternoon and the truck was due Friday lunch time, he hoped that in three days he would be able to get this colt into the float he had brought his trusty old mare up in and tackle the 20 odd hour trip back home.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in the round yard, working with the buckskin. Dean would drive him around and around the edge of the yard, every five or so minutes he’d swap directions and drive the horse the other way. Domesticated horses didn’t usually take long to bond and ‘Hook On’, but he knew it would take a lot longer with a wild horse. Jeff watched in interest as Dean worked the horse, now into their second hour, he noticed the colt was starting to lick its lips and it had turned its head towards Dean. It was then that Dean stopped moving the colt around, broke eye contact and turned at an angle away from the horse. What was surprising was that the colt walked up to Dean and cautiously extended his nose until it touched Dean’s shoulder, the colt flinched but stood there as Dean turned around, slowly he raised a hand and touched the colt’s nose.
“Easy boy...” Dean whispered, keeping still as the colt pulled its head back from Dean’s hand before sniffing at his fingers. “Good boy... coming for a walk?” He walked away from the colt, hearing the hooves crunch the hard ground underneath. It was following and when he stopped, it stopped. Turning back around Dean put his hand out again, feeling the soft velvet like texture of the colt’s black muzzle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dean slowly moved his hand up until it rested about half way up the colt’s head. “I hear the hay’s pretty good.”
The next morning once all the remaining colts and fillies were in a larger fenced pen further away from the yards, Dean continued work on his buckskin colt; he repeated the ‘hooking on’ method from the day before until he was satisfied that the colt remembered before bringing in a long cane. Despite the initial fright the colt soon allowed this thing to touch him and run along his back. Dean kept the lessons short, only half an hour or so with a few hours rest in between. By the end of the day had the cane running over the colt’s body and neck and could get him to move forward, backwards and change direction by moving the cane in front or behind. That evening after Dean had finished and let the colt relax and enjoy some hay, they went back to the homestead and relaxed over a couple of beers, Jeff wanted to know what Dean was doing with the colt so Dean gave him a verbal lesson in some natural horsemanship techniques he had learnt; tomorrow he hoped would be the day that he’d get a rope around its neck.
When Thursday morning dawned it was still below freezing, the ground was covered in a thick, icy frost and every breath came out with a puff of thick mist. Further to the west some snow was visible on the higher mountains of the Rockies on the horizon which meant that snow was only a day or two away from falling on the ranch. Again Dean repeated the previous lessons with the colt before he introduced a rope, before now the only thing the horse remembered about the rope was it getting used previously to get him to trot around and around in circles so Dean decided to use a different colored rope. Using the same cane he had used the day beforehand, he made a loop with a slipknot and attached it to the end of the cane which he could pull when it was around the colt’s neck. Dean continued to run the pole and rope over the colt, again doing short lessons with breaks in between, just after lunch on the third lesson he ran the cane and rope up over the colt’s neck, carefully moving the loop over the its head he managed to get the rope off the end of the cane and continued to rub the horse’s neck as he slowly tightened the rope, knowing it was captured it reared and fought against the rope but Dean didn’t let go “Easy boy, I’m not going to hurt you...” He said softly to the colt, once he stopped rearing Dean let some pressure go on the rope and the colt stood still but it was still nervous, he had got the rope around the colt’s neck as per Jeff’s request.
“Congratulations Dean, you’ve got yourself a colt.” Jeff called out from outside the round yard.
Dean continued for another hour, adding a loop to the rope and using it like a makeshift halter to start teaching the colt to get lead, with small steps and a gentle pull on the end of the rope the colt started to learn when the rope was pulled a few steps forward would loosen the pressure and he could relax a bit. At the end of it Dean rubbed the colt’s head, whispered his usual goodbye and left the yard.
Friday morning dawned and a layer of snow covered the ground, the Rocky’s were hiding behind thick clouds.
“Looks like we got them down just in time” Jeff said as they walked outside after breakfast. “The truck should be here around noon so we’ve got to get them in and ready to load.”
