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  • From: "Lynda" <lurine AT softcom.net>
  • To: <homestead AT lists.ibiblio.org>
  • Subject: Re: [Homestead] On work horses
  • Date: Wed, 16 Apr 2008 09:48:18 -0800

Icelandics are like that, as are Connemaras. They are frequently "born" broke. We did quite a few of the Connemaras for pony clubers and within 30 days they were ready for the clubbing circuit. They simply needed to learn to give to the leg. Not one of them bucked or was cinchy or swung their hindquarters to get away from humans.

Our neighbor has Icelandics and they are the same AND tough!

I wouldn't put Connemaras in a work situation but the Icelandics would pull just fine.

Our "evil" pony was named Precious <g>

Lynda
----- Original Message ----- From: "Warren" <mogrits AT gmail.com>


I have relatives with a place on Chincoteague. I've heard and seen quite a
bit about those ponies. I don't think this is the same animal.

According to the article one beauty of the marsh tacky's is their
gentleness.

Anyway, the order of service for this new/old homestead will probably be
along the lines of repairing fences and turning out some goats to get
started on the brush and undergrowth that has reclaimed the place. I'll
decide how many and how I want to keep chickens and get them going, and then
I have to pay major attention to the house itself. I'll probably plant a
small garden the first few years using my old tractor. A horse wouldn't come
into the picture for three years or more- at least not until I have the
house under control.

Thanks for the advice, though. I look at a horse as a huge investment of
time and responsibility and it's certainly not a venture to be rushed into.
My grandparents always had horses as I was growing up but I was never the
primary caretaker. For all these reasons I firmly refused my daughter when
she went through the pre-teenage girl phase of crying to have her own horse.

And you are correct- ponies can be meaner than larger breeds. I clearly
remember "Tillie" tossing my sister squarely on top of a barbed wire fence
when I was four, and I remember walking in and out between the legs of
"Stoney", Grandad's huge bay.





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