In Colorado’s Little Bookcliffs, local volunteers keep wild horses alive
Jan 08, 2026 03:39PM ● By Colleen M. Story
If you ever find yourself in the rugged canyons just north of Grand Junction, there’s a good chance you might spot Judy Cady somewhere out there checking water tanks, clearing trails or rattling a gate closed before dusk settles in.

Cady has been doing this kind of work for nearly four decades, volunteering with Friends of the Mustangs (FOM) to protect the wild horses that roam the Little Bookcliffs range.
“I love horses,” she said, as if that’s reason enough.
But her commitment goes deeper than that, as she’s responding to a real need.
“They would suffer if local people weren’t involved,” Cady added.
Her connection to the herd started shortly after she and her husband moved to a house in a more rural area of town. She heard that neighbors were giving away two horses—mustangs, as it turned out. She’d never owned one, but after riding a little black mare named Beauty, she wanted to get more involved.
Soon she was attending FOM meetings and riding with a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) specialist on the range. Not long after Cady joined this group of devoted mustang advocates, they asked her to be president.

“I didn’t even know anything yet!” she said with a laugh.
But it didn’t matter. Cady had the kind of grit that got things done, and she’s been doing just that ever since.
"Some of my best volunteers are in their 70s. They're active, they can work and they know things too."
FOR THE LOVE OF MUSTANGS

The Little Bookcliffs Wild Horse Range spans about 36,000 acres of steep terrain and scattered springs. It’s fenced in, which means the horses rely on that land and the people who care for it to survive.
Cady has become the boots-on-the-ground caretaker for much of it. Over the years, she has helped manage fencing, monitored herd numbers and kept water flowing through droughts. When tanks rusted or cracked, she arranged to have new flexible rubber ones flown in by helicopter.
“It’s a tough range to manage,” she said, “it’s cut by huge canyons, so accessibility is really tough. We have very little running water, so we’ve tapped springs to run into the water tanks. That’s become my main job—keeping those tanks working well.”
The horses don’t make it easy.
“They’re really rough on everything,” said Cady. “We have bears up there too! But that water is lifesaving.”

As BLM involvement shifts, more responsibility falls to volunteers. Cady has recruited the Western Colorado Conservation Corps for occasional projects and raised donations alongside other members. All the while, she’s kept climbing hills on her trusty mustangs to help the herd.
Cady does all of this on a volunteer basis, as do other Friends.
“Some of my best volunteers are in their 70s,” she said. “They’re active, they can work and they know things too.”
WILD AT HEART
Every year, the BLM gathers up some of the horses to adopt, as the range can only support up to 150.
Cady often helps with that process and is excited about the new foster program for mustang yearlings launched last year. Instead of sending all gathered horses directly to a holding facility, 16 went to local volunteers who taught them the basics—haltering, picking up feet, leading and loading into trailers.
After talking to Cady, you’ll begin to feel like you know the horses yourself. She speaks nostalgically about Barron, the blue roan stallion who ruled the range for two decades and now has Barron’s Field named in his honor; his son, Barron Jr. (BJ), who still lives with Cady; and of course, Beauty, the fearless first mustang who put many “city horses” to shame.
“That horse could go anywhere,” she recalled. “She never questioned me. If I said, ‘Let’s go,’ she’d scramble through the brush and find a way.”
Cady has helped gather and process hundreds of mustangs, named foals at meetings and watched horses she knew be adopted into new homes.
But for all the successes, there have been rocky moments too. When BLM leadership changed, communication fell apart and she found herself scrambling just to get a cattle guard installed.
“My horses were about to be free-roaming,” she said. “I called the state guy and said, ‘I need this now!’ And the next week, we had a cattle guard.’”
That no-nonsense attitude is summed up in one of her favorite T-shirts.
“My T-shirt says, ‘I’m Judy.’ And on the back: ‘No whining.’”
Another volunteer made a T-shirt that said: “I rode with Judy and I survived.”
She’s served multiple terms as president and has never been shy about speaking up for the herd.
“I can rub people the wrong way,” she admitted, “but somebody’s got to do it.”
Now in her 70s, Judy isn’t thinking about legacy or recognition. Her focus is still on replacing pipes, checking tanks, preparing for the next auction and caring for her newest adoption, a mustang named Adobe.
If you ask why she keeps going, she’ll probably tell you the horses need her—but she needs them too.
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