Chapter 18 - Animal Workers

Both Fred and Sam showed the children their care and concern for the animals on the farm, particularly the horses. By the time Mary was four, ‘Dago’ had established himself firmly as young Mary’s favorite. ‘Dago’ a heavy shire horse was over seventeen hands, shaggy and clumsy, but his weight and steadfastness made him the backbone of the team that spent so many hours dragging out the great kauri logs. If the horses were not working, Mary, impatient because Daddy or Uncle Sam had not given her a ride, an out into the paddock trailing the bridle and calling in her high little voice, “Dago.. Dago.. I want you.” He would come up and she would tap his hairy knee with her little hands till Dago held his head down, nose almost on the ground then Mary, standing on tip-toe could put the bridle over his ears. He followed obediently to the mounting block, and when he was close enough, Mary could just reach the mane and scramble onto his back. Dago walked round the paddock until he thought he had enough, then walked up to the back gate and went to sleep. There the little girl had to stay until her mother missed her and came looking, or someone else came along to lift her down. Then Dago had to have a slice of bread or apple before the bridle was slipped off.

When Mary was six, she started school and ‘Monty’, a gentle bay pony was bought for the 4 mile ride to school each day. Now Dago was too slow to ride, but there were tears indeed when one cold night he slipped into a drain. Unable to move, he was so thoroughly chilled by the time he was rescued next morning that he died of pneumonia. His courage and loyalty were missed and remembered on the farm he helped make.

One morning ‘Scout’ did not come bounding out of his kennel as he usually did the moment the back door was opened. It was not unexpected as lately he had appeared to be slower and less enthusiastic. Tears were shed. Do you remember……?

Each of the family had a story to tell of his faithfulness & sagacity.

“Scout welcomed me so gladly that first time I came to the farm,” Esther said. “The hens gave an almighty squawk and didn’t come back till my visit was nearly over, but Scout made such a fuss of me. The fleas welcomed me too,” she added. She never told Fred how nearly romance had faltered because of those fleas. “This had been a boundry hut for the Freshfield shepherds,” Fred reminded her. “They probably kept their dogs inside. They certainly cut the firewood on the floor. The fleas weren’t so bad once we got the linoleum down.”  Esther laughed, “Thanks to Mr Keating’s flea powder they don’t bite you, but if there is one around it will find me.” “Scout was used to the ladies,” said Fred, as he had belonged to the butcher in Lower Hutt and we bought him up with us. Do you remember the pumpkin pie?” Esther did not smile. She did remember and it still rankled.   It was her first year on the farm and she was worried about the monotony of the meals she prepared. The only thing they grew for desert was rhubarb so she decided to try a pumpkin pie. “Pumpkins are grown for the pigs. A small piece with roast meat was alright, but pumpkin pie!” Scout was ordered to eat it. He looked up with tears in his eyes, but when commanded to ‘Eat up’ he did so without any enthusiasm. Esther never made pumpkin pie again.

“There is no need now, we have plenty of fruit, but I wish it was not such hot work preserving it,” she thought. The jars were filled with fruit and syrup poured over, then the rubber ring and the lid screwed tight. Then they went into the copper and had to be brought to the boil for a least 5 minutes. They had to be carefully lifted out of the boiling water and turned upside down. Only then could you tell if they were airtight. If they leaked, a new rubber ring was tried and the jar brought back to the boil again. It took considerable stoking to keep the copper boiling and the wash house became so hot. Preserving could not be done at night because the candle flickered in the draughty wash-house throwing grotesque shadows that made it dangerous to handle hot jars. Some of the apple crop was sliced and dried in the sun, much easier if you did not forget them when there was a shower of rain. Anyway the Sturmer apples kept fresh almost to December while the Horthundens and Gravensteins were mature enough to be used in the Christmas mincemeat. One of the inventions that has done much to help the housewife, was the dome seal and some years later an electric urn made preserving more enjoyable. Now Esther could look at her jars of gooseberries, plums, peaches and pears without remembering the effort involved. The railways had a very efficient and remarkably cheap transport rate for NZ fruit for Domestic use only and every January cases of plums, peaches and nectarines were sent to relatives in Wellington. The Burbank plums were especially good; a big as a cup and as juicy as a peach. Apples which ripened later were very much appreciated too. Some years there was honey as well though if the autumn drought was too prolonged the bees gave little to spare. All through the years the fruit was sent until after the second war the railways increased the freight charges till it was no longer worthwhile.