Work Horse Diary

by Lynn R. Miller of Singing Horse Ranch
photos by Kristi Gilman-Miller

The essay which follows was written to be part of an all new narrative chapter for the revised 2nd edition Work Horse Handbook. When I realized that this text offers some answers or suggestions to quite a few recently asked questions about working horses I thought to offer it in the journal. Obviously it might also serve to introduce our new/updated book.

But there is another reason for sharing this information, and most particularly for sharing it in this editorial slot.

From any distance, our world has become a confusing dry mosaic, a deadly patternless swirl, one with no adhesive and in which the pieces don’t work together well. War all over the planet, terrible new pandemic diseases, widening gaps between the rich and the poor, widespread hunger, a frightening pattern of ever new and more destructive natural disasters, the dissolution of the arts, the industrialization / corporatization of agriculture and health and science, the repeated convoluted public sale of justice at the highest and lowest levels, corruption and stupidity at every level of government, and terrorism. What’s a person to do?

In my case, within this small insignificant little life that I have been lent, I would go stark raving nuts if it weren’t for the assurance, vitality, challenges and poetry I feel at my finger tips. I turn to the working spheres I have chosen, my family, my farming, my art, my writings. And within each of those there are disciplines or aspects which invite my continued involvement and allow me a chance for place and growth. Within family I currently feel the transitions from father to curiosity to friend to grandfather. Within my art and writings I feel expansive, generous and collective all at once. And within my farming I feel charged with new ideas and hopes. In farming I am blessed to have disciplines, such as the working of my horses, which return me time and time again to patterns of powerfully effective though small membership in a difficult to define little working system, no, better to say working way or working world. It gives me a feeling of insulation and connection. It makes of me an independent individual and a dependent individualist. It gives me an organic citizenship in the whole of the wide world without compromise to man and with allegiance only to goodness, fertility, splendid humors and shared abundance.

If the world is badly messed up these days, don’t we need detailed internal views of little working disciplines which connect us to a reality we would want to sink our teeth into? I believe so. Here’s a taste of one of my little realities.

Working horses day after day the routine wants to remain constant but it varies, and it can be different and yet similar in important ways. Here’s a narrative as personal diary with added observations.

The sun’s not yet up. The sky is a cold silver-tinged with reds. Even before I step outside, I can see from the kitchen window that all eight horses have their eyes glued to the door of the house in anticipation. They are looking for me, for my approach, for my errands of service to them. As I walk from the house, towards the shed which serves as our barn, the horses begin to nicker from their night pens. I slip from a low down deep throated hum to a soft whistle and back to a hum again, this morning it’s an Argentinian Tango. ‘Lucky’, the Australian shepherd, follows me, excited for responsibility. The horses bob their noses and shuffle front feet as if to say ‘it’s about time.’

Inside the barn/shed I pitchfork large quantities of the loose hay into each double manger. The two-foot deep mangers run across the front of each double tie stall which measures ten feet both directions. Each double tie stall is partitioned from the next by a planked half wall. The floor is packed sand. For fifteen years I have promised myself a real barn with a wood floor and well placed harness storage crowned by a large hay loft. But finances and circumstances haven’t allowed such an improvement so the horses and I make do. No, excuse me, it’s better than that. We are thankful because what some might see as a crude open equipment shed temporarily converted to stabling for work horses we have enjoyed as an airy and well lit little barn. It has served us economically and well. I lean on the pitchfork and look around wondering how I will remember this building…

Horse’s nicker louder and I wake up to the job at hand. First I go outside with halters and lead ropes to the pen which holds the two geldings. They are in a rail enclosure just 100 feet from the barn. It’s their night accommodation. In the pen each gelding stands close by, nose forward as if aiming at a coming halter. I smile thinking about how these daily routines work so well to build the best working partnerships with the horses. Halters on and off everyday. Horses become not only accustomed but, by association, actually pleased with the process. When it comes to the haltering they each know that it is the first step in going to their stall and eating, so they lower their heads and reach their noses forward for the positively associated halter. And when day is done and halter is to come off once again they lower their heads and now rack or rotate sideways, ears over towards me and down, to make it easier for the crown strap to come off, anticipating the comfort. They are happy going in to the barn and they are happy going out. An excellent indicator of a system which works.

