Mr. Speaker, it gives me great pleasure to speak in favour of Bill C-454. If the little Canadian horse was not in Canada, as my dad would say, perhaps I would not be here. That might please some, if not all, members of the House.
Let me explain. My father, at the age of 13, had finished his third book, could not afford to take the train from Petawawa to Pembroke to further his education, and had to work in the project camps, at which point his father consigned to him a team of Canadian horses. Their names were Pete and Prince. They were not very big, but at the project camp they worked for the princely sum of $5 a month. Those were big wages back in 1929.
This pair of little Canadian horses had to pull the same load as the big Belgians, the Percherons and the Clydesdales that were driven by other people and moving rocks. To put it in perspective, it would be the same as hooking up the hon. member for Wild Rose and the hon. member for Winnipeg South. Those two behemoths competed against me and the hon. member for Sault Ste. Marie. It would be the little horses against the big horses.
Because my dad loved those little Canadian horses and they were not very big, once the load of rock was on the wagon he would conveniently forget to close the back end. Thus when he was going up the grade some of the stones would fall off and naturally the load would become a little lighter.
When the foreman of the job rationed the feed, because it was during the depression era, he said to my dad “Listen, you only need half the feed for your horses because they are only half the size”. However he expected those little Canadian horses to do the same job. Therefore in the middle of the night my dad would awaken and borrow some more hay and oats for his horses, because they were so darned good to him.
At the end of summer my dad took a job for the Pembroke Lumber Company for which he was paid 5 cents a log. This same team of horses, Prince and Pete, went with him back into the bush operation. They were without a doubt, according to my dad, the sturdiest animals he ever had. He is still alive at 83 years of age.
At one time we had a team of 55 work horses and a team of over 20 little Canadian horses. Their bellies used to touch the snow and they broke the trail to skid the logs out. These were the hardiest little animals. The other horses would get bogs and splints. They would get scratches from the ice between the hoof and fetlock. The scratches would open up and the horses would not be able to work because they were bleeding. The little Canadian horses were hardy little fellows and they would keep going. There was no denying the fact that they were the best workers.
My dad at 14 years of age used to cut logs with a crosscut all day. He would be so tired at the end of the day that he would get on one of the horse's back and fall asleep, and the horse would bring him back to the camp.
We must bear in mind that at that time people like my dad would get up at 5 o'clock in the morning. It would be dark when they would leave camp and they would not get back until 7 o'clock at night when it would be dark again. The only time they saw the light of day at the camp was on Sunday, and even then they would on occasion take Pete and Prince to church with them.
We have heard another speaker tonight talk about how courageous and fast these horses were. Let me tell a story about the crazy wheel. The crazy wheel is a mechanism that hooks on to the back of a sleigh. When going down a steep hill with a team of horses a cable would be hooked on to the back of the sleigh and the sleigh would be let down. Back in the thirties and forties the roads would be iced so it would be easier for the horses to pull the sleigh. Halfway down one of these steep hills, when my uncle Dave was driving the team, the cable broke. Members know what happened. The cable broke. The load started pushing the horses and the little Canadian horses were running down the hill. My dad shouted to my Uncle Dave “jump Dave, jump” because there was a sharp corner at the bottom of the hill before they got on to the lake.
My Uncle Dave, being a rather stubborn fellow, decided not to jump. They went around the corner and they broke the bunks of the sleigh. The bunks of the sleigh are what keeps those logs in line. My Uncle Dave went into the bush with some of the logs but the little team kept on going around the corner and out on to the ice. They were not hurt but they were terribly fast.
Other speakers have said that they used to actually race these horses at night. Many do not know that the little Canadian horse is one of the genesis of the standardbred horse. I happen to have my standardbred horse licence and race horses. There was one particular standardbred horse called Cam Fella which reminded my dad and I of these little Canadian horses. He was only a little horse but everybody who touched that horse made money. Doug Arthur bought him for $19,000, made $150,000 with him, and sold him for $2 million to a breeder. That breeder made $5 million with him and he sired 16 million dollar winners.
I know some of my other colleagues want to speak to this bill, but I will tell one little story about my father at the end of hunting season when he polished up his brass harness and took the horse on parade in Pembroke, Ontario, back in 1942. Some of the people started cawing at the horse, saying the horse was crow bait. My dad was so incensed and actually chased the people away. The little Canadian horses used to grow a lot of hair, something like my colleague from Ottawa Centre or my colleague from Bourassa. Their long hair kept them from getting sores on their bodies.
I congratulate the member for Dufferin—Peel—Wellington—Grey. I was trying to figure out what he had in common with horses. We know he is a chicken farmer of fame. I have noticed that chickens have wings, but there was a legendary horse called Pegasus that had wings. When I raced my horse last Sunday night at Rideau Carleton, I wished that my horse had the wings of Pegasus and the heart, determination and charisma of the little Canadian horse because I might have won the race. To be honest, my trainer said that it was probably more the driver's fault than the horse's fault.
My father and Prince and Pete, those two little Canadian horses of 1929, would be honoured if somehow we could see fit to name the Canadian horse Canada's national horse. I thoroughly endorse the hon. member.
I will sit down because two members are giving me the evil eye. I think they are ready to give me a horse kick if I do not wrap up now and give them the opportunity to say a few words. Bravo, little Canadian horse.