Several times I saw the mares at work, tirelessly. On one of my visits they pulled a wagon loaded with sugar beets from the field to the farm. There were puddles on the passageway and deep ruts had formed. The wagon was aquaplaning, zigzagging and sliding, with wheels that didn't seem to turn. In the lead, I got stuck in the mud. The horses approached with a short, stamping step, their chins almost on their chest. Clay lumps flew into the back of my head and back. In a moment I'll be guilty of it when the wagon gets stuck in the mud and the horses have to give all their strength to get it going again, flashed through my mind. I could pull off the boots one by one with my hands, but the sucking clay soil was not ready to release them spontaneously. Boots that I always take a size bigger because my feet put on during digging and lock maintenance, that was going to play tricks on me now. With my toes pressed down, I managed to stay in my boots and reach the side of the trail.