Hotwire 101by Lauren Davis Baker Among the more challenging aspects of keeping horses is keeping them where they're supposed to be. While most horses respect the limits of their paddock or pasture, there will be a rebel in every herd who will literally test your limits. This brings us to the subject of electric fencing, affectionately known as "hot wire." Without hot wire, an average-sized horse can quickly transform your hog-wire fencing into spaghetti. If he's determined enough, he will trample board or pole fencing into toothpick material. A motivated horse can even run through chain-link fencing, leaving a scene reminiscent of a Godzilla disaster. Having had enough of these encounters, smart horse owners have learned the value of electricity. Horses hate electricity. Most of the time, I leave my own hot wire turned off. With a two acre pasture, there's usually enough grass to keep the hungriest of horses happy. One summer, however, I boarded a Percheron gelding named Scooter. Not content with mere grass, Scooter began leaning over the fence, nibbling my sapling maple trees. After devouring the leafy portion, Scooter proceeded to consume the trunk, leaving an ornamental two-foot stick. With great haste, I plugged the hot wire in. One jolt later, Scooter lost his taste for maple trees and left the fence line alone thereafter. I gained superpowers (in Scooter's eyes) when he inadvertently knocked me into the fence one day, as I was turning him out. Electric current shot through me and into himbut he thought I was the source. With speed and grace unbelievable in an animal that large, Scooter spun through the air, turned, and snorted at me in fright. It took weeks of slow, cautious movementand plenty of carrots to regain Scooter's trust. Never again did he eye me as a mere mortal. In his eyes I was Lightning Girl, Ruler of the Greenlands. My new horse, Dominick (aka: Nick) scoffed at hot wire, having been kept at a barn where it had been turned off for months. Nick made quite a reputation for himself by doing a belly crawl under the hot wire. He would slither from one paddock to the next, visiting neighbors and sampling the cuisine before returning to his original paddock. Knowing Nick's history, I knew better than to leave him in a pasture fenced solely by hot wire. However, I didn't really expect to have problems, since my own fencing is hogwire with a line of hot wire along the top. I'd ignored a short in the hot wire for months, since the rest of the herd respected the fence line. I optimistically expected the two acres of spring grass to satisfy Nick until I got around to fixing the fence line. As if to say, "I told you so," the day I brought him home, Nick leaned into the pasture fence to nibble the lawn on the other side. By the time I found him, the wire had bent to conform to his chest and the fence posts were leaning alarmingly. Nick was quite happy with the arrangement. He looked back at his pasture mates as if to say, "Why didn't you guys think of this?" I threw on a pair of rubber boots, grabbed wire and wire clippers and quickly made my way around the perimeter. With great satisfaction I fixed the short and flipped the switch, electrifying the fence once moreNick's fun ended with a zap. Unfortunately, horses aren't the only ones affected by hot wire. Over the years I've been accidentally charged a few times myself, and I hate it. Interestingly, I've noted that hot wire is, among other things, a gender indicator. Tell a woman that a fence is "hot" and she'll stay a respectful two feet from the wire. Tell a man that the fence is "hot" and (if he's a city boy), he'll challenge your authority. Take my friend, Dan, who came to visit our barn. "That's not hot wire," Dan asserted. "Is too," I replied, wondering just what he thought hot wire should look like. "Is not," he defied. "OK., fine," I said, "Go ahead and touch it." Dan gave the wire a solid smack. He yelped, flew back a few feet, and glared at me as if I'd betrayed him. Had this happened on only one occasion I wouldn't dare generalize. However, this experiment has been repeated with the same outcome many times over the years. My own husband, who should be familiar with the workings of electricity (he holds a degree in physics), learned the hard way about testing our hot wire. At my request, John went out to find a short in the hot wire surrounding our pasture. Armed with a pair of pliers and his Radio Shack voltmeter, John gallantly set out in the rain. I looked at the pliers with scepticism. "Those look like plastic handles to me," I said. (Everything I know about electricity comes from watching The Magic School Bus, so I only understand the basics.) "No, that's rubber," John assured me. "OK., fine," I said, my standard answer when argument is pointless. John had worked his way along the fence row for several minutes, when I heard the scream. I turned in time to see him hurtling backward, as he pitched the sizzling tools high into the air. "The fence is working," he grumbled. Fortunately, brushes with the hot wire are usually more surprising than painful. When one of our city friends offered to horse sit for a week, I gave him a barn tour, complete with warnings about the hot wire and our evil rooster, who was named Terminator because he was always in pursuit and resistance was futile. Rex nodded respectfully and we left town with confidence. Upon our return, the animals were wellbut Rex couldn't wait to tell us about his adventures. He'd been enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee one bright morning as he fed the horses, when Terminator began stalking him in the paddock, eyes spinning like pinwheels and talons at the ready. Rex slowly backed away from the approaching fowl. Taking one step too many, Rex made contact with the electrified hot wire. He shrieked and threw his coffee into the air, which successfully frightened off the Terminator. On subsequent feedings Rex armed himself with a rakeand kept a healthy distance from the surging steel strand. Part of living with hot wire is remembering to warn people about it. Once in a while, I do slip up. One summer afternoon we were entertaining friends in the yard, throwing frisbee for the dogs and watching the kids run in the grass. When a frisbee flew into the paddock I thought nothing of it. I was conversing with a friend, keeping one eye on my daughter, only half aware of Mr. Thorpe climbing over the aluminum gate. He threw one leg over the fencestraddling the hot wireand immediately threw himself onto the hard-packed ground on the other side with an "Aaaargh!" Ooops, sorry Mr. Thorpe. The horses jumped back and snorted, as if to say, "You silly goose, don't you know that's hot wire? " A word of free advice for the manufacturers of hot wire controllers and electric fence supplies. If you'd like to quadruple your sales, consider marketing your products to the millions of suburbanites and non-horsepeople who have never experienced the drama and excitement of hot wire. Sell the sizzle, not the steak. I've already written the ad campaign for you: "Are your cocktail parties losing their punch? Backyard barbecues falling flat? Are your weekends becoming a crashing bore? Install the Acme Electro 2000 PartyPak in your backyard, plug it in, sit back, and watch the action! Electrify your life with Acme!" Come to think of it, maybe I should start having more of my own social events a little closer to the barn. |
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