Where’s The Beef?

I’ve been shovelling manure and hollering ‘whoa’ for as long as I can remember. I have owned, cared for and trained countless horses and ponies over the years.  After living with them, studying and writing about them, I thought I knew just about all there was to know about them. Recently however, when I decided to write a story about the ponies used in the quest for the South Pole, I discovered something new and shocking. I knew that the animals, mostly of Manchurian and Siberian descent, were selected because they were able to perform in extremely low temperatures. I didn’t know that they were also prized because of their ability to consume meat.

I knew that the Scandinavians fed herring and other fish to their horses and ponies. The animals lap up barrels of the salty stuff every winter.  For me, there is something unsettling about the image of a horse with a fish tail hanging out of its mouth that was nothing compared to reading about ponies feasting on polar bear or seal carcasses and crunchy bird bodies.

Famed explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton, preparing for his 1907 attempt to reach the South Pole, knew of his ponies’ dietary preferences so he had the British Army prepare a special ration that consisted mainly of dried beef. With that in mind, I suddenly had a ‘Myth Buster’ moment: why not whip up some of the same ration that Shackleton fed his animals and see what our pony, Candy, would think of it. She’s not Manchurian or Siberian but the Shetland Islands, where her ancestors originated, have some pretty severe winters. We had just had our first real dump of snow and Candy, shaggy in her winter coat, looked a lot like Shackleton’s pony, Socks.

Off I went to the Country Store for the non-meat products and down to the Irving Big Stop for some trucker approved Beef Jerky. The ingredients weren’t that hard to find but with the price of beef jerky as high as it was, it was definitely going to be a one-off experiment.  Under protest Andrea fired up the food processor and we added the stipulated ingredients: a large helping of the dried beef followed by lesser amounts of carrots, currants, milk powder and sugar. The finished product didn’t smell as bad as I thought it would. I did not taste it.  After Shackleton’s pony, Socks, the last of his animals, had plummeted into a crevice and died, a starving old Ernest was forced to live on the pony’s ration. I would also have had to be starving before I let that stuff cross my lips.  I’d leave it to Candy for now.

Candy shares our stable with two large Brabant mares but they were not to be included in the trial. They both stood in their stalls with their heads twisted backwards looking enviously over their rumps at the steaming concoction we were offering to a suspicious Candy.

“Mmmm, num num,” I crooned as I offered up the first warm handful, making sure my fingers were out of reach of her teeth–figuring that the beef jerky was all the meat required. Candy snorted, flattened her ears and disdainfully backed away. Then, having second thoughts, she cocked her head to the side, squinted her eyes and made a second approach.  Her nostrils flared and she inhaled the sickly sweet aroma of my offering. Suddenly, motivated by some primal carnivorous urge, she attacked the contents of my palm. She eagerly ate and licked up two subsequent handfuls with enthusiasm. The slurping and crunching did not go unnoticed by the Brabants. They nickered and danced in their stalls, impatiently demanding fair play.

“Where’s our share?”  They seemed to be protesting.

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” I said to myself as I pushed in beside each of them and plopped a healthy scoop of the stuff in their feed bins. They made short work of most of the remaining ration.

Later, back in our kitchen, staring into that almost empty bucket, I made a decision. Knowing that, if I went public with this story, I’d be criticized by horse huggers everywhere, including my wife, and aligned with those who condone the use of lab animals, with a shaking hand, I scooped a spoonful of the now coagulated remains, toasted Sir Ernest and gagged it down.

So what did I learn from this experiment?  Clearly absolutely nothing, so don’t try it at home.  I had, however, spent an enjoyable hour or so in the barn and eased a bit of my cabin fever that day!  

Sir Ernest Shackleton and his pony, Boots, before setting off for the South Pole.