Without mother's milk, a foal can last for a while in the wilderness, sometimes as long as a couple of months. Because of her location when rescued, and because she was starving, her rescuers reasoned that she had been a nursing foal who had recently lost her mother.
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Yet she was nervous, not skittish like a lot of horses are, especially wild ones she was distracted, preoccupied, perhaps even haunted. Over the weeks, they nourished her and she grew strong and regained muscle and she began to walk without falling down. Two days later, at their sanctuary in Carson City called Wild Horse Spirit, Betty and her partner Bobbi Royle helped her stand. She was covered with ticks and parasites, weak and anemic. "She was a carcass with a winter coat," Betty Lee Kelly, a rescuer, later told me. Four men lifted her onto a platform and carried her down the hill and into the trailer. The stars were particularly bright that night and helped the rescue party, equipped only with flashlights, lumber across the sands and up the rocky rise where the filly was down. As it grew dark, a trailer was pulled across the washes and gulleys until it approached the filly, about a hundred yards away and down hill.
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A vet arrived and could find no injuries. She tried to get up but couldn't and the stallion rejoined his little band. A bachelor stallion had been watching from a distance and now came over and nibbled at the foal's neck. He saw a dark foal lying down in the sagebrush, not able to get up. Something made him look to his left, up a hill. Two months later on a cold and sunny afternoon, a man was hiking in the mountains outside Reno. Two-thousand years earlier, Christ had been born in a stable.
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The men were shouting and then there was another bright light-it trained from the vehicle across the sunken bajada and it swept the sands, illuminating the wild and running four-legged spirits as their legs stretched in full perfect extension, flashing across their hides which were dun and paint and bay, making a living mural in 3-D in which the American story-all of it-was frozen here forever, in the desert as it always is, as bullets hissed from the vehicle through the patches of juniper and into the wild horses of the old frontier. Perhaps the mare, already upright, bolted instantly, turning her head to see if the foal had followed.
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The black foal might have taken a second or two longer than the others to rise.