Horsepower
When the dust settled, and all the neighing stopped, there she was. All of four feet and a lot of opinion. Right in the middle of it all. Didn’t look like a pony to me. The six horses in that same paddock were all hugging the fence farthest away from her. At 12 hands, she was easily two feet shorter than most of the horses on the farm.
“That’s Waffles,” said Miss Tammy, the owner and my new boss. I met that attitude on the day I interviewed for the job. I was hired to take care of “18 horses and a pony.” When I arrived the next day at 7 am I heard shuffling and some quiet nickering sounds coming from the barn. As I opened the door, I was met with a squeal sound I didn’t know horses made. There in the first stall, with the name Waffles written on a marker board above the gate, was a miniature horse. And so it began. My summer of Waffles running the show and me just trying to keep up.
The day I did my first turnout, the owner said to put Waffles in a paddock with the six largest horses. I thought she was joking. Two Belgians and four Percherons and little Waffles. Took her all of about three minutes to let them know who the alpha horse was in that gang. Waffles ran around chasing the other horses until they were all against the fence. That happened every morning. She had to be the first horse fed and watered each morning and evening, the first one out in the fields. She didn’t like trucks either. A few days a week, a delivery truck dropped off supplies for the farm. She stood at that fence and hollered the entire time the truck was there. Not sure why, as it didn’t bring any food.
Waffles also defended the farm. Wolves and coyotes were abundant in northern Minnesota, and spring foals meant potentially easy pickings. I remember the day it happened, May 5, the Tuesday before Mother’s Day. I heard some loud commotion in the fields, so I stepped out of the stable I was mucking and looked to see what was going on. Sure enough, two wolves had jumped the fence and were trying to get at one of the foals. The only thing between the foal and the wolves was Waffles. She stood tall and reared up, striking with her sharp hooves. She did her best to strike at each of the wolves as they tried to dodge her to get at the foal. Waffles knocked down one of the wolves and stepped on it, killing it. As she turned, the other wolf was at her throat. She shook off the attack and drove the wolf away. Before I could get a rifle and get out there, it was over. The foal was safe. One wolf was dead, and one escaped. But Waffles was mortally wounded too. She lived a fierce life, and that foal got a new name.
Long live Waffles!