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About Heini

by Otto Schweisgut from "Haflinger Horses" published in Austria, available for order from http://www.haflingerhorse.com

"More than once my horses had to do their utmost for me--one animal,
Heini, earned particular distinction. Whether asked to serve as lead
horse through swampy terrain or to pull a cannon across a section of
land which was being defended by the enemy, he would not stop as long as
my voice gave him the order to move forward. I can thank Heini for the
fact that I lived to relate this story.

One of many examples. It was a blustery winter day and Christmas was
just around the corner. All of us were desperate for news from home,
but the mail delivery had been delayed for days. The blizzard was so
furious, however, that no one dared to make the hazardous journey to the
supply post where our longed-for Christmas mail was waiting to be picked
up. Though even the thought of going to the depot was considered crazy,
two possible means of transportation did exist--with a sled, either
drawn by a horse, or by a reindeer, several of which were also available
during this campaign. The raging snowstorm, however, dampened all
hopes, since no one even dared venture outside.

Despite the fact that the blizzard had not diminished, I decided to
attempt the journey with a reindeer. To this day, I am glad that the
animal merely placed its head between its forelegs and refused to budge
an inch.

My next attempt was with my Haflinger gelding, Heini. I was thoroughly
convinced that he would not betray me as long as his strength held
out--such trust was the product of many years of proven loyalty. It was
also obvious to me that the interminable blizzard would not only tax hi
strength, but that our arriving at our goal unscathed also depended on
his intelligence and sense of direction.

I hitched him up to the sled and we departed. As we went over the first
rise, the arctic snowstorm raged even more furiously than in the
depression in which our camp was located. I concentrated my thoughts on
only one thing--not losing my orientation. Losing one's way under such
drastic weather conditions--the temperature when we left camp was around
40 degrees below zero--would have meant a white death for both of us.

At the most difficult passages, I got out so that Heini would only have
to pull the empty reindeer akia, which weighed only a few pounds. It
did not take long for us to be confronted with huge snow drifts which
came up to my armpits and up to my horse's throat.

I conserved my strength as much as possible, since I knew that when the
situation became even more difficult, I would have to lead the horse by
the reins, talk to him and attempt to give him at least some protection
from the biting winds by walking in front of him.

After a do-or-die struggle, we finally reached the supply depot. No one
was able to believe that I had been able to find the way there in back
of the lines in such weather. The knowledge that I was bringing my
comrades at the front the long-awaited greetings from home gave me the
courage to start the return journey, disregarding all warnings from the
depot personnel. Had I been able to foresee how terrible the storm
could become during the return trek, I would have never started out for
the artillery outpost.

The march to the depot had already substantially taxed our strength--but
it had been nothing compared to the unbelievable demands made by the
journey back. The biting wind--at least so it seemed to me--turned as I
turned, and blasted incessantly into our faces, making it practically
impossible to breathe. At first, we shared the struggle forward like
brothers; I would take the lead for a few hundred feet, stamping a
track through the snow, Heini with his muzzle close against my back to
make breathing easier. Then he would take over, allowing me to follow
in his footsteps. At times, the drifts were so high that the only way
to cross them was to throw myself down and then attempt to inch my way
forward to the other side.

I admit that my strength was almost sapped and let Heini take the lead
for increasingly longer stretches. Whenever I pulled myself together to
try to make my way forward, my faithful comrade would shove me back
again with his head as if to say "Stay behind me--you're not up to this
anymore". It was dark and we could barely see 10 feet ahead of us. At
that time of year in the Arctic, the sun does not rise even in good
weather and it seems to be dusk during the daytime hourse. How grateful
I would have been had the Northern Lights appeared!

Suddenly Heini stopped in his tracks. He stood in front of a seemingly
unsurmountable snowdrift. The horse whinnied, reared and sprang into
the wall of snow, which immediately collapsed over his back. I could
barely make out his head as it disappeared under the white cover as
well. I scrambled along his back to at least try to free his head so
that he could breathe. In such incredible situations, only horses which
are able to keep their heads and have the necessary intelligence, calm
and strength, can survive --other animals would battle the white masses
to their death. There is nothing which robs the strength of a man or
beast in such a way as fighting out from under masses of snow. At that
point, Heini was also at the end of his strength. As soon as the snow
cover became lower, he literally sank to the ground. I collapsed onto
the sled, which I had unhitched previously, leaned back on the sack of
mail and struggled to keep my eyes open.

Suddenly, Heini stood up and gave me a shove with his muzzle, as if
wanting to say: "Hitch me up and let's get going!" That action revealed
another characteristic typical of the Haflinger, one which has never
ceased to amaze me, namely its tremendously rapid capability of
regaining its strength.

Now we were face with another enemy, the most terrible one with which
one could be faced in such a situation--we were unsure of which
direction to go. There was absolutely nothing which could serve as an
orientation point. A smooth, hard blanket of snow. No path. No poles.
Not the slightest object which could help us in this dilemma. We must
have somehow gotten off the track. I took the reins firmly in my hand
and wanted to head off to the right. An then something incredible
happened--for the first time in that long period which we had been
together, Heini refused to follow my instructions. My uncertainty grew
to unknown heights and I lost my patience. I threatened him. But no
matter what I tried, he could not be persuaded to go further. I was
overwhelmed by the feeling that we would never see our camp again; I
prepared myself for the worst and by chance, did the only right thing.
I tied the reins to the harness, sat myself in the sled and left my
fate to a horse, a Haflinger.

I noticed that Heini was stopping more and more frequently; his
reserves had also been used up completely. The physical and mental
strain under which I had been released itself and a feeling of apathy
flooded my being. I could only lie in the sled as if paralyzed.

A sudden noise startled me out of my indifference. Heini was knocking
on a door with his hoof--not a stall door, but that to my bunker, where
he had often been treated with lumps of sugar which I had saved from my tea.

The feeling of joy which overcame me as I realized that I had been saved
was indescribable, as was the pride and wonder over the unbelievable
achievement of my horse; such absolute dedication in an animal deserves
the utmost recognition. And as it turned out, that incident was not the
only time that I was able to thank the fact that I was still alive to my
beloved Haflingers.

During those fateful hours wtih Heini, I made an oath to myself: given
the opportunity, I would stand behind this breed of horse and devote
every effort into promoting its deserved reputation throughout the
world.