Heavy Horses 13 Bonnie and Bart the Belgian Heavy Draft Horses

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Would this one count? May be song alluded to earlier by Emmylou. It originated in an eastern European country, but I don't remember which one. John, must you lend your fine horse for the fight? Beautiful horse, black as the night. John, if you listen and do as I say, you will be gay, riding away. Hide your fine horse, - black as the night - Deep in the fields Far out of sight. Then when the fighting is over one day, You will be gay, riding away.

And Jon Harvison has a song about the modernisation of farming called ' Heavy Horses '. When banished from Eden, my horse was losing his way, From all his fatigues, no wonder that now he is gray; At the time of the flood he was rode by mony a spark, And his courage was good when Noah took him into the ark. On Babylon plains he ran with speed for the plate- He was hunted next day, it is said, by Nimrod the great; After that he was hunted again in the chase of a fox, When Nebuchadnezzar eat grass in the shape of an ox.

He conducted him home straightway into Babylon Town' Where the king was restored once more and solemnly crown'd He was with King Saul, and all his troubles went through, And was with King David the day that Goliah he slew. When he saw King David hunted about by King Saul, My horse took his leave and bid farewell to them all, He was with King Pharoah in Egypt when fortune did smile He rode him very stately along the banks of the Nile. He followed Moses who rode him through the Red Sea, He then led him out, and he sensibly galloped away ; He was with King Cyrus, whose name is in history found And he rode on my horse at the taking of Babylon Town' When the Jews remained in chains and mercy implored, King Cyrus proclaimed again to have them restored ; He was in Judea when Judas Maccebus the great, Had rode on my horse, as ancient historians relate.

The poor captive Jews received these news with great joy, My horse got new shoes and pursued his journey to Troy. When the news reached Troy, with my horse he was found, He crossed over the wall, and entered the city I'm told. The city being in flames, by means of Hector's sad fate, My horse took his leave, and there no longer would wait; I saw him again in Spain, and he in full bloom, With Hannibal the great, and he crossing the Alps into Rome My horse being tall, and the top of the Alps very high, His rider did fall, and Hannibal the great lost an eye; My horse got no ease although his rider did fall, He was mounted again by young Scipio who did him extol On African's Plains he conquered that part of the globe.

My horse's fatigues would try the patience of Job ; He was with Brian the Brave when the Munster men he did command, Who in thirty-six battles drove the vile Danes from our land At the battle of Clontars he fought on Good Friday all day, And all that remained my horse drove them into-the sea; He was with King James when he reached the Irish shore.

He was rode by St Ruth the day that in Aughrim he fell , And Sarsfield the brave, at the siege of Limerick town, Rode on my horse and crossed o'er the Shannon I'm told. And he never will stop till the Tories, he'll make them to yield. Not folk, but gentle and quite memorable. About fifty years ago I suppose. John Stewart There was a story in the San Francisco Chronicle that of course I forgot to save But it was about a lady who lived in the 'good old days' When a century was born and a century had died And about these 'good old days' the old lady replied "Why they were just a lot of people doing the best they could" "Just a lot of people doing the best they could" And then the lady said that they did it, "pretty up and walking good" What ever happened to those faces in the old photographs I mean, the little boys…….

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Hell they were men Who stood knee deep in the Johnstown mud In the time of that terrible flood And they listened to the water, that awful noise And then they put away the dreams that belonged to little boys And the sun is going down for Mister Bouie As he's singing with his class of nineteen-two Oh, mother country, I do love you Oh, mother country, I do love you I knew a man named E. And he owned some of the finest horses that I think I've ever seen And he had one favorite, a champion, the old Campaigner And he called her "Sweetheart On Parade" And she was easily the finest horse that the good Lord ever made But old E.

Stuart, he was going blind And he said "Before I go, I gotta drive her one more time" So people came from miles around, and they stood around the ring No one said a word You know, no one said a thing Then here they come, E. Stuart in the wagon right behind Sitting straight and proud and he's driving her stone blind And would you look at her Oh, she never looked finer or went better than today It's E. Stuart and the old Campaigner, "Sweetheart On Parade" And the people cheered Why I even saw a grown man break right down and cry And you know it was just a little while later that old E.

