“Me, I got a working team, Louis, and Joe, they’re geldings and black, so black you can see the slightest bit of dirt on them.”
Nazaire stood silent a few moments, and shrugged his shoulders as both men walked up to the largest corral.
“Joe, he has white socks in the back and is the funny one, always defies me before the work’s finished. Louie is taller and serious. He never relaxes, him.”
Louis (left) and Joe (right).
Nazaire pulled out a tin of Stag fine cut, packed his pipe, then fired up.
“Sometimes I sit and sing to them when we come in at night. Louis’ always in a hurry to get back to the barn. Not Joe, he would take the long way home if he could, but Louis, he’s the boss and poor Joe can’t even nibble a little extra clover. Sometimes I think Louis is almost the boss of me.”
“How many hands?”
“They’re small compared to your animals. Canadiens, a short breed, fourteen hands the both, with long necks and full chests, good for pulling, you know.”
“Most of mine are difficult eaters. You want the best for your stock but they can be stubborn.”
“Sometimes I put dried berries in their feed. They like that. In my pockets, I often put something good for them, and they know it, know it before I even see them.”