The farm puppy gallops around, his ears flapping, his tongue flopping. The farm weeds gallop around, seemingly moving their giant selves from one section of the garden to another overnight. We clear out one section, and then the next section is overrun, by the very same weeds, it appears.
Also, the famers gallop around, when they aren’t lying on the ground in the great heat, tongues flopping, watching the weeds gallop.
But there is one who is no longer galloping here, and that is our old horse Moon.
Moon died recently in the pasture, in the company of our second fully retired horse Ben. Moon and Ben got along well, though Moon might have preferred to be in the company of his sister Molly. One of his primary life goals was to always be with Molly.
But Molly was with our other horses, in another pasture, as we struggled to manage the reality of six horses on a farm that’s only ever had four. We couldn’t bear to send away our old horses who’ve worked with us so well and so long, so we have been juggling horses and pastures, doing the best we could.
Now we have five horses, and Moon is buried under our apple trees, next to our first New Hampshire team of horses. Moon was 29, which is a good old age for a draft horse. He had been semi-retired for years, only doing light work occasionally. But he seemed pretty happy to slide into full retirement, and got even peppier on the other end of the lead rope.
He’s always been rather high-headed while being led, which can make a farmer wish for longer arms. Mostly Moon’s head was high so he could keep track of wherever Molly might be, whether three feet away or fifty.
Ideally, he would be right next to Molly at all times. The two would graze nearby, and if startled, swing together in perfect turns, in the same way they swung together in harness. Moon always worked best with Molly, though even then he had all the tricks figured out: to lag behind a little on the uphill, so Molly pulled most of the load, or to go ahead a little on the downhill, so Molly held back most of the load.
But Moon also had wonderful characteristics: when Molly and Moon first came here, many years ago, Molly was jumping out of her skin at everything. Moon had the rare and remarkable quality for a horse of stopping when he was worried about a sound or sight, instead of running.
For a while, in the beginning, we separated Moon and Molly in harness, because Molly was getting Moon unnecessarily worried. Moon and Ben worked together, albeit a little crossly, with my fellow as teamster, while I walked Molly ahead, behind, to the left, to the right, so that she could get used to every bit of strange noise and motion of every farm implement.
Eventually Molly settled down, and was ready to work. Moon let out a sigh of relief: at last he and Molly could work together again, or he, Moon, could relax in his shady and cool stall, while Ben and Molly worked, which was almost as good.
In the paddock or the pasture, if there was ever a line at the water tank or the hay pile, Moon went last. But given a little time, Moon could slip his way into drinking or eating with every other horse, since he grumped at no-one. He was also the official greeter for any new horse who came to the farm, which always surprised us.
Where’s that boldness come from? we would wonder. Perhaps it came from the same place as his steadiness at new sounds and sights. We hope that steady boldness served him well as he galloped along that mysterious path of death. We think of him now, standing in the wind, head high, eyes bright, calling for Molly, saying, “Don’t worry, my sister, it’s all right. Whenever you’re ready, come and join me.”
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, July 24-30, 2024