Even though Zack, my Arabian horse, was still relatively young I was finding it more and more difficult to take care of him. He wasn’t interested in giving people rides or doing more than just living and looking beautiful. He insisted on having his own way and was apparently enjoying his life, treating Grandpa Paul’s farm as his retirement home.

Of course the horse had no idea his caretaker was retired and was getting tired of making hay. The Ford 4000 tractor was difficult to start, the hay wagon floor had been rebuilt yet again, and the launcher sheer pin on the old John Deere 24T baler had just failed. I found out because the heavy bale of hay just stayed on the aluminum-alloy launch pan and the next bale pushed it off to the ground. It became jammed against the wagon’s front wheel before the old farmer realized he had a problem.

The hay was really too damp to harvest, but with the rain forecast for that night, and the lateness of the day, I had to get the hay in now or it would become wet and moldy and be lost. It was an early first cutting, good hay, and almost dry, except on the outside windrow. I decided to unhitch the wagon and get the rest of the small field baled up, simply letting the bales fall to the ground. I’d have to pick them up by hand.

I hitched the small Mitsubishi Tractor to the hay wagon, loaded in the nearest bales of hay and drove it to one side.

Ellen continued driving slowly around the field with the tractor and baler as I followed on foot dragging the bales out of the way so she could continue baling without interruption, unless the knotter failed.

The shadow of the hill behind our house fell across the field, the clouds were gathering and it was getting cooler. The knotter, however, kept working and it looked like we would be able to finish the field, and save the hay.

I drove the Ford tractor and baler back to the barn where I parked it out of the way to cover later, before the rain.

Back in the field I found Ellen with the wagon stopped near the first stack of bales to be loaded. After they were loaded on, she began slowly driving the small tractor and wagon around the field following the line of hay bales that had been dropped. I walked behind and picked up each one to place it on the wagon floor, and push it in as far as I could.  Soon I had to have her stop so I could climb up on the wagon and stack the heavy bales further back.

We were determined to save the hay and beat the rain. I had the initial idea of backing the full wagon into the barn to get the hay under shelter as soon as possible to unload it later. My efforts to back up the wagon increased my admiration for my son, who makes it look easy, and convinced me that my wife was right. Why not unload now? It hadn’t yet started to rain, though the sky was getting darker.

I drove the load of hay around and stopped against the steel drum that supported the bottom of the elevator. Ellen began placing each bale in turn on the elevator as I climbed up the into the loft to stack the hay. Actually, with the hay not yet completely dry, I decided to spread out the bales with the cut ends of the stalks up to allow the hay to breath and dry the rest of the way.

Though I was completely exhausted when the clatter of the elevator eventually stopped, the fragrance of the hay was exhilarating, coupled with the realization that it hadn’t yet started to rain.  I sat down on a bale expecting it to begin raining at any time.  Rain rattling on the metal barn roof could be a pleasant, peaceful sound, but the first few drops reminded me that I needed to cover the baler.

As I slowly descended the ladder into the barn I saw Zack, waiting for his afternoon feeding of grain. He exhibited no patience. I was late.

Of course I fed him a little grain and gave him a sample of the hay I had just put in the barn. He distained the sample, since he had free access to his pasture. Instead he reached over the grain box lid, grabbed the far edge with his teeth, and lifted it a few inches and dropped it. He wanted more, acting like he was addicted to grain.

I covered the baler, tying down what had been the grandkids wading pool before the cat had punctured the air ring. It made a good cover for the equipment.

It was time to evaluate my equipment.  I had fixed the knotter on the baler that morning, but just a short time later the pin had sheared on the launcher.  I had dragged the old Kuhn tedder around the field without bothering to grease it or fix the flat outer tires. It was impossible to get reel suspension springs for the ancient side delivery New Idea rake, so it no longer floated at all and often hit the ground rolling the hay into a twisted ball.  The International Harvester 225 Hay Swather was working again after replacing teeth and repairing the damage to the reel and crimper when I had picked up a rock.  The shortened rebuilt rack on the hay wagon was coming apart, the floor was fair and the running gear was still good.  The Ford tractor ran well and was worth fixing but the starter failed to engage the flywheel over 90% of the time. My farm machinery was tired, and so was I.

I decided we now had enough hay for Zack for the winter.  I didn’t feel like fixing all that junk so towed my hay equipment to the corner to see if I could get rid of it all.  I hoped to sell the baler, and give everything else away with it.  Ellen, however, asked me to save the hay wagon so we could use it to give the Bible club kids a hayride when we went to pick apples to make cider with her father’s home built press. 

I had a year to figure out what to do with Zack before I might have to take him back to where I bought him and pay for his ongoing care.  After the rain, he had clearly enjoyed rolling in the mud and resembled a piebald without the sharp black and white contrast so often admired.  His beauty was rather muddied and he had picked up burdock in both his mane and tail. 

