Four years ago, the noble beasts of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Mounted Patrol Unit left their stable, an old airplane hangar contaminated by lead-based paint, for a little lean-to. A few decision-makers wanted to lay off the officers’ 1,200-pound partners and buy fresh SWAT equipment instead of hay. But a gift from horse-loving philanthropists renovated the hangar, and the horses moved home. The next morning in the paddock, they leaped and kicked and rolled in clover. “When they came back, you could see the difference in Jake,” says his partner, Officer Larry Casey. “He was at peace.”
• You have to be fearless, because they know. They can feel the fear. And you have to just love to ride.
• You have to be able to stay in the saddle, if you’re going to go out there and chase somebody and grab them. Otherwise, the training’s mostly about building a bond. Commands—walk, trot, gallop—and certain maneuvers and formations. Say we’re doing crowd control: The horses might form a wedge to drive the crowd back. You have to know how to communicate that.
• Horses are great when the park gets busy. They deter crime. You’re high up, so you can see a lot farther than you can in a car. And you can maneuver. If we’re in a dense area of the park, he’ll see a person I might not even see. And we can go anywhere; there are no hiding places.
• The most dramatic times are when I get him into a straight-out run, when an officer calls and needs help. About two months ago, one of our commanders called. There was a fight at the top of Art Hill. I cut across by the Zoo and down Washington Avenue, and I was there. You don’t have to worry about traffic.
• You pay attention to his ears. If a horse’s ears go back, he’s upset. You pay attention to his mood. He has bad days. I talk to him, walk with him, give him apple treats and carrots.
• He won’t shy from anything. He’ll go anywhere: Downtown, the Central West End. He’ll walk beside a bus. He’ll do almost anything you want him to do.
• There are embarrassing moments. I don’t let him chomp on flowers. But he relieves himself—right on Euclid Avenue, in front of the restaurants. I’ll find a street sweeper fast. Or if people are sitting outside eating, I’ll get off and kick it down the sewer.
• Back in the day, we patrolled downtown. Now we only go for parades. The horses have blue and yellow blankets for basic parades and green and white for St. Patrick’s.
• Jake’s a bay: He’s got a sorrel coat, but his mane and the tips of his ears are black, and so are his socks.
• When he paws the ground, he’s bored, ready to go. For petting, he likes the middle of his forehead rubbed. He’ll toss his head and ask for more.
• He likes every part of the park. When he gets over by the zebras, he pays close attention. I guess it’s the smell.
• Horses have tunnel vision—that’s why they turn their heads so often. He doesn’t like loud noises when he can’t see where they’re coming from. And he hates fireworks.
• The best is when I take him out to Camp Rainbow, at Babler State Park. Just the joy of seeing those kids, who all have severe cancer, petting him and rubbing on him—it might be the last time.
• Over the years, Jake’s gotten more sensitive to people. I take him down to the Zoo a lot, and now when a large group of kids rushes him, he’s peaceful. But he still doesn’t like them going behind him and pulling his tail.
• I’ll probably retire before he does. Jake’s 18—he’s got a good ways to go.
• A horse or a human partner? I’ll take the horse any day.