“And I’ve got to get a halter on this colt and try to get him use to the horse float before I head off in the morning, Otherwise it’ll be an interesting twenty odd hours towing that float.” Dean said, walking over to his truck he got one of the spare nylon halters out of his tool box before going with Jeff to the yards where the colt was waiting. There was a few hours before the truck came so he had some time to work with the colt. “I should be right.”
“Well, if you need a hand just yell out. I’ll be over in the barn.”
“Will do.” Dean smiled and opened the gate to the yard. The colt lifted his head and let out a soft whinny. “Hey boy, we’ve got a big lesson today. But you’ve got to trust me, okay? See this thing?” Dean held up the halter for the colt to see. “I’m going to put this on your head and I know you won’t like it but I’ve gotta do it to get you home.” He walked up to the colt, extending a hand out which the horse sniffed. Dean started with the rope lead that was attached to the halter with a snap hook. Slowly and cautiously he got the rope lead loosely around the colt’s neck before running his hand across over its head, or as much as he could. He lifted the halter up so the colt could sniff it and see that it wasn’t going to hurt him, Dean then gently rubbed the halter over the colt’s nose and up between the eyes to get him use to it. Ever so slowly he moved the halter so he could get the band over the colt’s nose, then with each side of the lead in his hands he rubbed his hands up the colt’s cheeks and up behind the ears where he carefully slipped the end into the buckle, all the time whispering reassuring words. “Good boy, you’re such a good boy.” The colt lifted his head a bit, not use to the strange thing. “It’s just like that thing yesterday but it won’t come off. When we get home I’ll take it off, promise.” Dean stepped back, letting the length of rope out.
Saturday morning dawned to a light but steady snow fall, Jeff had got word that the young horses had arrived safely and the colts were going to a horse breaker who would geld and break them in. Pulling his truck and float up near the yards, Dean attached the lead to the halter that was on Terah; the older chestnut mare he had brought up with him, and tied her to the side of the float. He then went up to the colt, whispering softly he managed to get the halter and slowly started walking the horse towards the float. The day before Dean had managed to get the colt into the float, although it did take a while he managed to get the horse in, tied up with a long lead and got the bum bar and chain behind the colt without getting kicked or the horse rearing up. This time he decided to try a bribe and used a handful of hay to lure the horse in. It worked and the colt walked in. When it discovered there was a large amount of hay tied up at the front of the float he stood happily eating while Dean walked Terah into the float. With Jeff’s help he got the back of the float up and he could see that the colt was nervous, its ears were back but the food in front of it distracted him and surprisingly didn’t kick out.
“Take a bale of hay. If it keeps the colt distracted, it’ll make the trip better. Keep safe and keep me updated on your new horse. I want to see him next time you’re up!”
“Thanks again Jeff and I’ll give you a call when I get home.”
The two men said their goodbyes and Dean started the long trip home. It took two days to get from Jeff’s ranch in western Montana to the Richard’s family ranch just out of Sterling in central Kansas. He stopped every few hours to check on the horses, top up the hay and try them with some water, not wanting them to get too dehydrated on the long trip. It was dark by the time he reached his stop for the night; a ranch run by the Harmen family who Dean had met years beforehand in between rodeos in north-west Nebraska. He unloaded the horses into the cattle yards where they had water and some more hay. The Harmen’s offered him a belated dinner and a comfortable bed. In the morning he loaded the horses back up and started on his way, again stopping occasionally to check the horses and refuel when needed.
When he pulled up at home Dean let Terah out into the pasture where she galloped around like a young foal.
“Hey Dean, you’re home safe and sound.” His mother Sue said as she walked out of the house and up to the stable and yards, Dean had turned the lights on so he was able to see what he was doing as it was now getting dark. “What have we got here?” She asked, seeing the colt in the nearby yards.
“New addition. I’m setting up the quarantine pen for him.” Dean said as he made sure the pen was clean and that the electric wire that went around the outside was still functional.
Sue chuckled and shook her head “Trust you to bring home a mustang! Hope you’re going to repair any damage he does in here.”
