ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY — At 6:30 a.m., the scrape of manure shovels and the shuffling of horse hooves echoed through the red-brick stable at Ft. Myer. Soldiers from the caisson detachment in blue jeans, black shirts and white cowboy hats mucked out stalls. Kennedy, Lance and Truman – statuesque, dark horses – poked their heads between steel bars, eyes wide.

The unit is in its final days of practice, preparing for the return June 2 of carrying deceased troops by horse-drawn caisson wagon to their graves, a tradition that dates to the 19th century. USA TODAY had access to the soldiers and horses of the caisson detachment, part of the Army’s 3rd Infantry Regiment, known as “The Old Guard,” during one of their final rehearsals.

“It’s been two years since we’ve taken part in a funeral,” said Lt. Col. Jason Crawford, a veterinarian and former rodeo rider who commands the unit. “We’re getting that muscle memory back.”

For decades, soldiers had been providing funeral services at the cemetery with caissons, wagons that once hauled supplies to the front and brought fallen troops home. That stopped in May 2023 after two of the unit’s horses, Mickey and Tony, died after gravel they’d eaten fouled their guts. An Army investigation found four horses had died in a year, the Army’s herd had grown old and their training and facilities were outdated.

Since then, the Army has spent more than $28 million to upgrade stables, rehabilitate horses, buy new and younger ones and hire experts to advise on their care and training. Their equipment, from rubber mats to cushion their hooves to custom-made saddles for their backs, has been improved, too.

The caisson detachment passed its first major test in January, carrying the casket of former President Jimmy Carter to the White House during his state funeral. In the following months, soldiers acclimated the horses to Arlington National Cemetery’s winding, hilly roads and the vehicles and people who visit the nation’s premier military burying ground.

With two squads of soldiers and horses trained, Army officials believe they can conduct two caisson funerals per day, said Maj. Wes Strickland, an Army spokesman. That number will increase as more soldiers and horses are trained.

It hasn’t all gone smoothly. Earlier this spring, something spooked the horses, and a few bolted about 100 yards before they could be controlled, Strickland said. A soldier’s leg was broken, and one horse required rest to recover from the chaos.

Nor, in the opinion of an influential senator, should the Army have paused the time-honored tradition at all. Sen. Tom Cotton, R-Arkansas, a veteran of the Old Guard who helped conduct army funerals as a young officer, said in an interview that while it was appropriate to improve the caisson program he was “saddened and frustrated” that the funeral tradition was suspended for two years.

“The caisson platoon has operated for decades without shutting down and frankly, horses have been pulling wagons since the dawn of history,” Cotton said. “This is not a complicated task.”

The Army needs to care for the horses properly and accept that some will be injured or killed, he said.

“We have to be realistic that horses are going to pass away and horses are going to be injured,” Cotton said. “That's just the nature of the work they do. Just like elite horses on racetracks, we want to care for these horses. And I can promise you that no one cares for these horses better than the young horsemen soldiers who have trained with them and lived with them for years.”

The unit’s soldiers do appear diligent about their horses’ care. They shovel poop from the stalls into wheelbarrows, sweep the last wood chip from the aisle and set down fresh bedding. No grousing, instead soft, soothing words to the horses and pats on their flanks.

Sgt. Natalee Silva, 23, talked about the morning ritual: cleaning the stall, filling water bowls, stocking up hay and inspecting the horses for any bumps or cuts. She grew up in Gillette, Wyoming, around the animals, and enjoys spending time with them.

Lance is her favorite. “Me and him have a connection,” she said, scratching Lance’s neck where she once found a tick.

Across the way, Truman sprawled out on a fragrant bed of fresh wood shavings.

“He knows he’ll be working in a few hours. You have to be patient with him; he can be a morning grouch,” said Private 1st Class Joshua Allen, 19, from Houston. “We’ll be getting him ready for the mission soon.”

Soldiers like Allen and Silva apply for the caisson detachment. About half the candidates make the cut after interviewing, slinging a bale of hay and displaying calm with horses. Then training begins: a 12-week basic horsemanship course followed by six-week boot camp at an equestrian sports facility in Ocala, Florida.

Experience with horses is great but not required, said Sgt. 1st Class Trevor Carlin. About two-thirds of the unit’s soldiers, including Allen, didn’t grow up around them. He looks for soldiers who ask questions and want to learn. Core strength is key, too. Carlin said, as soldiers need to guide their horses while keeping erect posture.

“We need very independent, super-fit soldiers,” said.

A soldier like Staff Sgt. Isaac Melton. He led the rehearsal, riding ahead on what is called the section horse. That’s Truman, age 5, who was last seen lounging in his stall. Now Truman stood tall, a gold heart on his breast plate.

All business.

“Truman and I have similar personalities,” said Melton, 34, from McKenzie, Louisiana.  

Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall adjoins Arlington National Cemetery. Melton brought Truman and the caisson team through the gate into the shade of oak trees that tower over row upon row of white marble tombstones. Six horses, three with riders, tow the caisson.

At a moderate walking pace, the horses clip-clopped up the hill past Arlington House, the 19th century home built as a memorial to George Washington and later inherited by Robert E. Lee. Tourists snapped photos and the horses pressed on.

Melton stopped the procession on a shady stretch, a designated rest stop with green metal hitching posts for the horses. The unit is ready to conduct funerals, he said.

“One hundred percent,” Melton said. “We’ve been training for a long time and have left no stone unturned. Every day the horses settle in a little more. They’re in their own vibe.”

At the stable after the practice run, under fans suspended from its gabled roof, soldiers washed down the horses. They cleaned and stowed equipment and Kennedy gnawed at fresh hay.

Cotton said the caisson ceremony holds special meaning for relatives of the fallen. The first funerals with caissons will be limited to troops killed in action, recipients of the Medal of Honor or Prisoner of War Medal and high-ranking service members.

About 25 service members whose families have waited during the two-year pause will also be carried to their graves by caisson.

“It’s something that I think solemnifies the moment even more for those families,” Cotton said.