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highest bidder; the trainers receive 20 percent commission on any winning bid over $200. The idea is to show that mustangs are trainable and make great companion horses. "I have to say," says Reinhardt, now 42, "I didn't think I'd fall in love with this horse and want to keep it." When Reinhardt and her husband, David Villanueva, drove down to a holding facility in Oklahoma to pick up their horse, they began to have sec- ond thoughts. She got horse number 9056, a blood bay 14 hands, 3 inches tall and about 950 pounds. "They released him from his pen and he came run- ning out. He skidded sideways and fell under the panels, jumped up and ran down to the end of the shoot, crashing into more panels. It was crazy. Once he was in the shoot, he tried to leap over the eight-foot gate. It was clear my horse was crazy. I was so worried that he was going to hurt himself. When we finally got him in the trailer, he started trying to dig through the bottom of the trailer, pawing and thrashing. As we were driving out, we passed a couple of people and they were like, 'Good luck with that.' Then after about five minutes, he completely settled down for the rest of the ride." After the Reinhardts returned home, the mustang tried to scale their panels; he bloodied his knees and face. Then in the morning, he kept trying to roll on the dirt, but his knees were so battered from the shoot he couldn't get down. He finally found a way by rolling on his shoulder to rub against the dirt. This calmed him, and Reinhardt realized the problem: He came from Oklahoma, which is humid; Colorado is dry. He was itchy. That turned out to be Reinhardt's saving grace. "He would let me scratch him, and that's how we bonded." She named him Doc, after her pony. She took things slow with Doc for the first few weeks, doing a lot of ground- work. "We started to become really close, and as the show loomed ahead, I dreaded the idea of giving him up." Doc changed everything. He became the leader of Reinhardt's horses, who could be quite mean to each other; they would often bite and kick. "Doc came in and took over. He's the benevolent leader. He walks in with this air about him and owns the place. He just looks at a horse to move it off the hay. He's never mean. He has tons of wisdom. I've heard that wild horses are more functional because the family structure in the wild develops healthy social behavior. He's smarter than any domestic horse I've ever known." One of Reinhardt's favorite stories centers on her electric fence. One morning she went out and Doc was gone. She was heartbroken. He was wild, she thought; he was never coming back. "My husband said, 'Why don't you just go out there and call him?'" She looked at him as if to say, Are you kidding? He's not a dog. She gave it a try, and sure enough, Doc came trotting down the driveway. They soon discovered Doc's secret: He figured out the electric fence, find- ing a place he could lay down and crawl under it. None of their other horses had figured this out. Doc would let himself out so he could run around the yard and graze, then put himself back in the pasture for feed time. Reinhardt didn't ride Doc until day 45. "He never did anything wrong, didn't buck or bolt. On one of our first trail rides, we ran into a mountain biker and dirt biker, and had no trouble. On a domestic horse, you would have been through the trees hanging on for dear life." As the first day of Extreme Mustang Makeover got close, Reinhardt's anxi- ety about losing Doc became more intense. She borrowed money from three different clients so she could buy Doc back. "I was a nervous wreck. I was fearful I wasn't going to be able to afford him." Reinhardt and Doc did okay in the competition, finishing in the middle of the pack. They did the basics: walk, trot, canter, side pass, back through poles, a little jumping. Doc knows lots of tricks now. No one was more surprised by the scene than Reinhardt's husband. "He's been to horse shows, parades, and rodeos. He thought it was amaz- ing. In the two days of the event, he didn't see a single horse kick a person or another horse. He didn't see a single horse pull back against its lead rope; not a single rider got bucked off. You see all Colorado trainer Stefanie Reinhardt and her adopted wild horse, Doc. these things at horse events. And here there were 300 horses, and they were all so calm. When they were being rode [four years ago], guys were starting up chainsaws, shotguns, cracked bull whips—things that would make horses go bonkers." Most importantly, Reinhardt got to first keep Doc. She was able to buy him back at a bargain price. Most of the adopters must have felt the same way: At least 75 percent of the trainers bought their horses back. "My horse made me change my mind about the American mustang," Reinhardt says. "But to see the effect that the mus- tangs had on their adopters—it really proved that these horses are amazing, and they are perfect for a lot of people." T he mustang wars bring up oppos- ing political and personal values—for example, the conser- vationist who believes in preserving wild spaces versus the resource developer who believes the main function of public lands is for the production of gas and oil, mining, and cattle grazing. Or the ani- mal rights activist versus those with a "man on top" worldview, where man has the right to use animals for his own purpose without concern for the ani- mal's suffering. It also challenges our political beliefs: a deregulation, laissez-faire attitude versus a pro-regulation philosophy that promotes safeguards over profit. Change is happening, however. In response to criticisms about helicop- ter roundups, the BLM has put out bids for more humane, on-the-ground capture techniques. But the mustang wars show no sign of a ceasefire, and the questions remain: If you have a strong belief, what can you do to con- front the powers that be—in this case, big business and big government? And can one person's actions make a difference? For Wild Horse Annie, James Anaquad-Kleinert, Karen Sussman, and Stefanie Reinhardt, the answer is almost certainly yes. AP aspenpeak-magazine.com 131