I was out riding on the sagebrush range,
When I saw something that struck me as strange.
An orphaned foal was fighting death,
And seemed to be nearing his last breath.
The tiny colt was a pretty piebald,
And my mouth gaped open as I stood appalled.
His ribs were showing through the saggy skin,
And he was lookin' mighty weak and thin.
He couldn't have been more than one week old,
And he was nearly frozen from the frigid cold.
His mother lay where she had died,
And the young foal would not leave her side.
It must have been a brutal fight.
Her mangled body was a pitiful sight.
The mountain lion had made its kill,
But never got to eat its fill.
The mare had stopped the puma with well-placed kicks,
And smashed its head like a ton of bricks.
The poor little baby was left alone,
Starving to death since his mother was gone.
For five minutes I just stood and stared.
The poor little fella was awfully scared.
Emaciated and feeble, he tried to rise,
And looked at me with pleading eyes.
So I took the little mottled waif,
Back to the ranch, where he'd be safe.
I fed him warm milk, grain and hay,
And he grew stronger every day
I watched him grow as the months went by.
He now stands 15 hands high.
He's the prettiest horse here on the place
But I'll always remember his little pleading face.