Day: October 26, 2014

The carriage horses came to me in the night, they invited me to a Dance Of The Horses, a dance of time, a celebration held deep in Central Park, the great park, in the dark in the middle of the night. The big grey horse, the leader of the horses, cast a spell around the beautiful fountain where the dance would be held.

People who loved and believed in the horses and their magic, who bowed to the great connection between horses and people could see the horses, people who did not could not, they would be blind to the dance, left  to lives of anger and disillusionment.

I was asked to attend, but not given any time to answer, it seemed I had accepted without saying so,  I found myself riding through time and space on the broad backs of a beautiful gray horse, he seemed to take me through the black and cloudy night all the way up to the stars and then sail straight to down, I thought I might be frightened all the way up there, riding on so big and powerful a horse, but I was not.

I thought I would be cold, but I was not.

I thought I would be lonely, but was not.

I thought I would miss my farm, but did not, the donkeys brayed to me as I sailed out of sight, they wished me a good journey.

I saw the horses dancing long before we came to the ground, the fountain was brilliantly lit in all of the colors of the rainbow, the water soaring up and splashing down in beautiful harmony, the birds in the trees singing along, a magical synchronization. Around the fountain the big horses danced and danced, their hooves clip-clopping on the ground, an eerie and mystical drumbeat, their snorts and neighs carrying up to the skies, to the angels and cherubs. Around and around the fountain, gypsies and believers, violinists and street people, flutists and trumpeters, horse lovers and the ghosts of Indians, the spirits of the carriage drivers ran and danced, children and lovers hugged, their arms full of apples and oranges, chunks of alfalfa, cookies made of sweetgrain and oats.

The carousel in the park sprung to life, the organ sending it’s haunting melodies far out into the great park, on the paths and by-ways built for the carriage horses, who rushed back and forth with abandon, their spirits free to  run fast and free, they could harm no one, no one could rage at them. The animals in the children’s zoo roared and sang, their calls echoed through the giant elms.

What, I asked the big white horse, is the purpose of this dance? It is, he said, a Dance of Time, a celebration of the people love the horses and know their power and meaning in the world. We stand for the earth, he said, for the partnership with people, for the need we have for one and another, we celebrate the possibilities of love and good will, of a world without killing and war and conflict and harsh judgment. We are the past and we are the future, we have been banned before, slaughtered and banished before, and the earth weeps for us, and turns brown and warm, we have returned to light the best parts of you and us. We dance for the world, even those that cannot see us, and would send us away again.

We are the wind and the rain, the sun and the moon, we are the soul of the earth, sacred and wondrous. We are hope itself, we take the light away with us.

I rode from one horse to another, I drank sweet cider and clapped to the music, ate cookies and dark chocolate with raspberries,  I raced up and down the wide and green paths of the park, the beautiful skyscrapers were invited to the dance, they swayed along with us, they smiled down on us and blessed us, they said we were their brothers and sisters in the beautiful park, we rode around and around the great fountain as it changed from one brilliant color to another, and we danced through the night in a great celebration of what animals and people have done together and can do.

And then, as the first rays of the sun glowed off of the beautiful buildings, I was on the back of the gray horse again sailing up through the skies and towards home, you will wake up and talk of this wonderful dream, he said, the Dance of The Horses, I will leave you a mark on your shoulder – and he bit into my shoulder, just a stab but very real – and he said, when you wake up and think of your dream, you can always look at your shoulder, your invitation to the dance will be there for all time, a call to keep your faith with us, to hear us and speak on our behalf.

And then, I woke up. And looked at my shoulder, and I was afraid to look.

Shearing is an art, a ballet, really, a dance between the shearer and the sheep, an ancient practice that has changed little for centuries, and attracts the most independent and caring people.

Jim McRae finishing up on Zelda, trimming her hooves.

Zelda always puts up a pretty good fight, but shearers know how to grab sheep, sit them on their butts or backs and keep them still while having their coats sheared and hooves trimmed. It took Jim and Liz about a half-hour to shear and trim our eight sheep, we catch up with one another and talk about sheep and their lives. Jim runs a photography shop in Rutland, Vt., and Liz just bought a farm in central Vermont, where she will raise sheep and pigs.

