The Clydesdale Story

When I was younger, I was staying at a home where there were these large barren fields next door. This was a particularly harsh winter, and the as the spring thaw set in the field become a deep mud bog. This was a source of attraction for many creatures including swarms of gnats, flies, frogs, seagulls and teenage boys with big trucks.

One early morning, I heard a bustle going on outside. I threw open the sash to see what was a matter, to discover a gaggle of teenage boys standing around a very large Chevy truck. The truck had a giant off road package, well decorated, but was stuck axle deep in the bog of mud. The mud might as well have been concrete. The head lamps on the truck must had lit the entire neighborhood they were so bright. You could see these young boys standing around arguing about the best way to get the truck out. Every once and awhile one of them would jump in and they would all start rocking the vehicle around, but in vain. This was not the case of wheels spinning around type of stuck. This was full on, all four wheels not even moving when in low gear and at full throttle. Completely frozen solid type of stuck. This was no ordinary mud, that is for sure.

When I woke up in early dawn, I checked on them again. There was no progress, however they had a friend with a bigger truck in the mix. This truck has all the latest and greatest stickers indicating their awesomeness with various vendors advertising the off road prowess of the driver. They had tied a logging chain around the rear axle of this truck and attached the other end to the frame of the Chevy stuck in the mud. The new truck was Ford 350 Diesel, but we would soon discover that was a distinction hardly worth noting. The Ford surged forward with all the noise of a aircraft leaving the tarmac, the large exhaust pipes blowing a giant plume of black diesel exhaust. Surely, this truck would pull the other out of it’s predicament. It might be able to even pull the devil out of hell by all the fan fare of the event and the look of pride on the driver’s face.

Well, I think you know what happened. All four tires of the Ford dug about four feet down into the mud and in just a few seconds, those tires too were seized by the awful grip of the dense claws of the muddy bog. The scene was becoming quite hilarious. A bunch of boys with their toy trucks all standing around kneed deep in dense mud, all their dreams of heroism with their big bad trucks lost somewhere in the early morning steam rising off the cold ground.

Through this haze is when I noticed the old farmer, in stereotypical coveralls and an old John Deere cap smiling as he watched the hilarity unfold. After spending a few moments evaluating the scene he disappeared and came back pulling a very large horse with a giant collar around his neck. He held the bridle in one hand and a set of thick ropes in the other. The young men, looking perplexed at first, soon realized his intention when he tied the end of the rope to the rear of the Chevy. They started laughing and joking around. Their frustration with the evenings events found a new target of laughter which border lined as ridicule.

Once the ropes were tied to the collar of the horse, the man gave a small signal by clicking his mouth and you could visibly see the sinews in the neck and chest of the Clydesdale go taught, and start to bulge. For a moment there was nothing, just the obvious strain of the horse. The ropes began to tighten and then in a moment of absolute victory the horse reached one of his front legs up in a flashy show. He then brought his hoof down with a sudden power that visibly shook the ground for several feet. He lifted his head, snorted very loudly, and flared his nostrils. Then in a moment, which seemed to me an action of arrogance that rivaled any teenager there, flipped the mane on the back of his neck slightly to the right.

The horse did not get stuck. With a sudden sucking sound, that truck and all four tires slid right out of the mud. The leverage and power that the horse could place in a single direction was all that was required. The teenagers shut their mouths real quick as that horse pulled that truck as if it was no more than a small sled across the entire field and stopped when it reached the road. In absolute stunned silence all of us watched the old man untie the horse and lash the ropes to the other vehicle. In just a few moments the other truck was resting just off the curb on the road side, with a very proud horse prancing his way back to his barn where I am sure a nice sack of oats and apples awaited.

The teenagers all shuffled off, climbed aboard their toys and went home. Probably with a lot of explaining to do for mom as to why they were coming home at 6am completely covered in mud. Oh how the mighty fell that morning.

I have often dwelt on the symbolism of what I witnessed that morning. The powerful forces of nature, the strength that leverage can provide in a situation, the danger of false bravado. However, today I am focused on the sheer power and strength that an individual can bring to a situation to completely change the outcome. That is what I inspire to be. I am Clydesdale. I am a stubborn, proud, strong draft horse hell bent on proving my worth in this time of crisis. Here I go, putting the collar on, cinching the ropes tight. Time to dance in the mud for a few more weeks!

Guy Reams