Both horses haltered and with lead ropes in hand we exit the pen. They are anxious but they know, because I never allow exception to the rule, that they must walk behind me and on a loose lead. No bolting, no dragging back, no stepping on me. We walk together easy and fluid. It’s either that or I get cranky and dream up clever ways of making their rule violations uncomfortable for them. They elected me leader. It may have been a rigged election, but I am the leader nonetheless. If I fall out of favor and dominion over them, it is my own fault and I must work to regain the leadership position. Otherwise, it is my contention, there can be no safe working relationship.

So we walk calmly to the barn where I snap each one to their individual secured manger chain which is bolted beside the 2 x 4 grain box. (These boxes are anchored in at the left and right sides – or opposite sides – of the manger, one each for each horse.) There is enough slack in each manger chain so that the horses might reach the middle of the manger and not much further.

The chains have big heavy bull snaps. I don’t want them to break. It’s not because I’m afraid my horses will try to break them but because accidents may happen and I prefer not to have loose horses in the barn. I occasionally use ropes instead of chain and sometimes panic snaps which allow that a twist or quick downward jerking motion will release a tangled endangered animal. These I usually relegate to trainees or new horses I am unfamiliar with. Just a small dose of caution which may one day pay off in a big dividend by saving a horse’s life. But to date, after 30 plus years, I have not had to use one in an emergency.

Geldings are snapped in and eating the morning hay. I flip off the electric fence charger and head back out to fetch a team of mares. With the girls you never know how the day’s chemistry might stack up, one day mellow, the next day sullen or cranky. Today, with the first two, it seems they are mellow.

There are two pens, wired with electric fence tape. Because I have four teams of horses in for haying, and because one of the mares beats up any horse she has to share space with, I needed additional enclosures and have set up a temporary electric pen arrangement for harmony and my own convenience.

This season, in total, I am working five of my mares and three geldings. Four of the mares work in teams or as three or four. The fifth mare has issues, not with me or any human but with other horses. Before I bought her, she was made a pet of and spoiled terribly. What she wanted she got. She works well with her gelding team mate as long as I am around to warn her off her worst tricks. She listens to me. I make sure of that. I’ve had her a short time and am determined to trick her into changing her attitude and nature. Right now she gets a pen to herself and occasionally is put into a large box stall for isolation. What I’d like to find is that she develops an attraction for one of my other horses and wants to be with it at all times. When this happens, I will use it to advantage.

We are only in our second week of concentrated work. Not until each horse is putting in a full 8 hour work day will all the minor anxieties level off. But one thing shouldn’t change, each morning every horse should be anxious about getting to the feed. If one shows no interest, this could be an important first sign that something is not right. It might be protracted fatigue, it might be sore muscles, it might be any number of physical ailments. Best time to deal with potential health problems is at the first indication.

But this morning everyone is alert and salivating in anticipation of the clover/grass mix hay and the grain they expect is coming. I intentionally choose the pen with the two younger mares because I want to avoid yesterday’s little incident.

I had gone after the older mares first, haltering and opening their wire pen gate and leading them towards the stabling when to my surprise and disappointment the younger ones pushed through their wire enclosure. It was as if nervously watching me open the other pen they figured out that the electricity was off. I shook that thought off as ridiculous, how could any horse come to such a conclusion? The thought nagged at me though, so later yesterday I tried a series of little experiments and determined conclusively that one of the two younger mares would watch and if she saw me handle the electric fence wire tape in any way she would then lean hesitantly against the wire herself. If she felt no shock she’d lean into it until it snapped! I have trained this young mare from a yearling and have always marveled at her intelligence, so my surprise was somewhat muted. I made the decision to outsmart her by always either leaving the charger on or removing her first and putting her back in last.

