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By Root 1175 0

trimmed his whiskers, and called the farrier to replace his missing shoe. Joseph, whose nickname was Chef, and Harriet were assigned the job of currying him—using a hard comb to bring up dander and get rid of dead hair so that his coat underneath started to shine. The gray was quiet for grooming and his barn manners were excellent, as if he knew that he had come to a place where he would be cared for. He was good-sized, with the strong muscles of a workhorse, and, though thin, he was not completely wasted. With a new diet of fresh hay and plump oats, he filled out quickly, laying down flesh over his ribs and covering his bony hips. He’d never win a beauty contest, but after a short time in the de Leyer barn, Snowman lost the neglected look and started to resemble an animal who was loved.

Harry and Snowman in the field near the stable on a winter day. (illustration credits 2.1)

After a few days of rest and food, Harry decided it was time to see what the big horse could do. He slipped an old bridle over his ears and a rubber bit into his mouth and started by ground-driving him on a long rein, walking behind him. Snowman’s coat still showed rubbed-off places—the traces of a harness collar. As best Harry could tell, he had been used for harrowing and cultivating, but never as a riding horse. Accustomed to driving a straight line, the horse had no idea how to turn, and he wavered like a drunken sailor. Harry persisted, firm but patient. The bit he had chosen, a rubber D-ring snaffle, was soft on the horse’s mouth. But Harry, with the wiry body of a lifelong farmer, knew how to put just the right amount of pressure on the reins. Snowman wove and stumbled, confused to find a man behind him instead of a plow, and puzzled when he was asked to turn in a tight arc—pulling a plow requires few sharp moves. Harry, however, sensed right away that this was a horse who wanted to cooperate, so he continued the way he always persisted with his charges: gently but with confidence.

Once the horse seemed to have gotten the hang of steering, Harry put a saddle on his back, carefully settling it on top of a thick folded woolen blanket. He cinched up the girth around the horse’s broad barrel. At first, Snowman’s sides twitched, bothered by the unfamiliar feeling, and he turned and bit at the saddle flap as though it were a fly settling on him; but, perhaps dulled by years of pulling a heavy burden, he did not put up a fight. Harry placed a hand on the horse’s shoulder to steady him, then walked a few steps. There he stopped to tighten the girth again, then moved a few more steps forward. To reward the horse, Harry fished down into a pocket for a stub of carrot and let the gray lip it up from the palm of his hand. Then he reached up and scratched him above his withers. Snowman arched his neck out and curled up his lip, baring his teeth.

“He’s laughing,” one of the children said. Harry laughed, too. When he scratched the same spot a second time, Snowy laughed again.

The horse was starting to trust him, and Harry knew from experience that once a horse trusted you, he would soon become your ally.

The next challenge was to get on his back. Snowman was docile around people, but an old plow horse might have never carried a rider. For most horses, the first response to a man settling on its back is to try to unseat the rider by any means possible—the same instinct that fuels the rodeo sport of bronco riding. How was a horse to know that the weight of a man on his back was not a mountain lion? In the wild, predators jump onto a horse’s back in order to access the jugular vein. A horse defends himself by trying to throw the predator off, then using his greatest asset, his speed, to leave his foe behind.

Harry led Snowman next to a mounting block, then gently leaned his weight over the horse. He waited—five, ten, fifteen seconds—then took his weight away. This old plow plug did not have the energy to put up a protest. But Harry knew that even a quiet horse could be unpredictable when mounted.

It was time to find out.

With the grace of a cat, Harry