“I managed to get us all home without any harm.” Dean grinned at his mother.
“Well, get him in the pen and come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.”
The next morning, just after dawn, Dean was out with the colt in the round yard. He had the halter with a long lead attached and was repeating the training he had done almost a week beforehand. Both of his parents came out to see why he hadn’t come in for breakfast. Dean had a brush in his hand and was gently brushing the colt’s neck, it was clear that the two of them were developing a bond. When he returned the colt to the pen his father, Bill, patted him on the back “He’s doing well. The vet’s going to be here just before Christmas to geld the half dozen yearlings if you want me to add him to the list.”
“That’d be great, thanks Dad.”
“No worries, looks like you’ve got a tough project over winter.”
“I think he’ll be a good work horse with some patience and training. Gives me a good excuse to use the natural horsemanship techniques I learnt on that course a few years ago.”
“Whatever you want, he’s your colt Dean.”
Dean spent until noon the next morning sleeping; spending nearly twelve hours behind the wheel really took it out of him. After getting changed and having lunch (or was it breakfast?) he walked to the stables, where the young colt was waiting in the quarantine pen. Seeing Dean, the colt put its head over the fence and sniffed at him. “Hey boy, I hope that you rested well last night. You’re really going to hate today, I’m going to have to give you some disgusting tasting stuff, but it’ll make sure you don’t have any nasty bugs in your system. But for now I’m going to get a brush and see how you go with getting touched. Hope you’re going to be on your best behavior.” He rubbed the colt between the eyes and went up to grab a few brushes as well as a long cane and a few extra ropes from the tack room. Coming back Dean put the canes against the fence, tied the ropes on the gate, and then let himself into large pen and the colt didn’t try to bolt out the small opening, which was progress. He lifted the brush and let the horse sniff it, showing that it wasn’t going to hurt either of them.
That evening he spent hours going through books before finding the perfect name for his new colt - Castiel. It was fitting seeing as Castiel was an angel of Thursday and Thursday was the day that the colt’s fate was sealed when he got the rope around the colt’s neck.
Castiel was responding well to the training. After three weeks Dean was able run his hand and brush over the colt’s body and he was now working on handling the legs and hooves. He decided to keep sticking with the groundwork and try a saddle and bridle after New Year’s, when Castiel had healed after his gelding operation.
Christmas rolled around quickly and while Sue was busy getting dinner ready and in the oven Dean headed up to the stables where they had moved all the new geldings to recuperate after having their operation, seeing as it was the middle of winter and the weather outside was hovering around freezing with the possibility of sleet or snow the young horses were better inside where it was dry and warmer. “Hey Cas, got you a little present.” Dean called out, stopping outside the stall where the buckskin was housed. He smiled and rubbed the gelding’s head. “Merry Christmas m’boy, I know it’s not much, but I’m sure you’ll like it none the less.” He lifted a leather hackamore out of the bag he was holding. “I know you don’t like that bit that I tried you with last week but this might be more comfortable, think you’re ready for me to sit on your back?” Yesterday he had stood on a step leant over Castiel’s back without the horse objecting that much, which was good bench mark considering that it was only six weeks since Dean had brought the buckskin back from Jeff’s. “I’ll see you tonight with some more hay. I know you love the grassy stuff.” He hung the hackamore up on the hook beside the stall, kissed the gelding on its black muzzle and headed back to the house.
Days passed. Castiel had allowed Dean to sit on his back without complaint and in combination with the hackamore he was starting to get the gelding to move. There was the odd attempt at a buck but Dean was able to stay on; years of bronco and bull riding were definitely coming in handy. Days passed and each time Dean worked with the gelding he saw improvements; he was able to get Cas to walk, trot, canter and gallop, move left and right as well as backing up. Not bad for a horse who just over two months ago was running wild in the foothills of Montana.
