Village Squire, 1974-06, Page 25Horses,
doctors,
bears
and bars.
BY ROBERT LAIDLAW
My generation was the one that saw the
passing of the horse age. For there was a
horse age, just as there was an iron age, a
bronze age, and a stone age. It lasted from
about 1000 B.C. until 1950. Of course horses
are with us yet. We race them, we ride them,
we polish them and cherish them, but as pets
and ornaments only.
A horse is perhaps the most beautiful
animal in the world. For some strange reason
the human eye delights in curves lines which
are in perfect proportion. A well-bred horse
has all these. In addition he is graceful and
swift in movement, and above all he is
functional. A bridge or a cathedral or a tree
pleases us because it is beautiful and because
it achieves the purpose for which it was
created. So does the horse. Like the dog he
will probably be with us for as long as we are
permitted f6 live on this planet.
On the farms of .my boyhood, the horses
were highest on the social scale of all
domestic animals. Mostly they were treated
with respect and affection. For the good of the
tight little society of the family farm, horses
were in a special category. They had to be
well fed, well groomed, protected from their
own gluttony, and allowed some leisure and
some freedom.
In return they gave not unwilling service.
They accepted their situation resignedly,
much as we go to the office or the factory for
the day's half-welcome'work. In a way we are
little better off than the farm horse was. The
only difference is that we let our minds roam;
we dream of the day of wealth and retirement
or maybe a better job. I don't think horses do
much of this. They are intelligent animals,
but not exceptionally so. The dog surpasses
them mostly because of his slavish love of
man and his desperate desire to please. A
horse is not like this. He will do his days work
and even a bit of overtime, like a good union
member, but he doesn't get carried away by
an excess of loyalty.
On our farm there were six to nine horses.
There were always colts coming up. They
were harnessed and broken to work, then
sold.
Dad and I were not horsemen. horseman is
born not made. There were a number in our
neighbourhood. Their teams were not just
curried; they were brushed slick and smooth.
The harness was not just clean; ;r shone with
oil and polish. There were coloured knobs on
the frames, and various rings and ornaments.
Sometimes the tails were braided up tight.
You couldn't clean and harness a team like
that all in a few minutes.
We went more for utility. The general
turnout was adequate, that was all. Only once
did we have a matched team, and that was a
disaster. We had colts, full brother and sister,
four and three years old when we put them
'—3ether. They were very light in colour,
almost a hiurkskin, and perfectly matched.
The difticulty was that John was
determined to pull the whole load himself,
and Floss was equally determined to let him.
The result was a very long team, John out in
front, and Floss well back. John wore himself
to skin and bones. Floss was sleek and fat. If
you increased John's oats he only pulled•
the harder. I think he would have liked to fly.
We tried all sorts of things to even them up
but it was no good. We split them and teamed
them with horses more compatible.
We had a brood mare, a dull patient
individual with no personality, who worked
when time could be spared from maternal
duties. Then there was the driver, Jack,
inclined to be lazy. Unless well prodded he
was the slowest horse up a hill in the
township. Jack didn't think hills were fair;
there should be a way around. Strangely
enough, :f you put a collar on him and put him
with another horse he stepped out as smart as
you please. He had an affair going with our
only Hereford cow. The two hung around
together for no apparent reason. Perhaps her
white face attracted him.
Nell was the smart one, a very handsome
heavy horse. I heard someone say she was a
Midlothian. I have never heard of that breed
since. She was strong, quick, and speedy.
Though well on in years she could outstrip the
driver easily. On the road she would do a
brisk 10 to 12 miles an hour, with something
in reserve for any chump behind who tried to
pass.
I loved Nell and spent time grooming her,
because she was so sleek and pretty. Did Nell
love me and follow me around as horses do on
television? She did not. The only thanks I got
was the swift click of her teeth as they
narrowly missed my shoulder. Sometimes
they didn't miss. Another thing to watch for
was a good stiff body check against the
boards of her stall. She threatened all sorts of
other things which never quite came off, but
you could never be sure they wouldn't. You
never went into her stall with your head
down. She didn't make trouble with Dad,
because he was apt to belt her one. I got the
reward for unrequited love which one usually
gets.
There was also Doc, a tall, rangy, bony
yellow horse. On such an animal D' Artagnan
rode to Paris. Like a journeyman hockey
player, Doc had knocked around a lot before
he came to us. He was a pleasant courteous
gentleman, who gave his best willingly and
never stepped out of line. His name was a
recognition of a more than passing
acquaintance with the local vet. He suffered -
the horse did - periodic bouts of colic.' His
spine was affected by the illness and he would
curve into the letter C and contemplate not
his navel but his rearward parts.
We would send for Doc the vet and he
would come chugging in his 1912 Ford. He
was a soft-spoken, small, chubby man with
innocent pale blue eyes. He kept bears as a
hobby. Naturally he wasn't afraid of horses or
very much
about him
Across
else. There was at least one story
which had passed into legend.
the stret from his office in our
VILLAGE SQUIRE/MAY 1974, 23