Stuart died And the sun it is going down for Mister Bouie As he's singing with his class of nineteen-two Oh mother country, I do love you Oh mother country, I do love you. Looking For old beautiful song From: It was a beautiful medium slow song sung by a man with a very mellow voice and at one point in the song, he went up to a nice mellow high note. I called the station but they could not give me the name of song or singer and as half a joke he said maybe it was Cowboy Copas.

The recording sounded newer than to be from Copas or that era. I wish I could find it. I hope someone can help. Wish I could help Dutch. Maybe something by John Denver hitting that high note and all. Or was that later? One by Fred Small, " The Heart of the Appaloosa " was about the Nez Perce people, the horses that enabled them to travel through the mountains, and the Cavalry Troops that cut them both down. Another is by Lyle Lovett: Me upon my pony on my boat.

I'd better quit while I'm ahead, remembering 3 lines out of 4. Here comes Brumby Jack Bringing the horses down the track Hear them come as he swings them around Keeps them together safe and sound -This is the chorus, sorry can't remember the verses. Maybe some other Aussies could shed some light I love Garnet Rogers' "Small Victories". There is also a song or poem about a woman in australia who is working hard to keep the ranch.. The break goes as follows: Don'cha listen to him, Dan. He's a devil not a man, and he spreads the burning sands with Water, cool, clear, water.

Title escapes me at the moment. My pony's lame and he can hardly stand. Dan just think about that barn, With it's hay so soft and warm I think Jim Reeves sang it. The matter is not resolved. Such a variety of songs. Billy Venero These are quite long so I won't post the lyrics unless someone requests them.

John Hills "Races at the Depot" I've since come across another verse, the 3rd in the version below, which is the way I sing it: I think it's a fine song to sing, partly because of the lovely flowing melody, but also because of the words - the simple love of a simple man for his horses. So I suppose someone will now prove it was a stage song from late Vic music hall. I am going to include just those songs where the horse is the main character or has at least a top supporting role - horses with names or at least great stories to tell! I don't think I have listed any that have already been mentioned.

The title of the song is " Colorado Horses ". The actual title is "Them Bareback Riders". Sorry for screwing these posts up!

Saw them perform it live at St Donats Storytelling Festival a few years ago and I have to admit there was a tear in the eye by the end. Can't find an online version to give you a sample, though. Is there anyway you could post that melody or a link to it? I agree with you that it is an unusual and pleasing song. Here is the first: He could throw any man on the rancho, And how that caballo could paw.

Well, I lays down my Spanish guitaro, It was money I needed, by jim. I hoists myself into the saddle, And I learned about horses from him. Then I trails to a ranch in the rimrock, Where broncos are thicker than men. There was one needed tamin' right badly. I needed a job there and then. So I curls up my maguey so neatly, And I hangs my old pack on a limb. Then I slips through the bars quite discreetly, And I learned about horses from him. Next I wanders down into Sonora, Where horses are horses, you bet. There was good ones, had ones, and tough ones, And some of them darned hard to get.

A senorita wanted one for a plaything, A black filled with hall to the brim. She begs me with a sweet little smile-o, And I learned about horses from him. Then I drifts on up into Texas, Where horses are wild, rough, and game, And I says to the pinto I'm ridin', "I'll get me a good one to tame. Then my loop settles down on a picture, And I learned about horses from him. Well, I found him, a bleary-eyed loco, With ears that were pointed and thin.

And from the time I stepped in his middle I learned about horses from him. Then I stopped in Cheyenne for the rodeo. To win me some money I tried. A horse you all know, name was Steamboat, That's the bugger I drew for to ride. Now, something says, "Mister, you're crazy! Now, I've heard a lot about horses, And I've rode 'em both large and small. Sometimes I got on and I stayed there, Sometimes what a hell of a fall!

But they's one horse I never have ridden, It's Conscience they call it, by grim. But I reckon when we have the last roundup I'll learn about that horse from Him. One wa a 'arf caste devil, One was a 'orse but in name, One I 'arf 'sited in Ogdan, Utah, One fell in a ditch and went lame. Jumper they classed her at Riley, Said she could go six feet nine; She went up to a jump and came down on her rump, Nurses are not in my line.

