|This little girl was about as big as FarmWife's youngest child.|
The draft world of our region seems to be dominated by a handful of families, families who've had working horses for generations and who have now established beautiful, flashy, and well-outfitted teams of eight plus spares. They turn up at plowing matches, regional fairs, and draft horse shows around our area, and they always bring a dozen mighty horses.
These people, of course, have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. These great-grandchildren are about the same age and size as FarmWife's girls, and so it was that FarmWife came to be asked, "why can't I have a clydesdale and enter him in this show?"
"Well, dear," FarmWife probably found herself saying, "draft horses eat more than Fenway and these children have had draft horses in their families for generations. Their families probably have big farms where they grow their own hay. It's really not in our means to have a draft horse," and so on and so forth.
FarmWife wants to drive. She really does. She wants a horse or mule that will pull a cart, do some plowing, and skid a log should she ask him to. That's not me, but that's OK. I am a nervous wreck in harness, and most of the fun in working a mule comes from knowing he likes his work and performs it safely and well. She will wait, and sometime later in life she will have another animal that likes that job. In the meantime, she will go to these things and take pictures. Then she will come home, and hug me, Fenway Bartholomule, and say "I still like you better."
|These young handlers from Mt. Baker Clydesdales had |
just completed a driving class, in which they both placed.
|One of Shagren's Belgians' entries in the youth cart class.|
Belgians make nice mules, you know!
|A nod to the single helmeted rider in this drill team—|
ears to you and your safe attire.