Jim says there are few large flocks of sheep anymore, most of their visits are to smaller farms like ours with eight or ten to 20 or so sheep. Jim charged $93 to come all this way to trim our eight sheep, we always pay more than he asks, as he always asks so little. We appreciate him, people like Jim – he also trains herding dogs, he is a great admirer of Red and his seriousness – without them, our life with animals would not be possible.

Jim McRae and Liz came from Vermont today to shear our eight sheep, our friend Tyler, who was here to help rake leaves, joined in and helped sort out the wool along with Maria, who will have it spun into yarn and sold. We shear our sheep twice a year, in the early Spring and mid-Autumn. Every time I post a photo of sheep being shorn at this time of year, many people express concern that we are harming the sheep, leaving them with little wool to fend off the approaching winter, often as harsh here as it is beautiful.

This annoyed me for awhile, I always wonder why people think we would put our sheep in danger or cause them to suffer extreme cold unprotected, but the carriage horses of New York have taught me to be less arrogant and impatient and to understand the importance of explaining what the real lives of animals are like. The very lives of animals can hang in the balance. It has become clear to me – Temple Grandin writes about this also – that many of the people in our world responsible for regulating the lives of animals and speaking for their rights have little or no contact with animals and seem to know nothing about them and what they truly need.

That is a deepening tragedy and an urgent concern for the animals left in our world. Safe and healthy animals like the New York Carriage Horses are now in danger while animals in the most dire need go unaided. Many institutions and individuals are giving up having animals rather than suffer the challenge, cost, invasive second-guessing  and abuse that increasingly comes with owning them.

So every event like shearing is an opportunity for me to not only share the experience but also to help educate people about the real lives of real animals. They are not all dogs and cats, fragile pets to be sheltered and protected.

There are all kinds of sheep, but almost all of them are hardy, mountain or desert sheep that have been bred to handle extreme temperatures for thousands of years. A sheep needs about a quarter or half-inch of wool to be comfortable in even the harshest of winters, and sheep like ours – Border-Leicesters, one Karaluk from Asia (Kim) – will grow that and more in three or four weeks.  By January, when the true winter arrives, they will have two or three times that.

Shearers shear sheep in New England in the middle of January and beyond, as long as there is shelter from the rain and ice and wind (we have that, of course). Shearers love sheep in the way that farriers love horses and donkeys, and no shearer would expose sheep to a brutal winter if they were not able to stay warm and comfortable. Even in some of the harshest weather, our sheep, given a choice, will prefer to be outside, huddled up with one another, letting their thick and lanolin-coated wool keep them warm.

It ought to go without saying – but doesn’t seem to – that Maria and I would not shear our sheep in late October if they could not keep themselves warm. We also offer them shelter year round, they mostly prefer it in the heat, but they have it all year. It is important to understand that animals like sheep – and draft horses – are not pets like dogs or cats. Horses, like donkeys and dogs, love to pull things and work, they love routine and tasks, it is what they are bred for. Because a sheep is shorn, it does not mean he or she is naked and exposed to the elements. Even after the shearing there is a coat of fur around the sheep, they are out grazing right now in cold temperatures with intermittent,  rain, they are in no way uncomfortable and could go into shelter any time they wished.

People who keep animals are responsible for them, and if we are to have animals in our world, they need to be respected and supported, not over-policed and harassed. We could easily get rid of our sheep and save money on hay and time on chores, but we love having them, and they lead good and comfortable lives.

One day, perhaps I will post photos of sheep being shorn in October without people writing me to say how cruel it must be.  Sitting at their computers in cities or the suburbs, they don’t seem to know that sheep have been shorn in October since the dawn of civilization, and it is both healthy and comfortable for them to be clean and carry less weight.  But curiously, they think they know.

Perhaps one day, an animal rights group will give a mayor or state legislators enough money to ban the shearing of sheep after Labor Day or before June. I would sell mine, of course, like so many others would, they would almost surely go to market, as has happened to so many other animals saved by people who know nothing about them.  There will be no jackets on these sheep, no matter what the weather and we look forward to Jim and Liz coming back in the Spring. I appreciate the chance to present the truth about the real lives of animals, I believe the future of animals depends on it.