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By Root 1260 0

reliable and dependable, and more than that, he was a four-footed friend. Even a timid girl could ride this horse without fear. These girls had daddies with plenty of money. If even one girl had shown an interest, he was sure he could get her parents to agree. Snowman had the reputation of being the easy horse, the quiet horse, the one you rode if you needed a little help. He was the horse you relaxed on after your hard lesson was over, riding bareback down to the beach, the horse you moved past once you got a little better. The horse you were proud not to have to ride anymore, the friendly kid brother who kicked around the stable but got no respect. Most of the girls were looking for jumpers. Harry had tried trotting Snowman over poles on the ground, but the horse would not pick up his feet. He was clumsy—he just did not have the makings of a jumper—so Harry didn’t press it. Some horses were born to jump, and others stayed earthbound. This horse was a plodder, but Harry still respected his gentle heart.

With no prospect of a buyer for the horse, Harry brought Snowman back to the house on Moriches Road. Years ago, his father had taught him that every able-bodied horse on a working farm had to earn his keep. Feeding hay and grain to an animal who had no job and was just growing fat in the barn … ach … if Harry were that sentimental, he might as well give up now. That was not a way to keep a horse business afloat.

The fastest way to sell a horse was to send him to a dealer, like Milton Potter up at the Mid-Island Arena. But then, Harry would have no control over where the gray ended up. People said that Potter never kept a horse for more than twenty-four hours. If it didn’t sell, he was on the phone to the slaughterhouse at Northport. Potter claimed that it was better to sell a horse for a penny than to feed it for an extra day.

So Harry held out trying to find a private buyer, but he got no nibbles. Just when he was starting to run out of options, a local doctor showed up on Moriches Road, looking for a quiet mount for his twelve-year-old son. He was not a horseman, but he lived on a neighboring farm. He wanted a dependable horse. Nothing flashy. A horse that would be gentle and safe.

Harry smiled and brought the man back to the stable. He had the perfect horse. Around back, one of the children led Snowman out of the stall, and he stood quietly with a rope tossed over his neck, not even clipped into the cross-ties. The doctor was impressed. This was just the kind of horse he was looking for.

After a brief discussion, the two men shook hands. Harry sold Snowman to Dr. Rugen for $160, with just one condition: if the doctor ever wanted to part with the horse, he had to give Harry a chance to buy him back.

The next day, Harry prepared to load Snowman into the van to take him to his new owner’s farm. All the children came out to say good-bye. Harry knelt down next to the horse, padding his legs in cotton batting, then wrapping flannel bandages around them and sealing the bandages with white adhesive tape. The gelding had fine strong legs, not a bump or deformity on them in spite of his hard-used life. His coat shone from grooming and good food, and his wounds had healed. The only traces of his past were the places on his shoulders where his coat had been rubbed off by the stress of pulling the plow. Harry lowered the ramp to the trailer, and the horse clip-clopped up the incline, not even turning to look back at the children. Where Harry went, that horse would follow.

Dr. Rugen’s farm was only a few miles away, past farms and potato fields crisscrossed by quiet country lanes, so it wasn’t long before Harry returned, the trailer now empty. The doctor had seemed a sensible man, Harry thought, and his pasture was pleasant and in good repair. Harry felt satisfied that he had made a good deal. Johanna kept a neat ledger where she tracked all of the expenses of the family and the farm; that night, she entered $160 into a column, on the plus side. From a business standpoint, Harry had made a profit, but it bothered him to let