Some people, some places, you just know are special. It’s in the way they speak with sincerity, the way they make you feel the moment you arrive. There’s a place like this in Bull Valley, Illinois. Operation Wild Horse is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit run by Patti Gruber and her assistant director, Megan Townsend. On a blazing August day, I had the opportunity to visit. The winding, tree-lined drive gave way to open pastures where mustangs grazed lazily in the sun. As I pulled in, the sound of crunching gravel mingled with the soft nickers of horses who had gathered along the fence line.
By the time I parked and stepped out, Patti was already walking toward me, greeting me with a warm smile and a firm handshake. Her dusty jeans and worn boots painted a picture of a woman who works hard and leads with heart. As we exchanged pleasantries, a loud voice rang out from a passing car. Patti laughed, “We get that all the time, either a veteran shouting a greeting to their horse, or a neighbor just saying hi.” It was a small moment, but it told me everything I needed to know, this was a place built on connection, belonging, and love.
Operation Wild Horse pairs U.S. military veterans with wild mustangs, creating a space where trust is rebuilt, one quiet moment at a time. The program operates out of the Bull Valley Equestrian Center on 10 acres of rented land, and since its founding in 2017, it has grown into a lifeline for hundreds of veterans. Patti’s vision stems from the belief that veterans and mustangs share something profound, both are resilient, misunderstood survivors who have endured harsh conditions and carried scars, visible or not.
Many of the horses that arrive here were considered “throwaway” animals, destined for holding pens or worse. Most come from the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), which manages wild horse populations across the American West. For decades, the BLM has rounded up mustangs from public rangelands when herds grow too large for the available resources, placing them in holding facilities and up for adoption. “That’s where we step in,” Patti explained. In addition to BLM adoptions, many horses are donated by veterans or the families of veterans, each animal carrying its own legacy of resilience.
When a new veteran joins the program, there’s no assignment or pressure. Instead, they’re invited to spend time with every horse in the herd, walking quietly through the pastures, letting instinct and emotion lead the way. “They usually bond quickly,” Megan said. “It’s almost like the horse picks them.” These initial meetings often mark the start of a partnership that becomes deeply personal, built on patience, trust, and mutual respect.
“They’re literally changing lives,” Megan says, “both the horses’ and the veterans’.” That truth becomes clear in every story shared, every quiet interaction between horse and rider.
Take Valor, for example. Once a band stallion in the wild, he bears the scars of years spent fighting to protect his herd. He’s not rideable and remains wary, but Patti says he’s one of their best teachers. “Valor physically shows the invisible scars of our veterans,” she explained. His reactions mirror the emotions of those around him, tense when they are anxious, calm when they are grounded. In that way, Valor helps veterans see their inner state reflected back at them, offering lessons no words could teach.
Throughout my visit, I met veterans who brought the program’s mission to life. Marty, a 77-year-old Marine, rides Jelly, a mustang donated by a Marine sniper’s father. Patti fussed over him like family, teasing him about the candy she knows he keeps in his car and adjusting his hat so the pins from his service could be seen. Their affection was genuine, and it was clear this wasn’t just a program; it was a community.
Then there was Rich, a legally blind Air Force veteran, who rides Firefly. His wife, Mary Ann, drives him from Milwaukee each week. “He never asks for anything,” she says. “But when he saw a documentary about Operation Wild Horse, he said, ‘I’d like to meet those horses.’ I knew then I’d make it happen.” For the past year, the two have come together. She rides alongside him, both finding peace and purpose in the barn.
Dan, a first responder with the sheriff’s department, began attending after a particularly traumatic call. A veteran friend suggested he give it a try. He’s been riding Bango for three months now. On my second visit, he stopped by just to see “his” horse. The way Bango nuzzled him and the quiet pride in Dan’s expression painted a picture of mutual healing.
