The Russian Budenny, also known as the Budonny or the Budennovsky, has a bit of a sad origin. During both World War I and the Russian Revolution, many horses were killed. At that particular point in history, horses were still actively engaged in war on European battlefields and they died as often as soldiers did. This meant that horses in the area were in short supply. A horse had to be bred to replace the many who had died, and this breed had to be something a soldier would be proud and even honored to ride.
The best of the calvary riders were to Cossacks who rode their native Don. The new horse had to be at least as strong as the Don but with greater stamina, more height, and beautiful movement. So Thoroughbreds were bred to existing Dons, creating the Budenny. The Russians called his horse the Budennovskaia.
Standing 15 to 16 hands high, the Budenny horse can be found in many shades of chestnut, typically with white markings. The breed has large bones and powerful muscles and moves with both agility and fluidity. You might almost mistake the Budenny for a Thoroughbred since they have the same same long neck, slender and strong legs, and pretty head. But the Budenny is sturdier by far.
Today, the Budenny can be found in dressage, show jumping, and eventing. They are a lovely breed, but because of restrictions put in place during the rise of the Soviet Union, Budenny horses are still relatively rare in the United States. There is currently no real breed association for the Budenny, but the All-Russian Scientific Research Institute of the Horse (VNIIK) located outside Moscow manages the studbook and could even be said to oversee the breed itself.
Back in the time of knights and ladies, a black draft horse was bred on the plain of Belgium. This heavy horse, often used as a mount for powerful knights, eventually became known as the Flemish. From this stocky horse came the breed known today as the Belgian Draft Horse. Despite being a breed in its own right, the Belgian Horse has many of the same characteristics of the Flemish, including the ability to haul large loads or carry a heavy weight.
The Belgian has its start in the farming regions of Belgium where it was used to pull wagons on farms. However, it quickly spread to the cities and could be found working alongside other large draft breeds in the warehouse districts. Fishing wharfs and freight stations also made use of the Belgian's desire to work.
Despite their popularity throughout continental Europe, it wasn't until 1866 that the first Belgian Draft Horse made the crossing from Europe to North America. This breed didn't really catch on until 1885 when a small group of men in Wabash, Indiana finally began importing Belgian Horses and selling them to farmers and horse breeders throughout the West.
In today's world the Belgian isn't used as much as it once was. Draft horses aren't often used in modern farming, but those involved in historical or hobby farming will often make use of the Belgian Draft Horse. They can still be found in forestry work where the terrain is too difficult for machines. But their most frequent modern use is for pleasure driving. These horses are particularly suited for hauling a hayride.
The appearance of this horse is fairly standardized. The Belgian's most common color is sorrel, usually with a white mane and tail, white face markings, and white stockings or socks. You will occasionally see a roan Belgian Horse and perhaps even a bay (which is a throwback), but these colors are not considered desirable. The Belgian, being a draft horse, stands from 16 to 18 hands high and has the ability to pull just over 6000 pounds. They can also work for up to 8 hours. If you're looking for a driving horse to pull a hayride or a sled, you might want to look into the Belgian Draft Horse.
The ancient Barb had its origins in Middle Asia. In fact, it was first established in the Fertile Crescent, which is is a crescent-shaped region containing the moist and fertile land of Western Asia and the Nile Valley and Nile Delta of northeast Africa. This must have been the ideal environment to raise horses in ancient times as the Barb thrived in the arid conditions.
The Berbers were the first people to use the Barb as both a mount and a war horse. They favored this breed so much that they took it with them as they conquered the lands around them. When they left a region, some of their horses were inevitably left behind and eventually bred with native stock. This founded several different breed throughout the area, some of which are still popular today.
Highly desired as a war horse, the Barb spread quickly throughout Europe and Asia. They remained the most plentiful along the northern coast of Africa. This was a rather central location for the breed and allowed many different countries and cultures access to them. The Moors used them to invade Spain. The Conquistadors took them to the New World where the Aboriginal people took advantage of their speed and stamina.
Throughout all of this, the Barb horse was mixing and mingling with other breeds along the way. The Thoroughbred, American Quarter Horse, Standardbred, and Mustang are among the breeds that have been influenced by Barb blood running through their veins. Unfortunately, there are few pure Barbs left in the world. Most of them were gathered up by Barb Horse Registry founder Richard Painter in the 1950s in an attempt to reestablish the breed. This effort has met with limited success.
The Barb is a stocky breed standing from 13.2 to 15 hands high. Its colors are many, but most common are palomino and dun. The Barb differs physically from most other breeds in that it has fewer lumbar vertebrae and only sixteen or seventeen ribs rather than the more common eighteen.
This ancient breed is known for its stamina and its loyalty to its rider. Today, the International Society for the Preservation of the Barb Horse & Barb Horse Registry makes an effort to preserve this horse that could be considered endangered.
After weeks of articles and facts, I thought I'd change things up a bit with a story about a horse I once knew. Every word of this story happened just as I say it does. I didn't have to invent anything here to make the story entertaining! Justin was entertaining enough for more than one story.
