The Shire Horse Faces Extinction

(Shire Horses)

I've always loved horses, particularly the draft breeds. When I was younger I remember my Grandpa telling me stories about his father who, as a boy of 13 in Scotland, was essentially 'sold' away for farm labour because the family couldn't afford to keep him.  I later found out that he was part of a set of twins who never saw each other again as a result.

So, before he came to Canada, my great-grandfather John Gallacher ploughed Scottish fields with a team of Shire horses, the tallest of the draft breeds. Such a different time and life from mine but I've always had a rural heart, and I know I come by it honestly. 

I recently read the following and it tears at that heart.  We can't let these beautiful animals go because we are going to need them again, this much is obvious as the world oil supply dwindles. They are a part of our history and very likely our future; we don't just need them, they deserve to remain:

London, Mar 14 (ANI): They might have been a symbol of Britishness for centuries, but now the British shire horse is facing extinction, claim experts.

Their numbers have dwindled to just 3,500, from 6,000 just 10 years ago, and unless a proper breeding programme is introduced, the breed could die out within a decade.

The numbers of female shire horses currently being bred are not high enough to sustain the breed.

“The extinction of British shire horses is a distinct possibility - we have to do something now rather than wait until it is too late, which could be within 10 years, the Telegraph quoted Ken Young, from the Shire Horse Society, as saying.

Shire horses were brought to Britain in 1066 by William the Conqeror, and were used in medieval warfare as living armored tanks until new weapons made them obsolete.

During the Industrial Revolution they were relied upon to transport goods to the railways. Since then they have been used in farm work, pulling carts for deliveries and rubbish collection.

“Another breed of horse, the Suffolk Punch, suffers from the same problem. It is all but extinct and if we don’t do something about the shire horse, that is where we are headed.

“People are even discussing the possibility of a frozen sperm bank for shire horses, to try to keep the breed going, he added. (ANI)

To that end, I leave you with the lyrics of a favourite song of mine, Heavy Horses by Jethro Tull. The horses on the album cover are Clydesdales.

Iron-clad feathered feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Last of the line at an honest days toil
Turning the deep sod under
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone
Flies at the nostrils plunder.

The Suffolk, the Clydesdale, the Percheron vie
With the Shire on his feathers floating
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
To bed on a warm straw coating.

Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do
The tractor is on its way.

Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And we'll stand you abreast at the back of the woods
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
Youre eighteen hands at the shoulder

And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
And the nights are seen to draw colder
They'll beg for your strength, your gentle power
Your noble grace and your bearing
And you'll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
In the wake of the deep plough, sharing.

Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.

Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
Across these acres glistening
Like dew on a carpet lawn
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
As the heavy horses thunder by
To wake the dying city
With the living horseman's cry

At once the old hands quicken ---
Bring pick and wisp and curry comb ---
Thrill to the sound of all
The heavy horses coming home.

Iron-clad feathered feet pounding the dust
An October's day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.

Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now you're down to the few
And there's no work to do
The tractor is on its way.