A week into the New Year, Dean introduced Cas to the saddle. He found the lightest saddle that would be comfortable for both of them and started by just putting the saddle blanket on his back. The next day he added the saddle. Cas seemed to understand that everything that Dean was doing was not hurting him and Dean’s habit of using a soft voice and always telling Cas what he was doing seemed to be helping them both. Four days after introducing the saddle blanket, Dean put the saddle on Cas and did up the soft, wide cinch strap that went down under the horse’s belly to make sure the saddle wasn’t going to move. Cas snorted and kicked a bit at this obtrusion but he soon settled.
Before Dean knew it was the middle of February and the rodeo season was back on. After packing his pickup, he walked over to the pen where Cas had spent most of the past three months. “Now Cas, I’m going away for a few weeks so behave. I’m going to put you out with the other geldings and I don’t want Mom or Dad to call me saying you’ve done something stupid.” He opened the pen and when Dean started walking Cas followed, opening the gate to the pasture where the other geldings were he let the buckskin walk in before shutting the gate behind them both. “I’ll be home when I can, okay boy?” He rubbed the buckskin on the head and through the black mane before kissing the horse’s muzzle. Cas snorted, as if to say he understood, Dean smiled before opening the gate a fraction and sliding out. Cas put his head over the top of the gate and gave a soft whinny. “Go on.” Dean said, waving a hand at the horse. Cas turned around and cantered off into the open area to where the geldings were grazing.
As the months ticked by Dean was able to get home approximately once every three weeks. He’d spend whatever free time he had furthering his horse’s knowledge and training. He was now able to use a saddle on Cas although he decided against trying the bit again, Cas was responsive enough with just a nose band.
Back on the circuit Dean went from rodeo to rodeo, filling in the few days in between working on whatever ranch or farm needed his help. Over the years he returned to some of the same places and had built up a lot of friendships along the way. He’d do anything from marking calves, plowing fields, cutting hay, to breaking in or retraining the odd horse. He didn’t mind as it gave him some extra money and the farmers were grateful to have a knowledgeable worker. When there was a break of more than 4 or 5 days or if he was around central Kansas, he’d go home and help around there. Dean was always happy to see Cas, who was misbehaving himself in the pasture with a few of the other geldings.
At the beginning of May the weekend rodeo was closer to home; Salina, he was looking forward to it and being able to go home after it was finished. He was a bit homesick and looking forward to some of his mother’s home cooked dinners. But that all had to wait until he finished the next two days.
Dean groaned as he opened his eyes to bright fluorescent lights, closing his eyes again he sighed and tried the best he could to relax.
“Dean Richards, how are you?”
Dean opened his eyes to see a nurse standing beside his bed. “Yeah, a bit groggy.”
“That’s normal. You were under for almost two hours and the orthopedic surgeon inserted a rod into your tibia to hold it together and pins and plates for the fibula. We’ll move you to your room in ten or so minutes to fully recover. Not feeling nauseous are you?”
“No.”
“Good. If you do just let me know and I’ll get you some medication for it.”
Dean nodded, closing his eyes again he drifted off to sleep again. When he awoke again he was in a different room and his mother sitting on a chair next to the bed. “Mom?”
“Hey sweetie, how are you?” Sue asked, getting up from her seat.
“Tired, my throat’s dry but I’m okay.”
“Want a drink?” Sue walked over to the table, poured some water out of the pitcher into a plastic cup, and held it up so Dean could have a sip.
“I can hold it myself Mom.” Dean said with a smile
“Sorry hon, force of habit.” Sue smiled back.
His parents had arrived the day before and stayed with him for a while. Bill returned to the ranch and Sue stayed at a nearby hotel just to make sure Dean was alright. They listened to how Dean broke his leg, the bull he was riding threw him and Dean wasn’t quick enough to move and the both the bull’s back legs landed on his lower leg breaking his tibia in two places and also breaking his fibula. He had to stay the night because the orthopedic surgeon wouldn’t be there until the next day, Until then they put him on strong painkillers and anti-inflammatory medications to tide him over.
“I picked up your truck. She’s okay and I’ll drive you home when they give you the all clear.”
