We were excited and nervous about bringing our new horse to our vegetable farm. Mostly we were nervous because the last time we brought horses home, we had our hands full.
Several years ago, we bought a team of Belgians, Molly and Moon, who were a good age, with sweet dispositions, good health, and good training. As a horse-owning friend said, “They've got no demons in 'em.” They were, and are, honest and kind. But, gee, they were not used to farm life.
Before farm life even commenced, there were the introductions to our resident horses. We read about how to introduce new horses, slowly, over fences and in stalls, and we divided our barnyard into two: one side for Molly and Moon, and one side for long-time residents and black Percherons Betsy and Ben.
There were lots of squeals and snorts during the afternoon, but things seemed to be working according to plan. We said good night, and went to bed. However, in the morning, we discovered the electric fence down, and the new horses trapped in the stalls by the resident horses. Whoops, we said. Happily, no one got hurt, and soon they were acting like they'd been on the farm together all their lives.
Except of course, when it came to farm machinery. Molly and Moon had never seen, heard, or pulled a manure/compost spreader, a disc, a harrow, a cultivator, a mower bar, a hayloader. None of it was to their liking, and we wondered if we were even going to be able to farm with these two horses.
That summer, we had more than one pasture break-out and more than one machinery runaway, including Molly and Moon hitched to a hayrake galloping down our little dirt road on to the main road, with my teamster-fellow running desperately behind. It was a hairy season, trying to get all the garden work done, the hay in, and acclimate two new horses to everything scary on the farm.
These days you would never know that Molly and Moon hadn't grown up here. But, as you may imagine, we awaited the new horse's arrival with some trepidation.
As soon as we haltered our resident horses, now Molly, Moon and Ben, they knew right away something was up: “Oh great! Finally, it's time to go out to pasture! This is what we've been waiting for!” But then we tied them to the barn, which was definitely not going to the pasture. And then they heard a noise.
Clop, clop, clop. All heads went way up in the air. All ears pricked forward.
There he was. The new horse. One horse called. The others vibrated at the end of their lead ropes. We all stood there breathless for a moment, absorbing the news.
Then we led Clyde into the stall area, blocked off from the paddock with heavy planks, and turned him free. One by one, we let the other horses loose to come over for introductions. Again, there were a lot of snuffs and snorts, some chomping and threats of kicking. But the planks held, and thus began the week of serious horse meetings, with every possible combination of horses in stalls and paddock.
Moon seemed to like Clyde. Molly was all right with Clyde. Ben did not like Clyde. No, no, he did not. Ben, teeth bared, would rush at Clyde, and Clyde would turn his heels to him, and Ben would rush away again, only to repeat it all.
We also worked Clyde with the other horses, as a kind of “chaperoned” event. It went great with Moon, as he is pretty much retired, and didn't need a chaperoned event. It went fine with Molly and Clyde, discing and harrowing the garden.
And then there was Ben, whose umbrage at the interloper was powerful. Ben was not at all interested in being harnessed with Clyde, or in working with him. He only wanted to threaten and kick and bite Clyde, which made it rather difficult to go ahead with the disc. Finally I walked beside Ben, chirping him along, and distracting him enough from Clyde that Ben could actually move forward, which he did, at last, and at quite a lively pace.
But the most wonderful thing was that Clyde was not a bit worried about the noise of the disc or harrow. He didn't think that much of Ben's behavior, but so far the machinery was all right with him. We breathed a big sigh of relief. Maybe this season would be a gentle clopping one, instead of a hairy break-out, run-away one.
Despite a few fireworks in the paddock too, mostly it was pretty peaceful, compared to the last time we brought in new horses. Finally, after a week, all four horses were loose together, and getting along, more or less.
That very night we had a big thunderstorm. What would the horses think of all that charge in the air? Well, they galloped around together in the paddock, led by Molly. In a bunch.
“Ahhh,” we breathed. They've done it. They've become a herd, a herd of four. Our new horse is really home.
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, July 1-7, 2020