Border Patrol Stories
Horse Patrol
By John A. Kalabus, U.S. Border Patrol Session 130
By John A. Kalabus, U.S. Border Patrol Session 130
In the 1980s, horse patrol was not a regular duty in Yuma, Arizona, but we tried it for some time. I was detailed to the horse patrol for a month in the early 1980s and was assigned a black and white pinto mare named Molly.
One day, a group of us was conducting a sweep through a citrus grove, searching for undocumented pickers. Molly handled beautifully, sometimes cantering down the rows between the lemon trees with me on top, being whipped by the tree branches. A slight nudge on the reins, and she would turn this way or that, following my directions.
I had rounded up ten or twelve undocumented lemon pickers and had them lined up single file, marching out of the grove in front of me as I rode Molly behind them. Molly kept turning her head to look back behind us.
At the edge of the lemon grove, the pickers were loaded onto our detention bus. Then, I relaxed the reins and gave Molly her head. Immediately, she turned and trotted back among the forest of lemon trees. I simply held on and let her go. She turned several times, dodging around the trees and going deeper into the grove. Soon, she came to a sudden stop and stood still, facing a particular lemon tree.
I peered down under the low-hanging branches, and there lay another man. He had hidden from our Border Patrol sweep, but Molly had figured out the game and took me directly to the undocumented lemon picker. Molly pranced proudly as we escorted that man out of the grove.
One day, a group of us was conducting a sweep through a citrus grove, searching for undocumented pickers. Molly handled beautifully, sometimes cantering down the rows between the lemon trees with me on top, being whipped by the tree branches. A slight nudge on the reins, and she would turn this way or that, following my directions.
I had rounded up ten or twelve undocumented lemon pickers and had them lined up single file, marching out of the grove in front of me as I rode Molly behind them. Molly kept turning her head to look back behind us.
At the edge of the lemon grove, the pickers were loaded onto our detention bus. Then, I relaxed the reins and gave Molly her head. Immediately, she turned and trotted back among the forest of lemon trees. I simply held on and let her go. She turned several times, dodging around the trees and going deeper into the grove. Soon, she came to a sudden stop and stood still, facing a particular lemon tree.
I peered down under the low-hanging branches, and there lay another man. He had hidden from our Border Patrol sweep, but Molly had figured out the game and took me directly to the undocumented lemon picker. Molly pranced proudly as we escorted that man out of the grove.
Horse Patrol
DISCLAIMER: The views and experiences shared in this story are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of HonorFirst.com, the U.S. Border Patrol, or any government agency. These stories are presented for historical and cultural insight and have been submitted by current or former Border Patrol employees with minimal editing for clarity.
