What the Old Horses Knew

by Lynn R. Miller of Singing Horse Ranch

As teamsters, new and not so new, we cannot escape thinking about how best to train our equine workmates. We gather knowledge but genuine effectiveness doesn’t come until later when we have approached a mastery of the craft and learned to usefully observe what is good, along with what’s problematic.

We learn to notice how calm this gelding is standing for a new hitching procedure, just as we notice that the filly is nervously watching everything around her, jumpy with each new experience. How do we value those two different circumstances? Most of us dedicate time and concern to the skittish filly and allow that the calm gelding is nothing to worry about, nothing to concern ourselves with. Perhaps we would do well to even that out, to see if we can pick up on why the calm horse is that way. After all, he is the best example we have, in that moment, of where we would like the filly to end up, yes? And perhaps, just perhaps, that solid quiet gelding has it in his nature and makeup to assist you in bringing the filly to calm? Such aid is available IF we are aware and open to it.

I find myself thinking of these things as I observe the advanced aging of an exceptional team of geldings we have now, Vic and Pepper. Before us, these two magnificent Belgians belonged to our friends the McIntosh family and they enjoyed a safe life of great good effectiveness. On those occasions when I would offer a hand as teamster during their mowing, or plowing or binding, early on I found myself asking for this tall, strong, quiet yet fluid pair. We developed a kinship quickly. There had never been any question of training Vic and Pepper. They were outstanding long before I ever laid hands on them. On occasion I would find myself asking, where all have they been to have turned out this good?

And I recall with embarrassment hearing Mac say to me repeatedly “we appreciate how you are with our horses, you have good hands.” Though there be a clue within that which is important, I can hear myself muttering, “It’s not me, Mac, they are such a fine and well mannered pair.” And he would say, “Thank you, but we both know it takes a good teamster to leave the horses at their best.”

“Well,” I said to him, “if the McIntosh family ever wants to part with them please think of me.” And so they came to retire along with me.

Now, in my old age, I lament not having planned accordingly because, had I young horses here with me now, even with my infirmities, I would trust Vic and Pepper today to assist me in calming and training them.

As a young teamster I would find myself wishing I knew a way to transfer from the minds of the old horses all the stability and calm, to have them understand how much was to be gained by finding a teamster you could trust and sticking with them all the way. Now I am just barely realizing that it’s not the wrapping it’s the package. The horses don’t need to find the good teamster. The good teamster needs to always be there for the horses.

Fifty years past, when I was traveling and doing workshops, I recall saying to participants,

“Ask less that you be able to trust your horses, and more that they be able to trust you.”

I still believe this, but with age and experience I have come to understand the admonition as the melancholy mystery it is. What constitutes a relationship of mutual trust? I know folks who will answer that with a finite list of dos and don’ts. I remember a heated argument I had twenty five years ago with a teamster who insisted that ‘trust’ confused people and horses. “It’s not trust you need, it’s for the horses to absolutely submit to your control. That is the only safe way. Submission.” I remember using the ‘phooey’ word on him quite a lot. We both came away convinced the other was an idiot.

My walk in life has given me opportunities most people would find hard to imagine. Teaching and writing and working all about draft animals has put me in contact with hundreds on both sides of the lines. And they all have shown me things. Doubtless they even showed me lessons I never fully grasped, because I am a limited man. But fortunate for me, in many important cases I was wide awake and aware.

Near the end of his long and wondrous life I had the distinct honor of sharing time with the unique and masterful Les Barden of New Hampshire. On a two day visit to his woods farm we spoke of many things, always circling back around to our lives with working animals. Les had his list of dos and don’ts and he adhered to them with military precision. Nothing was to be gained by trying to argue with him that there might be other equally good ways to work horses or oxen. Now, I’m not saying I disagreed with him or that Les was pig-headed. I’m actually saying he suffered from too much humility. He needed to believe that his horses were so smooth, precise and perfect in every way BECAUSE of the applied rules and procedures, NOT because he, Les Barden, had some quality that made them so. And we never said these words to each other. You see, his stoicism kept the emotional at a distance. Les loved his workmates with an absolute abiding passion. And he showed me repeatedly how important it was that his animals could ‘rely’ on him always and in every way. The result was that they became a seamless extension of Mr. Barden whenever they worked together. I recall feeling a chill when I noticed that as he went to work his horses it was as if he put them on like a pair of perfectly fit gloves. It was uncanny. And the horses? There was nothing of the look of submission to them. They looked as though all was right with the world because Les was with them

Imagine that. Having a pair of fine horses or mules that want to go out to the work, and the working, with you? Here you are, three or more sentient beings who like each other and enjoy getting work done. It is a force of nature. It is a staggering sensation to behold and to be a part of. And the best old horses know and knew this.

I remember a telling situation way back at the beginning of my time with horses, when I apprenticed myself to Ray Drongesen. He learned of a big Percheron stallion that could not be handled and that the owner wanted rid of him. Ray went to see him and true to the reputation, the stallion, Don Degas, would charge anyone coming near his fence, striking and baring his teeth. To condense the story, Ray walked nonchalantly into the pen and proceeded straight to the stud with no hesitation. He avoided eye contact and spoke in a normal tone. The horse snorted, rattled, lowered his head and blew through his nose in between smelling. As though he had done it every day for ten years, Ray placed the flat of his hand on the side of Don’s neck and proceeded to slip a halter on him. From that day on, without incident, Ray worked Don with King and/or Ruby, his mare and gelding team. When recounting this story to me he offered, dead pan, “Nothin’ wrong with him. He just wanted someone he could trust. He doesn’t want a man’s worry. He wants things to be alright. He doesn’t take to foolishness.”

All that said, Don Degas the stallion wasn’t one to be used to teach young horses, to calm them. For that job Ray had his big homely, roman-nosed, dirty brown clown of a gelding, King. I have seen Ray hitch a young foolish colt right up against King. And I have watched that colt fidgit, balk, jump, yaw, shake his head, lean, and pull away, right up to a point when King, who had been standing rigid next to him waiting for the right time, gave him the side eye and with the speed of a fly catcher reached over and grabbed the colt’s neck in his teeth and shook him for just a long second. Then release. And I have watched that colt stand and shiver and roll his lips back and hesitantly try to lean into King’s neck as if to say ‘please, just tell me what to do, tell me it’s all going to be okay.’ And then I would hear Ray’s chuckle as he patted King on the neck. He didn’t reach over and try to further calm the colt, he instead patted King on the neck. Ray understood that King’s manner was far more important than the silliness of the youngster.

I moved to this ranch and tried to get Ray to consider retiring here to help me but he wanted to stay on in Harrisburg. We stayed working together doing workshops and the horse show and auctions. Don, the stallion, had moved on.

Before Ray passed away of a heart attack back in the 80’s he asked of me that, should anything happen to him, would I take his four colts, plus his beloved mule Lightning, to my ranch until homes could be found for them. But most important would I allow King and Ruby to live out their last retired years with me.

And that is what happened. His horses joined my herd and I might be forgiven thinking that old King, standing on the rise looking off in the distance, was remembering what it was like working with Ray. LRM

It was Ray Drongesen who first shared the idea with me. I kept parsing the words until they came out as;
“The more I work horses the less I know and the easier it gets.”