Draft Horse Field Day

Stumbling on things is what autumn rambles are all about.  Rolling through Adams County, Ohio, Tricia and I stumbled on the 9th Annual Old Fashion (their spelling) Draft Horse, Mule and Pony Field Days six miles south of Peebles, Ohio. It was October 2, so figure it's held each year around then. For information, you can call Dale Grooms 937-544-3123 or 937-587-3293.

On this magical Saturday, already overloading on fancy pumpkins and searing blue skies, the addition of muscular draft animals and antique harness and machinery was almost too much for us.

I would imagine that if you did one of those word profiles of this blog, the word "love" would come up an awful lot. I wish there were other good words. I adore draft animals, their shapes and heads and bottoms; their hooves and noses. So stumbling on this event was like rolling in catnip for me.

There were sweet little girls and their miniature pony and donkey. The brunette reminded me of Ramona the Pest, in a good way. She climbed fearlessly atop a gentle Percheron.

 

His mane was shaved, so she had nothing at all to hang onto, but I knew she wouldn't be dumped by this sweet giant.

 

Off they went, much to the consternation of their other horse friends.

Obviously, the other member of the black Percheron team had to go along or he'd be very unhappy. That's one of the things that charms me about horses. We can make them in any shape we want, but they're still herd animals at heart, and are happiest in a crowd.

Left behind, two draft ponies from the same farm (the black perhaps a cross between a pony and a Percheron)  set up a nickering, then full-blown whinnying from the chestnut. I believe it's a Haflinger, judging from its conformation and coloring.

You can see the Arab blood in its beautiful head. The Haflinger is an Austrian mountain breed, developed in 1874 by crossing the stocky native Tyrol pony with a half-Arab stallion. This gave a taller, finer look to the offspring, and the lovely head with the inward-pointing eartips and slightly dished face speaks of its hot Arab blood. Sorry, sweetie, you'll just have to wait until your friends come back. You'll be OK.

No, I won't!