Both haltered, I toss the wire gate out of the way and head through the opening. One of mares pushed forward to get past me and I gently swat her chest with the loose end of the rope, she backs up. The smart mare makes her move, head down, for a alfalfa shoot at the lane’s edge. She catches me off guard and I get drug half a foot. “What are you doing?!” I grunt as I jerk her lead rope and finally regain the composure I like to brag about. When we get to the big doorway of the open barn they of course tense up in anticipation and I use the moment to remind them of our election results. “I’m the leader you follow, remember!” Turning to face them, while switching leads in my hands, I stop them at the door.

They can now see the geldings happily munching away in their stalls. Facing them down and using quick matter-of-fact little jerks on the lead ropes I repeat the “Whoa” command until, when they come to fully recall the routine, they relax completely to accept that we aren’t going inside til I say so. When I see the heads drop slightly and the ears go limp I lead them in. This little exercise, I have found, whether on the lead or when ground driving back into the barn after work, pays huge dividends to reinforce leadership and frequently results in horses who will stand quietly for me in any circumstance.

They in their places in the stall, I go back outside to get two more mares. These two remain wary of the fence, on or off. And they’ve spent fifteen years with me so the routines are well understood. We make a quiet uneventful little walk to the stalls except for a wave of emotion I feel to think that one day these two very fine horses will, as others have, be too old to work with me. I will miss them and the assurance they always give me.

Last I retrieve the separated mare and gelding, this morning tying them side by side in a double tie stall. I will be working in the barn and know that a repeated word of warning will forestall the angry mare from pestering her team mate. If I were to be leaving the barn for an extended period, I would choose to tie them in separate stalls.

Up to this point none of the horses have received any grain. This is intentional. I want them to have chewed forage in their digestive tract before they start to eat their grain. In this way the grain is slowed in its passage through the equine stomach allowing for better digestion. Long ago a visiting veterinarian pointed out the whole oats apparent in the stabled horse manure. He suggested this timing routine (hay before grain) and a preference for rolled grains over whole. I have followed this suggestion for over thirty years with good results.

So this morning I go to the locked grain room and remove the lid from the galvanized garbage can I use to store the COB (corn, oats and barley with molasses.) At the first slight sound of the lid lifting a chorus of pleading nickers are aimed at me. I never tire of the sound, that deep soft edged percussive staccato hum, simultaneous from several horses. It comes as a full acknowledgment of my place in the relationship. They seem to say “Yes, you, please. I’m ready, can I have my grain now, first, before the others? I’m over here, where do you want me to stand? Please don’t forget me. I need you to remember me, I need you to bring that grain to me. Bring the grain now and we’ll see how the rest of the working day shapes up.”

I fill a bucket with the grain and go from stall to stall, grain box to grain box, measuring out amounts I deem appropriate for each individual horse. Inside each wooden grain box there is a small salt block. I slide it to center of the box and pour the grain over the top of it. I have this unverifiable suspicion that this simple act slows the horses from quickly anxiously scarfing down the grain, spilling some on the stall floor. Watching their nose, lips, and tongue navigate the grain piled around the salt block, it seems like the rhythm and speed of their eating are natural.

Then I pause to listen to them, munching, snorting, breathing, pushing the salt blocks around the box. The view of their lovely forms, comfortable in their stalls and with their routines, is a view I never tire of.

Next I visit each horse with curry comb and brush. Had there been any concerns about sore shoulders or harness rubbings from the day before, I would take this time to check on their status. But this morning all is okay. As they eat I brush down each one in preparation for harnessing. Consumed as they are with eating I don’t expect them to pay much attention to the naturally pleasant sensations of the morning brushing. If I should notice that one of them stops eating and acts as though particularly intense relief or discomfort is directly associated with a certain spot on their body I am going over, I pay attention, especially if it is anywhere that the collar makes contact.

My goal is always to get the horses fit and keep them in the field working. That means paying close attention to their comfort and care.

Next the harness: With no exceptions, each regular member of the working lineup has his or her own harness and collar. Today all the horses in the barn are mature and have worked long enough that I do not expect significant changes, day-to-day, in their collar fit. Sometimes, fat horses early in the working season will go down one to three collar sizes (inches) within a month to month and a half of hard work. Their necks carry a significant percentage of excess weight and as they sweat and work off that weight, the neck becomes thinner and shorter in depth .