Justin was my older sister's Arabian and her very first horse. She adopted him from a ranch when I was 8 years old. My parents didn't pay much for him since he was aging and the ranch wasn't going to use him on trail rides anymore. He was grey and sweet and the center of my sister's world for many years.
But he was no angel and my mother was usually the one he caused problems for (usually ... but that's a story for another week). One hot summer day Justin, I guess because he was bored, opened the gate to his corral. Now, before you start thinking that my sister or my parents should have secured the gate, they did. They had it padlocked. The boys from next door, lovely neighbors that they were, snuck onto our property and cut off the padlock. We'd later find it in the grass next to the corral. The boys didn't actually open the corral, but removing the lock was more than enough for Justin.
In his equine way, Justin loosened the latch and let himself out. He wandered for a while, as evidenced by the state of the yard and garden behind the main house. He kicked up his heels on the freshly-laid sod, even pulled some of it around the yard by his teeth. This would annoy my father when he returned home, but not as much as what Justin did to the garden. Forget the corn. Justin had eaten it. What he hadn't eaten he'd scattered as he galloped merrily through the garden. The peas (which were my favorite) were trampled. I'd cry about this later (give me a break, I was 8). The radishes were pulverized. Justin never did like radishes.
He never left the yard, but he didn't have to. He had his fun without setting one foot off our property. Besides the damage to the lawn and garden, our play structure no longer had a roof. It originally had a colorful tarp stretched over the tree house section of the structure. Apparently Justin didn't approve of the tarp. He tore it off and ran around with it, eventually depositing it among the straw in the corner of his corral. It had been quite soiled by the time we found it, so my father built us a wooden roof that weekend. Justin also pulled the chain link away from one of the sides of the dog run. Good thing the dogs weren't in there at the time.
We were lucky that Justin hadn't decided to go for a run. We weren't all that far from a busy highway and it was entirely possible that he could have been hit on the road. It would have been a tragedy, but Justin wasn't that stupid. Nope, he stayed close to home, slowly edging his way closer to the house as he ran out of things to do in the back.
He eventually found himself in my mother's flower garden which was right next to the house. She had a lovely garden. Honeysuckle grew at the back and ferns and other greenery graced the entryway. Wisteria covered the trellis and roses bloomed everywhere. At least, until Justin got in there. He rather enjoyed the roses and the honeysuckle. He must have, for he consumed most of them. He wasn't as fond of the ferns and the wisteria, but that didn't mean he left them alone. No, he tore the wisteria off the trellis and scattered the ferns to the four winds. He had a great time.
In fact, he was just tearing the wisteria off the trellis when my mother came outside to hang laundry on the line. She saw him there, standing beneath the trellis, wisteria clutched between his teeth, and dropped the basket of wet laundry. My younger sister and I heard her cry out and rushed outside, wondering what mouse or rat had startled her. No rat. No mouse. But one big horse.
Justin looked back over his shoulder at us and he looked ... guilty as sin. There's no other way to describe the look on his face. He stared straight at my mother the same way my little sister used to when she got caught sneaking cookies. Except this was a horse, just over 15 hands high, with a head as long as my mother's torso.
He might not have been a child, but he certainly acted like one as my mother's face turned red. She stared right at him at uttered one word, barely able to speak.
"Barn."
Justin gazed at her mournfully, as if insulted that she'd interrupted his fun. But he dutifully headed in the direction of the barn (I had originally typed 'bar' there, which probably would have been way more fun for Justin. It's almost too bad that I caught that typo.)
"No," my mother snapped. Justin stopped in his tracks. "Let. Go. Of. My. Plant." You could tell just from her tone and they way the syllables fell from her lips that each word was its own sentence.
Staring at her as if she was the rudest human in the world, Justin let go. You never could say that Justin was stupid. He knew what she meant. The wisteria snapped back into place, rather the worse for wear. And with a flick of his tail and a kick of his heels, Justin strode into the barn without another glance at my mother.
She followed him. And my younger sister and I, curious to the last, snuck up and hid behind the barn door so we were just out of sight. What followed was nothing less than a lecture. And to a horse!
"Did you eat my flowers?" As if she didn't already know the answer.
A nicker. And, according to my mother, a nodding of Justin's great head.
"Who told you you could go into my flower garden?" No one actually gave Justin permission to do anything.
A whinny. I think my little sister giggled, but if she did, she muffled it quickly.
"Keep your horsey ass," I gasped in shock here as I'd never heard my mother use profanity, "out of my flower garden." My mother slammed the door to his stall with a thump and dropped the latch into place. "And stay put."
As my mother stormed out of the barn to collect her laundry, my sister and I ducked behind a rain barrel. By this point, we were both trying not to laugh. But we sobered quickly on seeing the damage behind the house. Our father would no be pleased.
When my older sister returned from school that evening, she had an even longer lecture than Justin had received. Of course, this was before anyone had found the cut lock near the corral. But none of the damage was all that bad and everything went back to normal.
At least until the next time Justin decided to get up to more mischief ...
