What is it about small animals, babies that cause everyone in the room, within earshot to raise their speech patterns an octave or two?
To lighten up, forget their problems momentarily. To talk in another baby coochie coochie language. All eyes, total attention on the small baby with a natural respect reflex in all of us. That a soldier would exercise, second nature too. If someone yells officer on deck, in the room, present. Ten hut eyes forward, square those shoulders and stand up straight respect.
The baby Clydesdale foal with the spindly legs that are too long, don’t all work in unison yet caught the world’s attention during the Super Bowl this year.
Or rather the Commercial Bowl. Instead of snarky, bright white perfect teeth, evenly tanned paid actors. Or witty repeat stunts like three frogs on a swamp log (because it was in Louisiana) croaking BUD – WISE – ERRRRRr. Nope, something new, special, young was introduced to the pigskin game watchers.
Not even named yet.
And there’s where the ad people adjusted their marketing thinking caps. Sharpened pencils, crayons, percolated a new fresh hot pot of coffee. Burned the midnight oil. Racking their brains. Taking turns, standing around easels splashed with fluorescent lighting. Huddled in a skyscraper floor to ceiling glassed conference room with amazing river, skyline city views. One by one pitching their ad ideas of what to run in the expensive spot this year for the red and white giant. To represent the adult barley pop maker but in need of a name.
By a small pink and white whiskered nose, the Budweiser ad won top honors in the horse ratings race.
The football top bowl game featured 55 commercials. Costing 40 advertisers $3.8 million to $4 million per 30-second broadcast spot. Watched on CBS by up to to 111 million viewers.
But back to before all that. The ad folks, the guy up front creating the hand drawn cartoon story board of scenes. At the same time a supporting PowerPoint collaboration splashed on a diamond crusted screen. To see the ad commercial concept scenes take shape. Forming with input from the table surrounded by white shirts. All those loosened or removed striped tied, top button undone executives. Brainstorming to produce something memorable. A new baby foal, Clydesdale horse the star and image used since 1933 to carry the carriage, marketing Budweiser refreshment name.
The baby horse, filly someday a mare is named Hope.
What better handle, name gleaned from over 60,000 twitter tweets. Solicited, tapped out from out in cyber space by you and I. Full of hope. A new beginning. A start of a life. Paralleling the story line of Rudolph although not birth defect red nosed that becomes a blessing, a super power. After the “never let him play in any reindeer games” treatment wore off. And he became high flying popular. Unique. Special. Giving kids, Santa, Mrs Claus, parents hope. When the weather channel and NORAD had made the North Pole a restricted, no fly zone.
New Budweiser Foal Horse Named Hope By World Write In Tweet Process.
Had a Maine real estate seller who worked in the works into the office this morning. I knew Earl Thibodeau cut woods pulp logs back in the 1950’s. And asked him about the type of Maine horses used for the lumber work. He said nothing about Clydesdale, Percheron, but just lumped them all in the category of mixed blood plain jane, Heinz 57 variety work horses.
Earl worked with a Clarence White of Littleton Maine and a pair of work horses.
In the woods, cutting down the trees with a very heavy chain noisy saw. No protective gear or OSHA looking over his shoulder. Laboring hard enough not to get cold. The felled tree delimbed by hand. One by one. Then the patient horse backed up, a few logs choker chained together. Hooked to the cross bar traces. The rump of the horse tapped to kick him into gear.
The Maine work horse knows the routine. Drilled to unaccompanied drag the twitch of logs to the yard. Where Clarence backs him off the load tension, unhooks and another tap on the rump, maybe a cluck of the tongue and “hey hey” tell the horse to head back into the woods toward the chainsaw wielding Earle to retrieve another log bundle.
If the horse fetches up on a stump, he instinctively knows to back up, go one side to continue down the woods path to the open yard clearing.
If snagging happens again, back up, go the other side of the stump. All on automatic pilot. While one man continues to cut down and delimb trees to prepare another twitch load. The other saws timber up into smaller lengths, and slowly loads a truck or trailer out in the wood’s yard.
As a kid I remember on the Maine farm seeing a big pair of work horses coming up the front driveway. No people to guide or ride them. And walking by me, straight into a make shift hovel set up behind the barn. And waiting for one of the pair of woodsmen to show up. Unhook the leather harnesses. Grain, water, to throw in a few flakes of hay as reward. With a loving rub of a currie brush over the area under the harness.
Cleaning out the work horses hooves with a pick and checking for cuts, bruises needing liniment, ointment, salve.
Horses talked to, neck stroked and scratching behind their ears. Places they can not reach easily. Rewarded for a good day’s work. Wished my Aunt Ruth, the Maine horse lady was alive to ask about work horse varieties in Aroostook County. I know local Maine attorney Michael Carpenter has many used to pull the Acadia National Park Maine horse carrier tour rides.
Local Frenchie Paradis had a big work horse called Dewey.
That woodsman Dave Wilson used to help yard out firewood. Have to find out what actual kind of Maine woods work horse he really was. What he had for bloodlines or a pedigree if any. Kids could hang all over, off him with no fuss. A gentle giant. His disposition easy going, friendly, calm. Like some people that don’t bite, kick either.
Maine rural living, most of our time any of the four seasons spent outdoors. Just where we like to be. You could raise horses like “Darla’s Darling” my pick, tweet for the new name in a foal frenzy that is over.