Joe was a Nudger

Horses are like people: they all have distinctive personalities and some

have peculiar habits. For example, Police mount, Stewart, a red bay gelding

with a white blaze and a roman nose, was a Stargazer, which meant that he

liked to travel around with his head thrown back looking skyward. King, a

golden chestnut with white main and tail, was a Fiddlefoot. He liked to

dance on the spot whenever you stopped him. Old Major, as well as being a

mooch, was obsessed with pawing the pavement.

You would have to hold him with both hands whenever somebody

passed by with a bag of groceries in their arms, especially if he smelt apples

or carrots. He would start nickering in a pleading tone and often people who

knew him would give him a treat. Whenever you stopped him at an

intersection he would become impatient while waiting for the light to change

and start pawing the pavement. If there were a bunch of kids on the sidewalk

waiting for the light I would shout, as I reined him in, “How old are you,

Major?” and he would start pawing. He was usually about twenty by the

time the light changed and we moved on.

Some the habits the horses acquired were amusing but others were

downright annoying. Take for example, Joe. He was a Nudger. Every time

you tried to groom him or put his bridle on, he would persistently bump you

with his nose. There was nothing he liked better than to pin you up against a

stall wall and lovingly nudge the hell out you. It didn’t matter who you were

or what you did to avoid it, he would have his nose up against you nuzzling

away. Even if you gave him a whack, he would just look startled and hurt for

a second or two and then be right back at it.

He wasn’t much to look at, just a plain old bay with a white star on his

forehead, but once you got him tacked up and were on his back, he was a

pleasure to ride because he was fearless. Nothing bothered him, not buses or

streetcars or trains or motorcycles; he was immune to the things that terrified

many of the other horses.

One rainy evening I was out on Joe patrolling south on Yonge St.,

Toronto’s main drag. I was wearing my big black raincoat that covered me

and draped over Joe’s rump keeping the better part of both of us dry.

We stopped for a while and I let the reins hang loosely over Joe’s

neck while I took in the scene: there were few people on the street and the

pavement was glazed and shining like black ice. I was looking up and

marvelling at how the red tail lights of the cars were reflected, caught and

then seemed to travel along the overhead trolley lines when I was shaken out

my reverie by someone shouting at me from a nearby doorway.

“Help! They robbed me! They robbed me!” He was pointing at two

men who were running down the opposite of the street about half a block

away.

I gathered up my reins, dug my spurs into Joe’s flanks and we were

off like a shot. In a matter of seconds we had overtaken the slower of the

two men and cornered him in a store doorway. I swung down out of the

saddle. He tried to dodge by me but I managed to shove him up against the

store’s big window while I fumbled through my rain cape to get at my

handcuffs. They snagged on the inside of the coat and I had to look down for

a second or two to free them. When I looked up again, the man I was

holding had pulled out a large butcher knife and was levelling at my chest.

Just then Joe, who had been standing patiently at my side, took a step

forward and nudged the man, pinning him against the window.

The man threw his arms in the air, dropping the knife and screaming,

“Okay! Okay! Okay!, Call him off, please.”

I cuffed the man’s arms around a lamppost, swung up on Joe and

chased the second man down the centre of Young St. He had a gun in his

hand and wheeled around once or twice pointing it at me. It was the first

time I drew my own gun but, thankfully, I didn’t have to use it because just

then he ducked into an alleyway where we couldn’t follow and he got away.

I caught up with and arrested him about a month later, but that’s

another story.

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