Amid the riot of last week's New York State Fair — a butter sculpture depicting life-size customers in an ice-cream parlor; cage upon cage of ducks and chickens and rabbits; pen after pen of goats and sheep and pigs; a Snickers candy bar wrapped in bacon, then dipped in batter, then deep-fried; an exhibit of art made from “junk in a bucket” — I happened upon some carriage-driving contests in the equestrian coliseum. There were pairs of dapper Belgian draft ponies, and also big Percherons in “tandem hitch,” which means one in front of the other like a tandem bicycle.
I’ve seen a few cart and carriage accidents, and heard about others. Driving is certainly more dangerous than riding: if a cart bounces or tips, the humans can get catapulted from the seat while the animals can get entangled in straps and shafts. Once upon a time, Sandy had Gus nicely trained to pull a little two-wheeled trap as she walked behind it, and after he was good with a 50-pound sack of feed in the trap, she figured she might . . . just . . . sit in it herself. Instantly the imbalance or torque freaked him out and sent him running off wildly, causing the cart to flip over sideways while still attached to him, causing him to freak out even more. Sandy managed to bail out and roll away unhurt, but by the time she and others got Gus stopped, the harness was so twisted and jammed onto his shoulders that they had to cut it off of him.
Happily, all went smoothly with the Belgians and Percherons I saw at the fair. And when I tell Sandy about it, it sparks her interest in reintroducing Gus to driving. His crash was far in the past, and he’s great with long-lining — what could go orwng??
First we fail to realize, when Gus shows some suspicion on seeing the cart in the arena, that he still associates it with bad hoodoo. But he lets us bring the little conveyance behind him and tie its shafts with bailing twine to the side-rings of his surcingle. Sandy takes the reins behind the cart, while I walk at Gus's head in order to deliver instant treats whenever she clicks. Off he steps like a professional and walks along well. Almost right away, though, he doesn’t want to stop to receive treats, and he doesn’t want to whoa on her command. He wants to walk along smartly. Then to quick-march. Then to trot. The more he accelerates, the more the light metal cart jounces and rattles. And the more it rattles, the less he likes it. Gus’s intent evolves visibly, from pulling the cart to fleeing the cart.
At this point, when Sandy tries to slow him, he instead runs off blindly, pulling the reins from her hands. He gallops to the arena gate and tries to barge out through it, toppling a couple of chairs and wooden rails loudly. But the gate won’t give, and the trap won’t stop chasing him, so he veers back to the center of the arena and crosses it diagonally, bucking and bucking and bucking. By this time the cart is upside-down, scraping and banging, the twine is broken away from one shaft, but the other shaft is sticking under and between his hind legs. It all started so promisingly, and now we're fearing for his life!
As he rampages away from the gate, I make like an X — standing tall with my arms extended in the air and my feet apart, forming the international (and interspecies) symbol for halt — and I aim my X at his neck. Sandy probably does the same thing, but I don't look; I'm focused only on Gus, both to influence him with my body language and to keep my actual body far away from him and the cart. To our amazement, he stops for us. I put a hand on his halter to keep him still, and Sandy begins ve-e-ery carefully disentangling him. I produce my pocket knife (exigencies like this are why I always, always, always keep it on me) so she can cut the twine and drag the cart back away from him. Gus waits and then walks off with me. Considering his ordeal, he now seems fine — no trembling or panting or jumpiness. And by amazing grace, no injuries.
Of course we don’t want to end on such a negative note, so we work with Gus for awhile afterward, hoping to give him some positive, or at least not terrifying, associations with the cart. Details about that in the next post.
Happily, all went smoothly with the Belgians and Percherons I saw at the fair. And when I tell Sandy about it, it sparks her interest in reintroducing Gus to driving. His crash was far in the past, and he’s great with long-lining — what could go orwng??
At this point, when Sandy tries to slow him, he instead runs off blindly, pulling the reins from her hands. He gallops to the arena gate and tries to barge out through it, toppling a couple of chairs and wooden rails loudly. But the gate won’t give, and the trap won’t stop chasing him, so he veers back to the center of the arena and crosses it diagonally, bucking and bucking and bucking. By this time the cart is upside-down, scraping and banging, the twine is broken away from one shaft, but the other shaft is sticking under and between his hind legs. It all started so promisingly, and now we're fearing for his life!
As he rampages away from the gate, I make like an X — standing tall with my arms extended in the air and my feet apart, forming the international (and interspecies) symbol for halt — and I aim my X at his neck. Sandy probably does the same thing, but I don't look; I'm focused only on Gus, both to influence him with my body language and to keep my actual body far away from him and the cart. To our amazement, he stops for us. I put a hand on his halter to keep him still, and Sandy begins ve-e-ery carefully disentangling him. I produce my pocket knife (exigencies like this are why I always, always, always keep it on me) so she can cut the twine and drag the cart back away from him. Gus waits and then walks off with me. Considering his ordeal, he now seems fine — no trembling or panting or jumpiness. And by amazing grace, no injuries.
Of course we don’t want to end on such a negative note, so we work with Gus for awhile afterward, hoping to give him some positive, or at least not terrifying, associations with the cart. Details about that in the next post.
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