Features:

CARRYING ALL BEFORE THEM: by Cynthia Bourne
Troubled relentlessly by civil war, invasion, and conquest, historical Europe was a place of great turmoil. Perhaps no nation was as keenly aware of this fact as Poland. With no natural boundaries to provide shelter from the envious eyes of its enemies, Poland was an easy target. To protect itself, it needed fearless soldiers, cunning leadership, a formidable army, and plenty of good horses.

LITTLE IRON HORSE: by Arthur Montague
Canadian winters have never been for the weak or faint hearted, global warming notwithstanding. The early settlers in 17th century Canada had to be hardy and versatile; their survival depended on it. To achieve this and eventually flourish to nationhood, the settlers came to rely on a horse equally hardy and equally versatile. This horse is now known as the Canadian, a recognized breed that this year was enshrined in legislation as Canada's National Horse.

CHEVAL: by Becki Bell
Caroline Macé smiles when she talks about Opus, and her eyes take on that expression we can all recognize—the one you will only see in the eyes of someone who loves her horse. "I've worked with other horses," says Macé, "riding them, training on them—but this is my first time falling in love with a horse and being able to call him my baby.

Opus, for his part, is not really a "baby." The 13-year-old Clydesdale-Quarter Horse cross is very big, very capable, and quite used to Macé's unique riding style—on her knees, standing up, or hanging upside down, mind-bogglingly close to his flying hooves.

RETURN OF THE HORSE LOGGERS: by Valerie Kirkwood
The forest is winter-quiet. I'm up to my knees in snow, which also sifts down in silent streamers from the boughs of trees, twinkling like diamond dust. In the distance, a blue jay cries, and a few chickadees twitter overhead. Then I hear the jingle of harnesses and the quick crunch of horses' hooves on the snow. A team appears around a bend in the trail, their breath steaming in the crisp air. The teamster behind them, dressed in a red plaid flannel jacket, heavy trousers, and sturdy boots, deftly steps over the log the horses are pulling as the team turns for the next corner. I breathe in the scent of horse sweat, fleshly-cut wood, and the inevitable pile of manure that one of the horses has left on the trail.