With all that was going on that summer Zack was mostly ignored.  Sometimes he was white after a heavy rain, but the burdock continued to accumulate and though I tried to pull the long strands out of the tangle, he never stood still very long even while eating grain.  Amazingly, he tolerated my services when I brushed him down, removing the loose winter hair, until his coat took on its natural color.  Maybe he decided his retirement center spa was working after all.  He enjoyed his massage! 

He kept his burrs that day and mixed in more and more new ones that busy summer. In the end I had to cut off the matted hair and burrs which I couldn’t remove from Zack’s mane. I am sure it wasn’t because he was ashamed to be seen in public with his bad haircut, but he did spend a lot of time behind the barn, just standing there.

One afternoon, late in the fall, I went into the barn as usual to give Zack his afternoon measure of “Stock and Stable”, the balanced feed for inactive horses. He was standing in the barnyard near the fence where I had fed him old hay at the end of the previous winter.  He normally came immediately into the barn and got in the way before I could even open the grain bin.  He just stood there looking at the barn which still held some broken bales of very old hay.  He was really inactive!  Something must be wrong.

I lifted and dropped the lid of the grain bin a couple times.  Certainly he knew that sound! He turned and slowly ambled toward the barn.  Something was really wrong!

Maybe he needed some of that dry old hay to supplement the green grass diet he had had all summer.  I loaded parts of several broken bales in a wheelbarrow and took that to him.  He began nosing through it.  Maybe some of the new hay in the barn was what he needed, so I climbed into the loft and threw some of that down as well.  I’d check on him tomorrow.

He had scattered both the old and new hay around, apparently finding something he was looking for but still was slow to come in for his grain.  He allowed me to work on the remaining burrs in his mane.  I trimmed it and combed it as he stood still for the services.  I used the spiral steel curry comb and cleaned him down.  He looked pretty good, but the lack of spirit convinced me I needed to do something more!

I called my neighbor, Gloria, who loved horses and had six of them.  She could help me.  She asked about the salt lick I offered Zack.  I reassured her he had access to salt, but only a white brick.  She informed me that there was a selenium deficiency in this area and that might be causing the problem.  I also wondered about treating the horse for intestinal parasites, something I had neglected.

I went to the VanHornesville Co-op and got a red salt brick that included the trace minerals and the treatment most commonly used against intestinal parasites.  I asked Gloria for help giving Zack the worm treatment.  We might have to cross-tie him.

Zack was again just standing out in the barnyard where he had been the previous evening and didn’t respond to my lifting and dropping the grain bin lid.  I took the new salt brick and held it out to him yet he didn’t react until it touched his soft muzzle.  He almost painfully took a step nearer and extended the full length of his rough tongue to lick it.  He took another step so I continued to hold it out at arm’s length and moved backwards towards the barn.  I wanted to get him inside so Gloria and I could administer the worm treatment.

Gloria’s voice was so reassuring that Zack just stood there, licking the salt block.  She put her arm over his neck and drew his head down to hug him.  There was no need to cross-tie him or put on a halter as he resisted her not at all.  He let her play with his nose so she held out her hand for me to give her the soft plastic syringe full of worm treatment paste.  She emptied it into his mouth and somehow it seemed he understood that she was trying to help him.

I put the rest of the salt brick in a feed box where he could find it.  I put some grain down for him and filled his five gallon heated water-bucket.  It was becoming harder to haul water, since the water line from the well on the hill to the barn had already frozen and I now carried the water in from the house. 

Gloria patted Zack again and we left.  We had done what we could.  It was starting to snow.  I was glad Zack was in the barn with the back door closed.

The next morning, I carefully descended the icy back steps, first stepping down with my weak leg, then the other to the same step, holding the rail with one hand, and the water bucket in the other.  This was definitely becoming more difficult.  I hoped that Zack had improved overnight.  I would top up his water bucket and give what was left to the chickens, hauling more if necessary.  The men at the Co-op had said that Zack might want a lot of water after licking the new salt brick.

It was dark in the barn after coming in from the snow covered landscape outside and I didn’t see Zack with his head over the grain bin as I anticipated.  His water bucket was completely empty.

I found him kneeled down with his legs under him, leaning against the fence that divides the barn, with his muzzle motionless against the wet floor.

I would never again need to haul water for him or make hay. Zack would never need his retirement plan.  He is buried partway up the hill and the disk of ice that Laurel brought up from her tire swing to mark the spot has melted.

It is Spring.  The stirring of the new life that comes to the earth after every winter gives abundant evidence of our Creator who gives life. The sin of man has condemned all to die and Zack will never live again, but God promises new life to all who accept Jesus, the One who conquered death and said, I am the Way the Truth and the Life: no man cometh to the Father, but by me.

Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first fruits of them that slept.