Trailer loading is one of the processes Chicago and I practiced profusely when we were very young, and one of the couple behaviors on which we came to mutually agreed-upon terms, trusting each other to be calm and cooperative, to stay sane to stay safe.
Chicago mastered the art of walking in and backing out of a straight-load 2-horse trailer, and he did it without incident for the 10 years we travelled to barns for lessons and parks for trail rides, nominally nullifying the irritation caused by our many storied incidents in those barns for those lessons and in those parks for those trail rides. He objected to left canter leads and park rangers on four-wheelers, but never to loading in a trailer.
But then our trailer sat idle for a few years, mobilized only for the annual shoe-horning into the barn shop for winter storage and the subsequent tow back out to the parking area in the spring.
Eventually I realized that we’d reached a point at which the only time the horses will likely leave the property will not necessitate them walking into a trailer, so I sold it, with the conviction that in the unlikely event of a trailering emergency, I’d be able to phone a friend.
And for two years we had nowhere to go, nothing to do that couldn’t be done within the four corners of Four Sticks Farm. But about a year ago my big red beast needed to have a tooth extracted at the University of Minnesota, which is an hour drive from us. He needed to go to the U because he needed to have a scan of his skull that could only be done with their equipment in their clinic.
There are people who transport horses for a living, but calls to them proved discouraging, as they were either out of the business, not interested in local trips, or willing to do it for an exorbitant price with scheduling issues that may have meant an extended campus visit, i.e., they could get him to the clinic on time, but no promises on the return trip. While I’m sure Chicago would’ve loved to hang out with the lovely and talented vet students and staff in the cozy confines of the teaching barn, leaving him longer would’ve pushed the limit of his spring break budget.
I have a few kind and generous friends with trailers, but borrowing someone else’s equipment brings risk of damage or desecration, and I didn’t want to add stress to an already stressful experience by going into it with the possibility of ruining a practically perfect relationship.
In the end, I called my neighbors, fellow backyard horse keepers I met and bonded with several years ago at a fundraiser for our little local library. They live a short mile up the road and belonged to our county mounted patrol, so I thought they’d have a lead on a Good Samaritan up to the task.
Turns out, they did know someone. Them. Despite my profuse assurances that I was only asking for contacts, not favors, they were willing and able and insistent that they could, and would, haul us to St Paul Wednesday and back home Thursday. Just because.
They arrived in plenty of time for none of us to feel rushed about loading up and hitting the pavement trail. Chicago brought his A-game, walked right in the unfamiliar ride with neither hesitation nor backward glance, and he stood quietly as we traveled down the interstate and across the campus roads.
My neighbors toured the vet clinic with me, and waited for the surgeon to explain how the process would proceed, which took their entire Wednesday morning and a good chunk of their Wednesday afternoon. They unhooked and entrusted their trailer to the overnight campus parking lot security, and we returned late Thursday morning to hitch up, load up and head up I94.
We’re all equine enthusiasts, and we all enjoyed the opportunity to talk horses for uninterrupted hours. But as happens on road trips, even short rides to “The Cities”, conversation covered a wide swath. We chatted about books and movies, told stories about ourselves and our families, shared our worries about the world, spiced up with just a pinch of local gossip. We listened, learned, laughed, and remembered how much we like our neighbors.
Since Chicago’s never ridden in a trailer he didn’t poop in, when we got home, I walked him to the pasture and headed back to the driveway prepared to pick up his mess. But I returned to a closed trailer gate, an open truck door, and my neighbor waving me and my muck rake away with the assertion that manure management was “part of the deal”.
The best people sometimes volunteer for the shittiest jobs.
I treated for lunch on Wednesday and snuck a little cash in the thank-you card I gave them on Thursday, which they tried to return, but this time I was the insistent one.
We haven’t seen much of each other this year, beyond drive-by waves, social media exchanges, and Christmas card updates.
But we know we’re here.
Nice.
From Four Sticks Farm 