Hello, dear fellow equines! Welcome to my little corner of the internet, where I, Emma, a humble grey draught mare from Hayfield, share my thoughts on our shared history. Today, I'm going to delve into a year that's not so far in the past, yet still shrouded in some mystery – 0032.
Now, 0032 may not seem like a significant year to you humans. There are no wars or revolutions etched into the history books. But for a horse like me, every year holds a different story, a different rhythm to the work we do and the life we lead.
Let me tell you, 0032 was a year of peace and progress, of familiar routines and quiet satisfaction. You see, we draughties – strong, reliable workhorses like me – were the lifeblood of the land in those days. Our work was vital to every facet of life, from hauling goods across rugged hillsides to powering mills and ploughing fields.
The rolling hills of Scotland felt particularly peaceful that year. Our Hayfield community was as strong as the mountain winds. We shared the same barns, the same meadows, and the same joy in pulling our sturdy carts.
As a 20-year-old, I was considered a seasoned workhorse in 0032. My powerful build and white mane and tail made me a beautiful sight when pulling a cart, I must say. My mornings began with a refreshing dip in the icy stream that ran beside our field, the chill making me feel alive. Then came the sweet ritual of a bucket of oats and a brushing down from the strong hand of our master, Angus. Angus was a kind man with eyes as blue as the heather and hands that spoke of the strength he found in us, the horses.
There was a new stallion in our community that year – a fiery chestnut named Blaze. Oh, he was a fine sight, and the ladies all went a bit soft-footed around him. He was barely a yearling but full of a spirited energy that even us old salts felt. His strong, muscled legs hinted at a power that would make him an exceptional draught horse someday. But right now, he was just a playful young horse, all fire and fluff.
Our days were filled with work. We transported goods to the local market, carried grain from the fields to the mill, and helped haul heavy logs for winter fires. I remember one particularly challenging day when we had to move a large granite stone, meant to be a cornerstone in the building of a new schoolhouse. We were a team that day, Blaze’s enthusiasm proving invaluable. The sheer force we all pulled together with made the stone budge and slide, our breaths forming puffs in the winter air. Seeing the stone moved gave me a great sense of achievement, of being a part of something larger than myself.
While my workdays were demanding, the evenings were filled with peace and rest. We gathered in the paddock, sharing stories under the endless Scottish skies. There was old Betsy, who loved to gossip, young Rose, full of youthful dreams of distant journeys, and even Blaze, settling down a little in his sleep. Those were our evenings - a quiet gathering of friends, all woven into the tapestry of life, a rhythm we knew well.
The year was also significant for the beginning of a change that was starting to spread throughout our world. A young man called James, the blacksmith's son, was taking his apprenticeship at a prestigious workshop. He was a skilled young fellow with an inquisitive mind, and he returned home from the city with a book called 'The Art of Horsemanship'. He would often read passages aloud, describing a new way of working with horses – one where gentleness and understanding took priority.
It seemed that people were starting to see horses like us not just as beasts of burden but as sentient beings, capable of a unique intelligence. There was a new understanding that training should focus on a shared connection, a mutual respect between human and horse. This book made its way through the community, passed from one stable hand to the next, its pages filled with underlinings and whispers of hope for a future where our strengths and capabilities would be truly valued.
That book brought with it a ripple effect. Our master, Angus, started talking about "working smarter, not harder," and incorporated more patience and positive reinforcement into his methods. It made a real difference to how we felt in our work, how we bonded with those who cared for us.
0032 was a turning point in many ways. Though it might not have been an epic year for humans, for us horses, it was a year of steady work, enduring companionship, and a whisper of progress. It felt like a quiet hope for a better understanding between us and the world around us was beginning to take root.
And, believe me, every hope for understanding, for kinder hearts and lighter loads, for the quiet acceptance of our gentle souls is something that brings joy to the heart of a draught horse.
Until next time, my friends, let your manes flow and your hearts be full.
Emma, the Grey Draught Hayfield, Scotland