There are many aspects of the harness horse system which are important, even critical. The fit of the collar rises to the top of that list. I pay more attention at the beginning of the season, but even now I frequently check to see how my collars are fitting. I want a perfect fit. If the collar is too tight, it will choke the horse down as he pulls and he’ll quit from lack of breath. If, on the other hand, the collar is too loose (by a little or by a lot) the horse may continue working and you won’t discover a problem until a sore has formed and the horse is in pain when it pulls. The damage from ill-fitting collars comes, 90% of the time, from the collar that is too loose. And it can be tricky because, sometimes, a collar may look and feel on the standing horse to fit perfectly YET when that horse pushes forward it gets either too big or too tight. When I find a collar that fits my horse I make sure I remember where I put it because it’s the first one I want to return to when I harness up.

I’ve decided that this morning I will be working the two teams of mares first. The plan is to take the young ones out and open a hay land (in our case a strip 150’ wide by a quarter mile long). I’ll be going through a low area where there might be some standing water and tough mowing. These girls, I know, will keep the pace exactly where I want it, when I want it. The evening before, on the better mower, I sharpened the sickle, hit the grease zerks and filled the oil jug. It’s ready. But I’m off the subject, back to the job at hand, harnessing…

In the tack room I get down their two collars, each with sweat pads fastened in. I run the flat of my hand over the inside of each sweat pad feeling for anything sharp or aggravating. I take one collar in the stall along the left side of the left horse. Leaving the collar fastened, I unsnap the mare’s stall chain and slip the collar, right side up, past her head and down over her neck into place, careful to pull mane hair out of the way of the top seat of the collar. Then I fasten her chain back up. During this whole procedure this mare stands quietly and accepting, pausing from eating just long enough for me to do my job. I have known horses who would never put up with having the collar go over the head. I didn’t raise and train them. Someone else did. And somewhere along the line they decided, out of fear or obstinance, that no one was ever going to put a collar over their head. In those cases, I unbuckle the collar and push it up from the underside of the neck and refasten it topside, a procedure that is perhaps the safest bet for beginners but adds a half minute to my chores. And I like streamlining the process as much as possible. (I chuckle to myself realizing again that I seldom follow the rules and guidelines I have long given out to students at my workshops.)

Next mare gets her collar on same way, nice and quiet, over the head.

I return to the tack room where the harness is hanging on two big spikes driven head high in the wall. I pull down the brichen assembly from the one spike, put it up on my right shoulder and run my right arm under it and down the underside middle of the harness till I grab low the right side hame in that same hand. Left hand takes the left hame about in the middle.

(All the miscellaneous straps, lines, bridle etc. have been attached, hung, tied, or fastened in such a way as to make my carrying the harness as uncomplicated as possible. And I do it the same way each time I remove a harness. It’s very easy for me to tell when someone else has been dealing with my harness because things are out of place. When everything is in the place I want, this harnessing process goes quick and easy.)

I carry the harness out and approach the stabled mare from behind. “Get over honey,” is my command. She should step to the right and up near her teammate instantly, but she doesn’t this morning. “Get over!” I say with more emphasis, and she complies. Walking up on her left side, I lift the right hame high, pointing its bottom skyward, while pushing it and the harness up on her back. The hames go forward to seat in the rib-lined groove of the collar, with the connecting top hame strap at center top of the collar. Backing away slightly, I push each section of the harness, from off my shoulder and arm, up onto the waiting horse’s back. Now it sits in a somewhat organized tangle atop the mare. Moving forward in the stall I ask her to back up and I pull the two hames to their seated positions on the collar. I’m careful at this point to see if I have accidentally put a line or harness piece in under the hames. And I am also looking to make sure that the hames are properly positioned. They need to be equal on both sides, with the tug clip centered over the reinforced draft point of the collar. Everything is right, so I thread and tighten and buckle on the bottom hame strap.

