If you remember, Gifford came to our farm to keep our horse Pharaoh company. He is my husband's horse.
The Gifford Chronicles
Chapter 1: The Jumper
In the winter of Gifford’s first year with us, our farrier came to Silver Mark Farm to do Pharaoh's feet. As this was the first time our farrier had come since we brought Pharaoh home from boarding at at a local stable, we were unsure exactly where the shoeing would be done: in a stall, outside of the barn, halfway inside/outside, etc. Eventually, we settled on Pharaoh's stall where Elaine could hold his head and our farrier could work freely.
What to do with Gifford, who had his own farrier from Lancaster, was simple: enclose him in the lower field where he would be out of the way. If you have ever been around Gifford, you quickly find he is as curious as a cat. Getting him out of the way was a good idea. With him secure in the lower field, the shoeing of Pharaoh proceeded.
Within a few minutes, I heard a clanging. Gifford was pressing himself against the gate, obviously trying to get out. I yelled for him to stop. Surprisingly, he did and walked away to resume eating his hay. I returned to the barn.
When I checked on Gifford later, he again was standing at the gate, although this time not pressing and banging. Before I could say a word, Gifford turned around and trotted down the field for about twenty yards, stopped and turned to again face the gate. At that point I realized he had been sizing up the gate, had formulated a plan, and was now getting ready to execute. Gifford just had to know what was happening to Pharaoh, what the farrier's truck was doing backed up to the barn door, what "the humans" were doing … it was driving him nuts. No gate was going to stop him from finding out. Knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do, as I could not get down to the lower paddock in time to make much of a difference, I watched and waited.
With a buck, Gifford began his uphill run toward the gate. Now, if you have ever seen a Belgian run, you know it is somewhat comical because of their size. They are not particularly fast but they can build up quite a head of steam. On he came and I waited for the inevitable crash, crushing of the gate and who-knows-what would happen to the fencing. In my head I saw all my work installing the fencing and gates about to be reduced to a heap of tangled metal, posting and electrified rope.
Just as he reached the gate, Gifford did the unexpected: he launched himself upward, tucked his front hooves under his chest and sailed OVER the gate, only brushing his tummy across the top. He landed on the other side (the gate, posting and fencing totally in tact) and trotted up to the barn so he could finally see what the heck was going on. Totally amazing!
I yelled out to our farrier and Elaine what had just happened. They were stunned and we all had a good laugh. Once Gifford saw Pharaoh was OK, he proceeded to lick salt from our farrier's truck and generally made a pest of himself. I finally got a hold on his halter and held him through the balance of Pharaoh's shoeing and the farrier's departure. Pharaoh was released back into the field and off they trotted to their hay and everyday "horsing around".
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| Gifford at 20 months, and the gate behind him. |
Later, I went down to examine the gate, posting and fencing for damage. I also wanted to measure the height of the gate. There was not a single scratch or dent on the gate, all posts were secure, and nothing was wrong with the fence. When in its closed position, the gate measured 4 feet 4 inches from the ground to the top. Gifford (who was about 17 hands[1] and 1,400 pounds at the time) had run uphill, over icy compacted snow, with only one front shoe (his other shoe had been lost a week earlier and his rear feet had never been shod) and jumped the gate! Pharaoh, who is considerably smaller (15.3 hands and about 1,200 pounds) and a trained jumper, does not jump 4 feet. Had I not seen it myself I would not have believed it.
When I related this story to Gifford’s then-owner, he had a laugh and told me he had never heard of such a thing. Who the heck would have ever expected curious and loveable Gifford to be a jumper. What a horse! That weekend I raised the height of all our gates to 5 feet in hopes this would discourage Gifford from further attempts. Until then, I worried because I feared Gifford might have developed a liking for the thrill of jumping. I fully expected to see Gifford on the opposite side of our fencing, encouraging the far more sensible Pharaoh to join him.
January 2000
[1] The highest point of a horse is the top of its head (called a poll). As a horse can move its head up and down it is hard to take an accurate measurement from the ground to the top of its head. The height of a horse is therefore measured in a vertical line from the ground to the withers (at the base of the neck). One hand is 4 inches or approximately 10 centimeters. If a horse is more than an exact number of hands high, the extra inches are given after a decimal point. For example: a horse measuring 58” at the withers is 14.2 (14 hands and two inches).
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What Paul didn't know when he wrote this back in 2000, was that Gifford would indeed end up on the opposite side of the fence more times than not. He was an escape artist extraordinnaire, and to this day we say our barn is "Giffordized" because we've had to put in many Gifford-cannot-escape mechanisms.
Stay tuned for more Gifford Chronicles tomorrow!
Aarrrooooooooooo
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