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Barn Boy

By Noel Freedman

Nov 08, 2001 -- Whoever shouted: "MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE!" never shoveled a stable of course.

At the Orphan's Home we had three teams of draft horses. Matched Clydesdales named Buck and Ben, a set of chestnuts called Ileen and Idella, and two old swayback gray plugs branded Nester and Nellie. The latter were tame enough to ride, but would never speed; their trainer must have installed a governor to keep them in check. Nellie had the homing instinct of a pigeon; she would head for the barn in spite of being reined in an opposite direction. Aboard Nester was rough at any pace: His spine-ride jolt was like plodding a corduroy road paved with osteoporosis.

Ileen and Idella hated work, so they took their sweet time moving in from the pasture. It was no easy drive to chase them out of the field. Near the gate they would wheel and stampede back to the shade where I started half an hour back. Sometimes I could con Idella into cantering up to me by shaking a can of oats in her direction. In her brain I bet she thought, "How could anything go wrong when everything smelled so right?" She would sucker right against me; then, like a first date I'd sly-like give her a little hug, same time same emotion, lace a rope around her neck, cast a half hitch on her muzzle, now take her in a cinch and get what I was after. Next, grab her by the makeshift halter, same time same station, stiff-arm her away from me (to keep her off my heels) and walk her to the barn. This ploy suckered Ileen in as well because she stuck with Idella like a homely woman bums with a good-looking gal.

Ben was easy to bring in. I could walk up to him and haze him to a stand still; grab a fist of mane, then shove him against the barb wire fence where I'd mount a couple strands, then spring to his back. A kick in the ribs sent Ben to the barn. On his way, if I weren't watching, he'd aim for the guy wire that stabilized a power pole near the field gate. As Ben brushed by he'd rake me off. Back in the barn I'd horsewhip him for wiping me out.

Buck was so high, I had to stand on a box to put him in harness. I never rode Buck. He was dangerous. I kept my distance, except when I had to lean in close to buckle up his belly strap. This move made me dodge under, then reach across his gut to grab the buckle end, and while I was under there he would shift about like aiming to kick me to kingdom come. What was worse? To be behind his behind same time same station pry his tail over the harness tail strap; same time same station nervous me a'quivvering, "Whoe, Buck, easy Buck easy Buck whoe."

Buck and Ben kept a stance that consisted of standing on three hooves solid, while sort of tip-toeing the fourth hoof in a slump slouch. Buck hung loose on his rear left hoof and Ben slopped over on his right rear, each cocked to kick. Eat bone connected to eye bone, eye bone connected to brain bone, brain bone connected to hoof bone, and hoof bone itching to connect with Death Wish, squeezing t'ween these sticks of dynamite; me scratching like a match.

I didn't get any advice on how to be a Barn Boy. It was purely do-it-myself on the job training. Horse Barn Boy was the top rung on the Barn Boy ladder. I was promoted to Barn Boy having worked up through the rungs from kitchen K.P. Barn Boy meant I didn't have to do dishes anymore.

The only good advice I ever gave myself, when I graduated from Cow Dam to Horse Barn, was not to wind the reins around my wrists, because if I couldn't trot fast enough to keep up with the horse, I would end up in the dirt, towed face down, my nose ditching like a plow.

I learned one lesson a hard way: You see, I had to make up a team to pull the manure spreader. Idella was too sick to work and Ben pulled up lame. I thought since I didn't have a matched pair, what would be the difference if I married Buck to Illeen? Both were same size, And each always pulled harder to show off, to show up the stable mate. Matchmaker made sense to me, so I did it. Nobody advised me there might be a difference.

I had observed that when one horse won't pull its share, then the job tends to roll in a dead end circle; so the trick to hauling straight, (called Team Work) is either whip up the weak horse or hold back the leader. Well, Buck was just as ambitious as Ileen, so I figured my team would harmonize like Paul Bunyan and Jimmy Little on the same saw.

To get the barn's outback (now in the spreader) back on the field, I backed in Buck next to Idella, and by their leave on the wrong side as well. Hey, they wore blinders, and didn't see what I saw. Even if they did see, they didn't seem to mind. They stood stock still; Buck in his habit stance slouch, cocked to kick, and Ileen's tail whip-flicking, shooing flies.

I pulled my mismatch ahead far enough to poke the spreader tongue through the ring that hung between their collars. Next, hands on their bridles, I shoved the team back; and the collar ring followed them about a foot down the tongue pole. Next, I set the pull chains in the hooks on the double trees bolted to the spreader. Now this rig was all set to roll; I climbed aboard, settled in the buckboard, gathered the reins, and sucked in my breath. Then I yelled: 'GIT!" Whoeeeeeeeeee came the worse runaway I ever rode! No time to stop here even for a paragraph 'cause they took off like fire on a fuse, SMASHED through the closed gate, SMASHED through the cross fenced field, barb wire coiling after us like a driven tumble weed dragging fence posts with feet cast in concrete staples firing free like shot from a cannon spurring on my steeds when nailed in the ass. I wished they'd STOP but they ran crazy 'til they run out of gas.

Man alive, the Barn Boss was livid! Said, "Spreader cast a rooster tail higher than a hydroplane's kick, and in the settle brown, sterilized a stripe of land five feet wide and a foot thick where nothing will grow. Ground too hot to handle." Then he slammed the barn door on me: Busted me clean off the Barn Boy ladder.

I'm back fishing dishes. I do my best thinking when I'm down deep in 'em. What surfaced of late is this fact: When you reach the top, the only way is down.

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