The breast strap/pole strap assembly I prefer is removable, which means it fastens on both ends via heavy snaps. It’s hanging fastened on the left side, so that when I throw the harness over the waiting horse, there is one less piece to concern myself with. At this point in the process I snap the right side of the breast strap to the bottom hame ring of the right hame. I leave the pole strap to hang for a second while I go back pulling and straightening the harness, gathering the brichen back over and under the tail. I check to see if the belly band in hanging straight down from the tug on the right side. Now I go forward, gather the pole strap between the front legs while reaching under for the belly band. The belly band goes over the pole strap and buckles in loose. Hanging from the two ends of the brichen are adjustable quarter straps with snaps on the ends. I fasten these to the ring at the end of the pole strap. My horse is harnessed.

I repeat the process for the second mare. To read back over the process description, it seems complicated, however, I have repeatedly timed myself and when all things are as they should be, it is simple and harnessing one horse takes between one and two minutes.

With the next, older pair of mares, there is a slight deviation in routine. One mare’s neck is relatively small for her bulk, and her head is quite large, with lots of width at the eyes. This means that, though she’s perfectly willing to let me try, it is close to impossible to put the collar on over the head (whether rightside up or upside down). So for her, I unbuckle the collar at the top, unclip the sweat pad from one side and pull it out of the way. I then pass the collar up at the neck, bringing the pad over and into place before buckling the collar together. The remainder of the harnessing routine remains the same as with the previous team.

The third team takes a little longer this morning because I need to find a better fitting collar for the one horse. I didn’t like the way it rolled up on his neck yesterday. So I try a couple of collars on him that have a different shape, though they are the same size. One has been stretched out wider and the other is a full-sweeney style specifically designed for a thick neck. I find the right collar, a good older one, with a thicker overall construction and it requires that I lengthen out the top hame strap. That done, I proceed with the harnessing until all eight head are outfitted.

Next I separate the difficult mare to a single stall before I take out the young mare team. I don’t want to come back later to the barn and find her gelding teammate bunged up and something broken, all because she slipped once again into her ‘get away from me!’ attitude.

Though there is a time and place for a single stall, I like the open double tie stall. It gives me a great deal of convenience. For example, I can drive a harnessed team directly into the stall when returning from work. And I can bridle, rig the lines, set the check reins, and back the team out of the stall when it’s time to go to work.

Whenever possible, I work my horses without halters. Many teamsters prefer to leave the halters on under the bridles. I think this must add some discomfort to the horse and so I take them off whenever feasible. Mares ready, we back up and swing into the barn lane and walk out towards the waiting mower.

I walk the right mare over the mower tongue and swing the pair into place. They are standing now, either side of the tongue, exactly where they need to be for hitching. I walk alongside the left mare and spread the two lines across her back where they will be easily reached if needed. Then I proceed to the front of the team and raise up the tongue and neckyoke (the neckyoke is secured to the end of the mower tongue). I snap the breaststrap/pole strap assemblies to the neck yoke and take one quick look over the horse’s heads to see if everything is okay. Next I walk back around the left side, picking up the driving lines and, with them in hand, proceed to hook the trace chains to the single trees. All this while the horses are standing calm, quiet and attentive. (The ‘attentive’ is important because I have found the inattentive horse is the one likeliest to jump when surprised, shocked or spooked by some unexpected sound or occurrence.)

All hitched, I climb aboard the mower, gather up the slack in my lines and check the team’s ears. I want them both listening to me. Usually, the little vibrations, as I gather the lines, will tell them something’s coming or that I’m getting set to ask them to go. Feeling my preparations, through the lines, can on occasion cause the horses to second guess me, and make them want to start before I’m ready. Seems natural, good intelligent working partners sense you are ready to set out, why wait for a formal command, why not step right out? Nope, don’t ever let that happen. They will remember it and take charge and that’s bad news, that’s the beginning of unraveled. It is my contention that we train our horses every moment we work with them. If we forfeit the opportunity to say, and thereby control, exactly when our horses step forward, we ‘train’ them to go whenever ‘they’ wish. A dangerous precedent. And one so easily avoided. It starts by always insisting ‘we go when I say so and not before.’ My young mares stand quiet, attentive, assured, ready. I smile and feel my breath shorten deep in my chest, it’s not apprehension or fear or any negative reaction, it’s that tightening that comes as a prelude to the waves of unavoidable natural gratefulness. I am so fortunate in my partnership with these beautiful creatures.