Then I was given a draft horse, Schooled in the West Riding Hall; Splendid four-gaiter they called him… A walk, trot, stumble, and fall. He wasn't so agile and supple, But yet he could manage somehow To turn at a trot in a four-acre lot, So now he is hitched to a plow. I've applied tannic acid diluted To places not mentioned in print, I've tumbled and fallen as you have, I've worn all my limbs in a splint.

But now I've a nice new remount, And wonderful things he can do; So because you're my friend and have something to spend I'd like to sell him to you. Here's one of my favorites: Wonthaggi miners all did know What happened when Bloss refused to go Now Bloss came out of the bord one day Pulled to a stand and blocked the way She had a full and heavy load Of skips which blocked the wheeling road Now Harry the wheeler cursed and cried But Bloss dug in whatever he tried With ears laid back our Bloss stood fast No man behind in the bord got past So Mac, who fired the shots, did say But, as the lads got out their lunch The roof caved in with a deadly crunch Our Blossom saved the miners all She stood between them and the fall And when the rescue team dug through The lads were alive and Blossom too Which goes to show, now and again The mining heroes weren't all men And the lifeboat crew's coxswain he mentions with pride, How the brown and the grey, they would work side by side, By day or by night, at high or low tide, To go down to the sea for the lifeboat.

To go down to the sea for the lifeboat To go down to the sea for the lifeboat By day or by night, at high or low tide, To go down to the sea for the lifeboat And also in Mumbles there lives a proud man, With mutton-chop whiskers and gloves on his hands, Who makes a fine living from the dead of the land, In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat. And he's got two horses, they're regal and black, They stand in the traces, with plumes on their backs, He takes many folks forward, brings none of them back, In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat, In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat, He takes many folks forward, brings none of them back, In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat But the black horses sickened, they lay on the floor, The horse-doctor came round, with his potions galore, He said "No more hearse driving for a fortnight or more, In your sombre black hat and your frock-coat" "But the squire's just died, oh it couldn't be worse, I haven't a horse for to handle the hearse!

And from that day to this, the brown and the grey, Have had nothing to do but to eat grass all day, Till the signal rings out from the coastguard to say, "Come down to the sea for the lifeboat! Oven's hot and ready to bake. Just send me an e-mail if you have trouble with registration, or if you are already registered and need to know how to reset your cookie.

Last of the line at an honest day's toil, Turning the deep sod under, Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone, Flies at the nostrils plunder. 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's 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 wood behind the young trees growing. To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth, and your 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.

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I'm not a horse person, but those Budweiser Clydesdales are some of the most beautiful beasties I've seen. One of the many wonderful poems in the book was In The Droving Days. I first heard this on a PBS special about his poetry many years ago. Sadly, my VHS copy of that show has long since disappeared, but I still remembered the poem when I started reading this thread. So here's Banjo's original followed by what I think is a loose but respectful adaptation by Troy Cassar-Daley from his album Big River. Only a pound for the drover's horse; One of the sort that was never afraid, One of the boys of the Old Brigade; Thoroughly honest and game, I'll swear, Only a little the worse for wear; Plenty as bad to be seen in town, Give me a bid and I'll knock him down; Sold as he stands, and without recourse, Give me a bid for the drover's horse.

Back to the road, and I crossed again Over the miles of the saltbush plain -- The shining plain that is said to be The dried-up bed of an inland sea, Where the air so dry and so clear and bright Refracts the sun with a wondrous light, And out in the dim horizon makes The deep blue gleam of the phantom lakes. At dawn of day we would feel the breeze That stirred the boughs of the sleeping trees, And brought a breath of the fragrance rare That comes and goes in that scented air; For the trees and grass and the shrubs contain A dry sweet scent on the saltbush plain.

For those that love it and understand, The saltbush plain is a wonderland. A wondrous country, where Nature's ways Were revealed to me in the droving days. We saw the fleet wild horses pass, And the kangaroos through the Mitchell grass, The emu ran with her frightened brood All unmolested and unpursued. But there rose a shout and a wild hubbub When the dingo raced for his native scrub, And he paid right dear for his stolen meals With the drover's dogs at his wretched heels.

