The boys are building a dam. My oldest informed me that they couldn’t muscle the log they needed into position.
As a small person that has done the small-person-hustle to compensate for lack of sheer brawn for her whole life—believe me, I know when it’s my time to shine.
Playing casual to my sons, I shrugged. “You boys want me to come down there with my draft horse and skid that for you?” I asked.
I may have been seen in a refreshing, new light (lol) by my boys, albeit briefly.
“You’d do that for us?” they asked. Like I need convincing to get my “toy” (IE draft horse) out and do something for my children.
So a path was bushwhacked for the draft horse directly. Lengths of chain connected horse to log. The boys stayed by the creek and log. I stayed with the draft horse up on the bank.
In spite of it being spring, the horse fresh, and working in a swamp, the log moved.
I hollered down to my oldest son, “Did we get it?” He hollered back “One more pull!” On that last heave, the harness tugs broke which freed the draft—who was pulling with his whole heart—from his load.
Really, this ended super well, because the horse didn’t take off, the log is positioned where they wanted it, and everyone is happy.
But I need a new set of tugs for my harness!