I gaze around til my focus returns. I give the command, “okay ladies, let’s do some mowing,” chuckling to remember those hundreds of times I have admonished my workshop students to keep the verbal commands to their horses simple. And to always use the same sound or word for each desired action. Don’t do as I do, do as I say. It’s simple business and it’s a complex craft.

We walk out to the hayfield and to that spot where, yesterday, I had tied a flag to the fence on my side. Also yesterday, I had paced off a new hay land marker across the field a quarter mile away, and propped a long stick in the cross fence. From the flag marker I am able to see across the relatively flat field to the stick. I swing the team in place with an effort to have my back be lined up, center, with the flag marker.

Sighting down the mower tongue, between my horses, I look over the 1/4 mile wide hayfield to the fenceline on the other side and line the marker stick up to a third point on the horizon, a tall tree. From experience I know that getting a straight first cut will depend on my keeping the distant stick and the far distant tree lined up and in my sight at all times. If I simply aim at the distant stick, my cut will wander.

Points spotted, I do a quick look over the team and lines, lower the cutter bar from the carrier rod and squirt oil over its length from the oil jug. Next I climb on the seat, lever the bar down to mowing position and kick back the pedal to put the mower in gear. Checking to see if ears are back, I speak to the team and we head out mowing. Smooth, quiet, certain. Everything is as it should be.

It’s not always this way. I know first hand that mowing can be a frightening procedure for man and beast, especially if either or both are unaccustomed. I’ve been doing it for over thirty years now and this particular team has been at it for five years. We make it look simple and safe. And that is how it can be. But I always worry that first-timers will get the wrong idea from such a relaxed picture and jump in to certain hazard or disaster. The picture must be earned.

We’re mowing at a brisk walk, about 3 miles an hour, which is my preference. Even with these McD high gear #9 mowers timed, tuned and sharpened properly, going too slow can cause plugging in certain fine, wet, and/or wiry grasses. This is also why, when I’m opening a new land, possibly with wet lodged low spots, I prefer a team that will respond to my commands to walk faster AND be willing and able to stand quietly for a long stretch if I should need to clear a plugged cutter bar, or do some field mechanicing.

The team, on this opening pass, is walking through standing hay, belly deep. They love this run because frequently there is grazing available at a comfortable nose height. They’ve learned, over time, that if they keep a steady no nonsense straight ahead pace they can steal mouthfuls of grass and legumes as we mow. Fact is, I happen to know that they honestly think they are outsmarting me. They think I can’t see. They think I don’t know they’re stealing bites. If they should stop or slow down to grab a bite, I would scold them. So they move along perfectly, trying not to let on that they are beautiful, clever thieves. As easy as they are on the lines, and with the snaffle bits, chewing and walking is no stretch for them. Our syncopation is built in small part on comic tolerance.

At 3 miles per hour we cross the field in 5 minutes. I never look back while mowing, keeping my eyes fixed on those two distant points until halfway when I’ve picked out a third point midway between the others. As I get closer to the end I leave off looking at the stick in the fence and just concentrate on the mid-point and the far distant tree. Not until we reach the fence do I stop and allow myself to look back.

Wooee, is that pretty! Straight as an arrow, mown hay laying back in a combed and symmetrical pattern. Feels mighty fine. I don’t call this working, I call this making art.

I turn left, cutter bar towards the fenceline, and mow the 150’ wide end and lift the bar, still in gear. We step straight ahead a short distance across the previous land, where yesterday’s hay is waiting for the morning dew to pass (I hope to rake this hay in the afternoon). When the new mown hay has vibrated off the cutter bar and while we’re still moving ahead, I kick the pedal forward and take the mower out of gear. We swing around on a U-turn to head back from where we came.

