We’d have plenty to drive.
Wish it Didn’t Happen, #1: In a classic example of farmer exhaustion bordering on farmer foolishness falling into farmer-causing-harm, we accidentally dropped our barbed wire gate too close to the pathway. When my fellow farmer brought all four horses to the pasture at once, which he often does, one horse got caught in the wire. This was very bad, and this is exactly the reason you should not use barbed wire with horses.
I heard the ruckus and went running. Clyde and Moon, still tied together by the halters, were galloping in a panic. My fellow farmer, also panicked, was trying to untie Ben from Molly, who was caught in the wire. I unhaltered Clyde and Moon, and my fellow got Ben free, and the three settled down to graze nearby. Then I held Molly’s halter, and my fellow worked the wire cutters. We were very lucky, as Molly only had surface scratches on one leg.
Wish it Didn’t Happen, #2: Ben, our big black Percheron, made some strange loud breathing noises twice last year as he was working. Maybe it was because both days were hot, the hay loads were heavy, and Ben was working with Clyde, not his favorite partner in harness. But it didn’t happen again, and this spring Benny did some heavy work without incident.
Then came the incident: a hot haying day, with Ben and Clyde. Ben started making the big noise when they were in the barnyard, pulling the wagon.
“I don’t know what to do,” said my fellow, as we hitched the hay wagon to the hayloader.
“I don’t either,” I said. “Let’s just see how Ben’s doing at the top of the hill.”
Well, Benny didn’t make it to the top of the hill. He hardly made it to the start of the hill. He made the noise, and then he staggered, and then he collapsed in a ditch. He tried to get up. He couldn’t get up. It was dreadful.
We managed to unhook Ben from the wagon and from Clyde (who stood like a dream, when he could have easily panicked). We thought Ben was going to die right there, in the ditch. But all of a sudden he heaved himself to his feet. He stood there a moment. Then he put his head down to grab a bite of grass. We were dumbfounded.
We took Ben slowly back to the barn – by then his nose was bleeding – but he drank water and ate hay, and the bleeding stopped. We headed back to the hayfield with Clyde and Molly. After haying, Ben still seemed fine, so we led all four horses to pasture, figuring if Benny was going to die in the night, he’d rather do it in the green grass with his herd near him. But the next morning, there he was, big as life, grazing along, and wondering why we were making such a fuss over him.
We did a little research, later confirmed by the vet. Turns out Benny is a roarer. His larynx is paralyzed on one side; he couldn’t get enough air during heavy exercise and passed out. This happens mostly in racehorses, and a nosebleed often follows. (Surgery is possible, but not always successful.) Benny is twenty years old, and doesn’t have any roaring problems at leisure: thus he is officially retired.
Wish it Didn’t Happen, #3: Molly’s other leg is swollen. She is lame. We call the vet. Apparently we missed something from the barbed wire episode. With antibiotics, she comes through fine. But she can’t work. So we prevail on Moon, her brother, who has been fully retired for three years, to do a little raking and tedding of the hay. Though he is willing, he gets a sore shoulder.
We now have three out of four work horses that can’t work.
We also have a lot of hay to get in, and a lot of garden tasks. As crazy as it sounds, we are able to borrow a draft horse. If wishes were horses . . .
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Sept 20 - 26, 2023