Two Army veterans, Susan and Meg, showed off their horses’ skills on the obstacle course, guiding them through patterns of trust and cooperation. Both women exuding a calm, quiet strength. They shared that equal to the healing the horses provide, is Patti’s ability to create a welcoming environment.
While there’s structure to the program - veterans are assigned times so Patti and Megan can check in if someone misses - the doors are always open. “If a veteran needs us, they can come anytime,” Patti said. They conduct 80–100 sessions each month, sometimes with one veteran, sometimes with twenty, equating to more than 10,000 sessions since opening their gates. Wednesdays are reserved for women veterans, and though it’s scheduled time is 7–9 p.m., Patti laughs that it usually runs closer to 6–10. “If there’s a need,” one veteran told me, “Patti will do her best to fill it.”
The herd itself is a colorful collection of personalities, consisting of 16 mustangs, 2 mini horses, 7 burros, 1 mini donkey, a goat named Muffin, and two ducks, Coaster and Becky, who no longer lay eggs but are loved (and teased) just the same. Each animal carries a story. There’s Pearl Snap, a striking black-and-white paint who knows he’s beautiful; Ranger and Twenty-Two, the youngsters of the group; and Jack, the oldest mustang, now retired but constantly doted on. Megan’s horse, Little Man, is one she trained herself, a testament to patience and persistence.
Patti’s own journey with mustangs began decades ago. She grew up in the saddle, and in her late twenties brought home her first wild mustang. Later, she adopted a stallion named Padré, who went on to make history as the first wild horse to qualify for Dressage at Devon, one of the most prestigious horse shows in the country. That experience inspired her to give back and to use the power of horses to help others heal.
What is most striking at Operation Wild Horse isn’t the impressive numbers or accomplishments, but the still moments: a veteran brushing a mustang’s neck, the quiet rhythm of breathing in sync, a horse resting its head on a shoulder. Healing here isn’t loud or linear. It happens in small gestures, it’s in the patience, gentleness, and presence.
The mustangs are honest teachers. They don’t speak, but they respond. Veterans learn to quiet their thoughts, steady their emotions, and communicate through calm confidence. In return, the horses offer trust, a gift that must be earned. Over time, the relationship becomes a mirror, with each reflecting strength, vulnerability, and resilience back to the other.
Some veterans describe the mustangs as “listening.” Patti shared stories of men and women arriving unannounced, unsure where else to turn, finding solace in the barn. She has watched conversations between veterans, and sometimes just the silent company of horses, save lives. “We’ve had veterans call us in the middle of the night or just show up when they didn’t know where else to go,” she said. “Sometimes the difference between life and death is knowing someone will answer.”
Operation Wild Horse doesn’t strive to be the biggest program, only the best. Their attention is deeply personal. If someone doesn’t show up, they go looking. If someone calls at 3 a.m., they answer. And that care goes both ways, the veterans show up for each other, and for the horses. Week after week, they return to this place of dust and sunlight, of trust and forgiveness.
The transformations aren’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s a light returning to someone’s eyes. Sometimes it’s a horse finally relaxing under a gentle hand. Sometimes it’s a quiet realization: “I am not alone.” Patti and Megan serve as stewards, keeping watch over the herd and the humans alike, creating a safe, steady space where both can heal.
Operation Wild Horse isn’t just a program; it’s a sanctuary of second chances. The mustangs and veterans arrive carrying weight, scars, stories, uncertainty, and through patience and connection, they learn to stand taller, a weight that may be too heavy to carry alone suddenly feels a little bit lighter with a partner.
I came to write a story, but I left with something deeper: a reminder that healing doesn’t always come from words. Sometimes it’s found in a soft breath, a lowered guard, a gentle touch. From the first step on that gravel drive, I knew that this place is special. And by the time I left, I understood why.
“Healing here isn’t loud or linear. It happens in small gestures, in the patience, gentleness, and presence. Sometimes it’s a light returning to someone’s eyes, a horse finally relaxing under a gentle hand, or a quiet realization: I am not alone.”