For we ran him down at a rattling pace, While the packhorse joined in the stirring chase. And a wild halloo at the kill we'd raise -- We were light of heart in the droving days. For I felt the swing and the easy stride Of the grand old horse that I used to ride In drought or plenty, in good or ill, That same old steed was my comrade still; The old grey horse with his honest ways Was a mate to me in the droving days. When we kept our watch in the cold and damp, If the cattle broke from the sleeping camp, Over the flats and across the plain, With my head bent down on his waving mane, Through the boughs above and the stumps below On the darkest night I could let him go At a racing speed; he would choose his course, And my life was safe with the old grey horse.

But man and horse had a favourite job, When an outlaw broke from a station mob, With a right good will was the stockwhip plied, As the old horse raced at the straggler's side, And the greenhide whip such a weal would raise, We could use the whip in the droving days. The drover's friend that had seen his day, And now was worthless, and cast away With a broken knee and a broken heart To be flogged and starved in a hawker's cart. Well, I made a bid for a sense of shame And the memories dear of the good old game. Against you there in the curly hat!

Only a guinea, and one more chance, Down he goes if there's no advance, Third, and the last time, one! And now he's wandering, fat and sleek, On the lucerne flats by the Homestead Creek; I dare not ride him for fear he'd fall, But he does a journey to beat them all, For though he scarcely a trot can raise, He can take me back to the droving days. The place name in the first sentence of Cassar-Daley's song is a complete mystery to me.

I tried various C and K variants of what sounded like Kanambo to me, but I got no results. Closest I could come with the choices I made was Koniambo which is in New Caledonia, off to the east of Australia and that's a bit of a stretch, geographically. Perhaps one of our Australian friends can set us right on this.

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Arkie also helped decipher some of the more difficult passages in Cassar-Daley's text. By the way, lucerne flats refer to fields of fine quality hay. In a rough bush saddle and a single rein Laid across his tangled mane He brought up the memories that no-one could raise As he takes me back to the droving days As he takes me back to the droving days.

There must be a number of other good "horse" poems and songs from the great writers and singers from Australia. Don't know all his material but a heck of a singer and writer.

Belgian horse

A tune that referees to in a way to horses. DWR, thanks for all that info. Been away for a bit. Should have paid closer attention to Paterson's original! You can find Kasey and Bill Chambers version on youtube http: Could the name of that town be Canowindra? Send me an email and I'll send you the song. Man takes his old horse to the fair to sell it; dealer buys it, takes it away, cleans it up, clips and grooms it and sells it back to him at a higher price. Man's little daughter is the only one who recognises it when he takes it back home. Y Fari Lwyd translated, the Grey Mare or the Holy Mary is a midwinter custom in which a horses' skull, clad in a white sheet, is carried by by a man from door to door, the party demanding in verse pwnco to be let in.

The people in the house, again in verse, take up the challenge to keep the horse out. Eventually, the people in the house relent and let the Mari Lwyd party in - the party sing a wassail Y Washael and costumed characters called the The Leader, Merryman, Pwnsh and Siwan Punch and Judy dance around the room.

An estimated guess shows 20 Mari Lwyds all going strong. The Llantrisant Mari Lwyd song version goes: Wel dyma ni diwad Gyfeillion diniwed I ofyn cawn gennad I ofyn cawn gennad I ofyn cawn gennad i ganu. The Mari Lwyd is here, with stars and ribbons, it's worth it to give light tonight Mae Mari Lwyd lawen Yn dod yn y dafarn I ofyn am arian I ofyn am arian I ofyn am arian a chwrw. The happy Mari Lwyd comes to the pub, asking for money and beer Wel, tapwch y faril Gyllongwch yn rhugl A rhenwch e'n gynil A rhenwch e'n gynil A rhenwch e'n gynil Y Gwyliau. Well, tap the barrel, let it flow freely, it's Christmas!

Stuart driving "Old Campaigner stone blind And will you look at her and he driving her stone blind A little while later old E. That song, along with "Tumbling Tumbleweeds," another composition by Nolan, were two early favorites of mine and both were heard frequently in the 's and '50's. Good men have tried this horse to ride and all of them are dead. Now I won't brag but I rode this nag till his blood began to boil. Then I hit the ground and I ate three pound of good old western soil. So I swore, by heck, I'd break his neck for the jolt he gave my pride.

