Horsing Around

I saw a photo post this morning of a beautiful coal black Percheron horse. The people holding its reins at its head were dwarfed by its size. He stood nineteen hands high. Thinking that a person could almost walk under the chest and stomach of this grand specimen of equine flesh caused me to think of a story told to me by my mom, Sybil Miner Beck.

The incident happened at my grandparent Miner’s farm. I was a toddler yet. Somehow I managed to slip away from their watchful eyes and escape outside. Near the stairs leading to the back porch of the old farmhouse, there was a cherry tree. Granddad would often tie his horse to it when he would come in from the fields to do some work in the chicken coop or one of the outbuildings.

At this point, I need to say that the horse was a stallion. He hadn’t been gelded and only granddad could touch and ride him. He would shy away from anyone else who approached and would often rear up onto his hind legs to discourage anyone from approaching.

By this time, my kin noticed that I was missing and a frantic search ensued. Once the house was upended, they moved outdoors, only to discover me beneath that stallion, standing on wobbly legs, and trying to reach up and stroke the underside of this temperamental and fearsome beast. The horse had its head turned toward me and was watching my every move.

They were at a loss of what to do. Maternal instincts spoke to them and said to snatch me away from this dangerous situation, but reason prevailed. If they approached, the stallion would either shy away and move those massive feet or it might rear up and put me into a more dangerous situation.

Grandma Rebecca sent my mom to find my granddad Ray and fetch him to save me from this predicament. While she was gone, grandma sat and in a soft voice tried to lure me to her and away from the horse. When Granddad heard what was happening, he ran into the yard and began to talk to the stallion in his normal voice and slowly approached. The horse would shift its view from me to Granddad and back.

Needless to say, Granddad rescued me or I wouldn’t be here writing this today.