Many years ago we went to a draft horse pull. It was held in the winter in a warm facility, and promised to be a fun day off the place. It didn’t disappoint. The horse pull was a big one, as nearly 30 years ago it was a pretty big thing in the region. There were professional pulling teams there from all over the nation, with some magnificent teams. Those pro teams were sure pretty, all shiny and muscled up as athletes ought to be. Their harness was gorgeous too, with lots of brass, and the horses seemed to wear it with pride. There were Percherons, Belgians, Suffolk Punches, Brabants, and Clydesdales. They were splendid and really knew the routine of the horse pulls. Some of them got pretty hot and eager, even a bit hard to handle, but still really amazing, and boy howdy, how they could pull! Our favorite division, though, was for the ranch teams. They worked seven days a week, all winter and spring, feeding stock in all weather. They weren’t all shined up from being blanketed, but had dense winter hair on them to withstand the winter temperatures on the northern plains. They were Percherons, Belgians, Shires, and combinations thereof. Each division was based on weight of the team, plus there was a youth division. Their manes and tails were just as God made them, not all done up with ribbons and suchlike. Their harness was well taken care of but not fancy. It was their every day of the week harness. I was so impressed with the ranch teams because of how tuned in they were to their teamster. They for the most part didn’t get hot even after several pulls but continued to wait to hear when to start and stop. There were some teams that weren’t too fancy, but each did a day’s work I’m sure, at home. Our two favorites in the rancher division were a team of Shires and a team of Belgians. The Shires ended up winning their division, and rightfully so, but we really admired how the pair of Belgian mares worked for their teamster. They worked so well together and listened to his voice for everything. He only took up the slack in the lines to give them some balance while they pulled, then they’d stop when he asked them. Perfect ladies. In the youth division, the son of the man with the good Belgian mares had an older team of mares. Both of the grand old mares were bred, as their bellies attested, and were in good working shape. They also listened perfectly to their young teamster, who appeared to be about 12 or so. Pull after pull, the old mares did their best. It was finally down to them and one other team. I should probably explain something before I go further. In horse pulls, there is a sled with weight on it, and the weight is increased each round. There are strings that make a lane for the horses to pull down, and if they get out of line on either side, they bump the string and are disqualified. The pull is for a set distance each round too. If the team doesn’t pull the sled that distance that is also a disqualification. This is all done in deep sand, so the sled doesn’t exactly glide over the ground. Back to the ranch boy and his old mares. They had had to really scratch for their previous pull but had made the pull and moved on to the next round. The boy drove them into the lane in front of the sled, backed them up for the hitch, then eased them forward to start the pull. Steadying them with the lines, he spoke to them and they leaned into it. They dropped down and really put their shoulders into the collars, but that sled just didn’t move very much. Suddenly, they seemed to realize what had happened. Just like on the feed ground when the runners on the bobsled have frozen down, and being the grand old work team they were, they knew just what to do! They swung to the left, then to the right, breaking the sled loose, then hit it hard! Sure enough, they got it moving, but they had broken the string on each side in the process, thereby were disqualified. You’d have never guessed it though, as the ranchy crowd there just roared as those wise old mares did what they knew to do. The boy was beaming as he unhooked and drove them out of the lane, not at all disappointed in his mares. When he got off to the side where his Dad was, he petted on them and talked to them like they’d won the world. After the pull, we went and talked to the Dad and his boy and complimented them on their teams. We were so impressed with the two old mares and really bragged on them and how smart they were. The boy was so proud of them and proud to have them in town. I don’t remember any fine details about the big, shiney professional teams, but I can still picture those lovely Belgian mares in my mind. They were really something.
Jan was raised on a ranch in far western South Dakota. She grew up horseback working all descriptions of cattle, plus sheep and horses. After leaving home she pursued a post-graduate study of cowboying and dayworking in Nebraska, New Mexico, Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota....