I threw my noose on that old cayuse and once more took a ride. He turned around and soon I found his head where his tail should be So I sez, sez I, perhaps he's shy or he just don't care for me. For a whoop and a holler and a counterfeit dollar I sold the nag to him. But when he plants the seat of his pants in Sky Ball's leather chair, I'll bet four bits when Sky Ball quits that Jim will not be there.

Howard "Jack" Thorp Ahem, no horse turns up explicitly in "Bonny Light Horseman"; the closest is in the line "When mounted on horseback he so gay did appear". Gene Autry also sang it ten years earlier in The Big Show , which featured a very young Roy Rogers in a bit part as a member of the Sons of the Pioneers.

Hurry, up old fellow, 'Cause the moon is yellow tonight Hurry, up old fellow 'Cause the moon is mellow and bright. There's a coyote howlin' to the moon above So carry me back to the one I love Hurry up, old fellow 'Cause we gotta get home tonight. It tells of Barney's owner, broken-hearted, having to "put old Barney down" so as to be able to "bury him deep 'fore the ground got too hard.

I think " Barney " may be the title of the song. I've heard one called " Horses and Plough ", and another called "The Mowing Machine", which struck me as very pleasant and moving I don't have the words , and then there's Percy French's " Sweet Marie ", which begins: I'm done -- and so are you, For I'll sell ye off for glue, Sweet Marie.

Charles Dibdin See, the course throng'd with gazers, the sports are begun The confusion but hear! Ten thousand strange murmurs resound far and near, Lords, hawkers, and jockeys assail the tired ear. While with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, Pamper'd, prancing, and pleas'd, his head touching his breast, Scarcely snuffing the air, he's so proud and elate, The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate.

Now Reynard's turn'd out, and o'er hedge and ditch rush Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his brush: They run him at length, and they have him at bay, And by scent and by view cheat a long tedious way; While, alike born for sports of the field and the course, Always sure to come thorough a stanch and fleet horse, When fairly run down the fox yields up his breath, The high-mettled racer is in at the death.

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Grown aged, used up, and turn'd out of the stud, Lame, spavin'd, and windgall'd, but yet with some blood, While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, Tell his dam won that sweepstakes, his sire gain'd that race; And what matches he won to the ostlers count o'er, As they loiter their time at some hedge ale-house door, While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad. The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road. Till at last having labour'd, drudg'd early and late, Bow'd down by degrees, he bends on to his fate! Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a mill, Or draws sand till the sand of his hour-glass stands still.

And now cold and lifeless exposed to the view In the very same cart which he yesterday drew; While a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds, The high-mettled racer is sold for the hounds! Samuel Leigh, , page That wind's howling and it seems mighty like a woman's screams We'd best be moving faster if we can Dan, just think about that barn and that hay so soft and warm It's only 5 more miles to Mary Ann. You can bet we're on her mind cause its nearly supper time I'll bet there's hot biscuits in the pan Lord, my hands feel like they're froze and there's numbness in my toes But it's only 3 more miles to Mary Ann, It's only three more miles to Mary Ann.

Dan get up you onery cuss or you'll be the death of us, I'm so weary but I'll help you if I can, Alright Dan, perhaps it's best that we stop a while and rest It's still yards to Mary Ann It's still a hundred yards to Mary Ann. Late that night the storm was gone and they found him there at dawn He'd have made it but he couldn't leave old Dan, They found him on the plain with his hands froze to the reins, He was just a hundred yards from Mary Ann, He was just a hundred yards from Mary Ann.

The text was written by Charles Dibdin; the Bodleian Library has a broadside dated ca. In Sporting Anecdotes , Pierce Egan wrote: He's English, he's English, as easy might be seen, With a little bit of Arab stock and more from Stephen's Green; Take a look at Millhouse, throw out your chest with pride, He's the greatest steeplechaser on the English countryside. But a quiet man called Dreaper living in the Emerald Isle Says, "That horse of yours called Millhouse surely shows a bit of style, But I've a little fella and Arkle is his name, Put your money where you put your mouth and then we'll play the game.