“Thanks Mom, I won’t be driving it for a few more months and looks like I’ve got the rest of the season off.” Dean sighed; he knew it’d be at least six months before he could get back on a bull if not longer and the season only went to November.
“I know Dean. At least you’ll have a bit more time to spend with Cas,” Sue said, with a little smile, knowing that Dean was upset at missing months of bull riding and income from prize money and the small amount he earned from his weekday ranch work.
Sue had brought with her some clothes to go home in, a stack of books for him to read and Dean’s old laptop computer knowing he’d need something to keep him entertained for the next few days. The surgeon also made a visit and explained what he did and that Dean would have to stay in hospital for a few days to make sure there was no sign of infection and if the physiotherapist gave the okay then he could go home with crutches.
Sure enough by Thursday morning both the surgeon and physiotherapist gave him the all clear. If Dean had any issues or prolonged pain, he was to call the surgeon immediately. He also got the name of a physiotherapist in Sterling to begin rehabilitation when he was able to put some weight on his leg. Sue drove the two of them back to their ranch and let Dean relax on the couch with his leg up on a few cushions.
“Thank god I’m home. Really looking forward to a decent meal and my own bed.” Dean said as Sue brought him in a soda. “And thank you for everything.”
“It’s my job honey; just don’t expect me to give you sponge baths.” Sue winked before handing Dean the remotes to the TV and DVD player. “I’ve put in The Untouchables. Want me to cook you some popcorn?”
Dean smiled up at his mother. “No Mom, I’ll be all right for now.”
“Enjoy! I’m going out to give your father a hand with moving some horses. I’ve got my cell with me so if you need something call.”
After dinner while his parents did the dishes, Dean went outside on his crutches. He went straight to the gelding pen and whistled. Cas raised his head. “C’mon Cas.” The gelding trotted over to the gate and Dean managed to open the gate just enough for Cas to get out. “I look funny I know, but I’ll be alright. I’m moving you back to the stables for now, okay?” Cas nudged Dean with his nose and as Dean hobbled over to the stables the horse followed him as obediently as a well-trained dog. He let Cas into the stall, a biscuit of hay already in the rack as he hobbled in, a brush in hand. “You look like you could do with a brush. Your coat looking a lot better than when we first met. I can’t believe how quiet you’ve become, but we’ve still got a long way to go.” Dean stayed in the stables for hours; talking about anything and everything while he groomed Cas and in the end when Cas lay down, feet tucked underneath him, Dean got down and rested his back against the horse’s shoulder where he promptly fell asleep.
Over the next few days Dean hobbled the best he could around the ranch but he felt useless because having to use the crutches he was unable to carry or lift anything. A week and a half after the surgery he had an appointment with the physiotherapist. There was only one question that Dean wanted and answer to, how long until he was able to ride a horse? He was told that if he was careful and didn’t put too much weight on his injured leg in the stirrup, he could try. But any sign of pain he was to stop before it did any damage.
“C’mon Cas.” Dean said, as he led Cas out of the stables. Instead of putting pressure on his leg by using the stirrups to get up, he decided there were two ways of getting onto Cas; either using the flat bed of his father’s pickup to get up and onto the horse’s back or getting Cas to lie down and get on his back that way and have the horse to stand up. He had done it before but not with Cas. He also decided against using the saddle. He enjoyed riding without it and it’d help keep his injured lower leg toned. Putting the reins over Cas’s neck he sat up on the bed and managed to get himself over onto Cas’s back. “Good boy.”
Digging his heels in lightly and clicking his tongue got Cas walking. Together they walked down past the house towards the large pasture that last year was planted with alfalfa. This year however, it was empty, letting the soil rest and replenish the nutrients the alfalfa had taken out of it. It was one of Dean’s favorite pastures to ride in when it wasn’t in use. He got in through the gate without having to get off Cas’s back and once in the pasture he kicked the horse into a canter, gripping tighter with his legs he closed his eyes and trusted Cas.
Sure he loved the adrenaline rush of bull riding but nothing beat this freedom, riding the horse that was becoming his best friend and really, he couldn’t be happier.