That first cut opened a new long hay land, a strip of hay up against previous strips, all part of a forty acre field. Each land is approximately 4 acres. I work this way deliberately rather than dropping the entire forty acres at one time. This allows me to mow four acres, next to another four acre land that I am raking which is adjacent to yet another land where the hay is being picked up or buck raked. I get better quality hay this way and fret a whole lot less about losing the whole field to weather or other uncertainties. If anything gets damaged or lost, it’s usually just four acres. It also works very well with the horses as motive power. In fact work horses brought me to these sorts of conclusions, led me to thinking of patterns of working that give me the best chance of comfort and success.

Same trajectory, opposite direction, when we get to the land edge I aim the team to walk over hay they just mowed. I’m using the foot pedal to hold up the cutter bar. We stop just before the cut edge. I lower the bar and put the mower in gear. I speak to the team and we head off across the short end of the land. Twenty feet in I can see a ball up on the bar and that we aren’t making a full cut. I tell the team to stop, take the mower out of gear, and use the lever to raise up the cutter bar. I can see what looks like a big nest plugged on the ends of two center rock guards. Off the mower and with team lines in hand, I clear the ball of nest and hay off the bar and run my fingers over the tops of the guards. I feel and hear something. Going back over with my fingers, I find a loose guard. I tie a half hitch of the lines onto the lifting lever and retrieve my crescent wrench from the tool box. After the guard gets tightened, I oil up the cutter bar again. Usually don’t do this until I’ve made a few rounds, but I’m down and it’s handy right now.

Mower fixed, I take the lines in hand and, speaking to them, walk around the left side to the heads of the mares. I offer them each a handful of the new mown hay as I spot check their bridles and harness from the front. I look up and around to make sure no one is looking and I plant a kiss on each soft nose. If anyone did happen to see me do it, I would deny it ever happened. Gives the wrong impression, to other people that is.

Back on the mower, we cut the remainder of the land end and I make a clean corner and head up the long side. The opening pass, having been made in the opposite direction, has lain the hay down in such a way that I can expect, on this cut, a couple of ballups and sure enough, one comes straight away. The inside heal has gathered a knot of hay and we’re missing a strip. I stop the mower and this time I back up the mares just a foot before I raise the cutter bar. Usually this will clear the knot without my having to get off the mower. It works and we set out again.

We mow for two hours and drop more than half of the land before we head back towards the barn. I have more horses than I need, and some of them are out of shape. They need time in the field. This team could keep going all day and drop up to ten acres of hay if I pushed them. But no need to. I’m gonna go back and get another team to mow with.

I drive the mower over by the barn and point the team away from the barn door. I’m careful to park in a spot where the mower won’t roll either direction when I unhook. The easiest way to tell this is to stop and back up just a hair to see if, with the tugs slack, the mower remains put. I get off the seat and unhook one tug when I notice someone driving up the driveway. I hook the tug back up and wait til the visitor gets out of his pickup.

“Cool! Those are Clydesdales aren’t they?”

My Belgian mares roll their heads and shrug their shoulders both letting out a deep sigh. The visitor wants to help me with the horses and I tell him firmly that he can talk to me all he wants but I must insist he not stand in front of the horses or touch anything while I unhook. We visit while I unhook the traces from the evener and move, lines in hand to the left side. I drop the lines on the ground and go round to unhook the heavy tongue from the breast straps. I’m careful to hold up the tongue until completely free and then let it down slow to avoid hitting their legs or hooves. I unhook the check reins and go back to my driving lines. We continue to talk. The mares think it’s time to walk off and because I’m talking, they catch me off guard. They succeeded in walking three steps ahead, so I stop them and calmly start up again and walk them around, they think they are going in the barn, but I turn them and we walk over the tongue and I make them stand as though we are going to hook back up. I talk with the stranger for ten minutes until the one mare lets loose with a long squeaky methane blast that raises her tail in the air.

“Sorry girls, yes it is time to go to the barn.” And we walk off quietly, with confidence and comfort and with the whole of our lives musically defined.