There are other horses in the race to test the great chap's might; But dearie me, it's plain to see the rest are out of sight. With two more fences now to go, he leads by twenty lengths, Brave Arkle's putting in a show, poor chap, he's all but spent; Millhouse rides on majestically, great glory in each stride; He's the greatest horse undoubtedy within the whole world wide. But two to go, still Arkle comes, he's cutting down the lead; He's beaten bar the shouting, he hasn't got the speed; On the run-up to the last, my God can he hold out, "Look behind you Willie Robinson!

Man, what are you about? The ground was wrong, the distance long, too early in the day? So came all ye gallant Irishmen wherever you may be, And let the glasses toast a round to Arkle's victory. When the English think they've bred a horse to wipe out this disgrace, Sure we'll send another over to take great Arkle's place. This was my party piece when I was much younger and learning to play the guitar. Arkle tells the true story of a Guinness-drinking racehorse — a steeplechaser — who was the Irish equivalent of SeaBiscuit in the's. He beat the great English favorite Mill House in The Cheltenham Gold Cup in , a race which has been called "one of the 10 greatest horseraces of all time.

The first was when Master McGrath the legendary Irish greyhound beat all comers including Rose, the pride of England in Will try to get on to it soon See what a wee sleep will do! I just like to see those horses race. They run them in cross country. Run them in steeplechase.

Run them on the flat They can run them any place. Strutting back and forth. I can take show jumping On a tight and twisting course. But I prefer to see those horses race. Yes, I prefer to see those horses race. Silky black, chestnut, Pie-bald, skew-bald, grey. Sorrel and all colours. Its just the same to me. Arab mares and stallions. Four year olds and over. In the sport of kings. Just to see those horses race.

I believe the author is Jimmy MacCarthy. What about The Unicorn "sure as you're born, the loveliest of all was the unicorn" , and any songs about Pegasus, the Trojan horse, rocking horses,etc? I like to sing a little round that i learned in girl scouts.. I like to ride a horse and buggy, I like to ride all over town I like to hear old Dobbin go clip clop I like to see those wheels go 'round horsey horsey on your way we've been together for many a day so let your tail go swish and your wheels go 'round giddy up we're homeward bound Juni Fisher sings Horse Like You: Maybe that's too melodramatic but that's me.

Warning - have some tissues nearby Eddie. Eric Bogle has a way of doing this with his songs. Esashi Oiwake can't find a good vocal version at present, that one is on a flute. Larry The Radio Guy Date: I heard it by Michael Johnson in What is the chance he'll see this? I rose in the morning to give them their meat As soon as I got my shoes on my feet. The first was a white horse, as white as the milk; The next was a grey horse, as soft as the silk; The next was a brown horse, as sleek as a mole; The last was a great horse, as black as a coal.

As I went a-driving all on the highway, When light went my load, then I fed them with hay; And watered them very well, when we came to a pond. And after they've drunk, boys, go steady beyond. The head is relatively small and well-shaped. Currently, the world's tallest horse is a Belgian Draft horse named Big Jake, a gelding born in The world's largest Belgian Draft was named Brooklyn Supreme.

Belgians have a high occurrence of junctional epidermolysis bullosa JEB , an inherited genetic disorder that causes newborn foals to lose large areas of skin and have other abnormalities, normally resulting in euthanasia. A study conducted in — found that If carriers are not mated, JEB can be avoided, and scientists are studying the disease further in the hope of completely eliminating it.

The disease is similar to chronic lymphedema in humans. Historically, it is theoretically possible the Belgian may have had ancestors that were destriers in the Middle Ages , although no independent evidence supports this claim. The foundation stock for the Belgian was originally known as the Brabant. Following World War II, the Brabant in Europe was selectively bred to be thicker bodied and heavier, while in the United States, the Belgian was bred to be somewhat taller and lighter bodied.

Closely related breeds include the Trait du Nord and Nederlands Trekpaard. Dygert transporting the last Belgians out of Europe as the war was beginning. Belgians are still used as working animals , but have also become popular as show horses , and pleasure riding horses. The Brabant and related breeds remaining in Belgium today are also desirable for horse meat , producing a tender meat that is considered a delicacy.

Belgian horses are able to pull tremendous weights. In Britain , "Belgian Black" is a colloquialism used to describe a Friesian horse. Media related to Belgian draft horse at Wikimedia Commons. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

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