THE LITTLE COLT SNIFFED, AND the smell of morning tickled in his nose and the whirly wind stirred the whiskers in his ears. He tossed his head, snorting and squealing. It was good—morning and the wind and having his mother this close.
He kicked up to the sky and down to the earth, and with a wee flirt of his tail scampered across the meadow. In long easy strides his mother overtook him and now she is alongside, pacing him, keeping him steady on the trot, schooling him.
Big hoofs and little hoofs go winging along the grass, making fresh tracks in the dew. Only the fence line can stop them, and the mare slows, bunting her young one away from it. They stand for a moment to blow and to snort, but the wind teases them on again. They wheel and are off, galloping now, drinking the bracy air deep into their lungs, drinking up the morning.
Schooling—how easy it is! Trotting. Galloping. Using your tail as a rudder, kinking it around the curves. “You, young’un, keep away from that fence! Keep away or I’ll bunt you away!”
And danger signals, never to be forgotten. That day of the bulldog scare. The grinning beast, lunging, ready to grab at the colt’s throat, to hang on with his bulldog grip. But the mare’s neigh—short, sharp, shrill—crying more plainly than any words, “Danger! Come!” And the little colt bolting for his mother, feeling safe and unafraid in her shadow.
The mare teaches more than alarms. In flytime she hovers over her colt, whisking the biting insects away with her fly-switch tail. By and by the colt learns the trick of it, sidling up to her just so—head to tail—letting her shoo the bussing, whiny things away. A swish, and they’re gone.
If only mares could school humans, too! If only they could gentle humans in the kind and homely things to do. Small ways, folkways that horses like. Take the bit for example. Take it on a cold day. The icy feel of it. How would you like it thrust into your mouth—the cold steel on the warm tongue! Two minutes will warm it. Your hands or your breath can do it.
Do you like having your nose stroked? Most horses dislike it, too. Some will tolerate it, a few may enjoy it, but most of them jerk away in distaste, as if their dignity had been offended.
If you can’t resist the normal impulse of wanting to touch the horse’s velvety nose, offer him the flat of your hand. Let him come sniffing and scenting to you until the feelers of his muzzle tickle your palm. He may even lick the salt of your hand with his big washcloth tongue. In that little moment you have passed the test. You have been accepted.
To most horses the sudden tightening of the girth strap is like the pinching of a vise. Why make it sudden? Why not do it by notches? Easy on the first pull, proffering a wisp of hay to keep his mind and his grinders busy. Now check the bridle or the stirrups and then come back to the buckling. Another notch, another little handout of hay, and soon the girth is as snug as a hoop around a barrel. All this has been accomplished without ears flattened or teeth bared.
Have you seen riders, as they mount, fling their bodies into the saddle, coming down on the horse’s back like a sack of potatoes? It is enough to make him jump out of his hide. Some mounts do take a sudden lunge, almost unseating the clumsy rider.
A good horseman mounts lightly, easing himself into the saddle with no shock at all to the horse. Always he avoids startling the high-strung creature. In grooming, in stable care, in all his horse-keeping he works calmly, talks calmly, with never a hustle or bustle. A jerky, head-shy horse is often telltale evidence of an awkward master.
Ever try to walk or run with a stone in your shoe and with a load on your back besides? Horses get stone bruises and corns just as people do. Before and after you ride, remove any little stones imbedded in your horse’s feet. He’ll feel good, light and airy as any ballet dancer.
When the years pile up on your horse and his teeth wear down and his ribs begin to show, pamper him a little. Try grinding his oats each day and watch him clean up his feed. He’ll lose his gaunt look and someone’s bound to say, “Got a new horse there, haven’t you?”
About this matter of sugaring your horse—don’t, for his sake. A horse with a sweet tooth generally turns into a nipper, and sooner or later he is apt to bite the hand that sugars him. Then punishment must be dealt swiftly. One way to avoid the need for punishment is never to give your horse any sugar. If horses could school their masters, the wise ones would say, “Sugar? No, thank you! Save it for your guests who come to tea.”
Some trainers believe in breaking a colt, some in gentling him. Breaking is the quick way, gentling the sure way. A circus trainer once received a string of so-called well-broken horses, and at once he saw fear and hatred in their eyes. He might have refused to train them, but their distrust was a challenge.
Before teaching any tricks, he had to start from the beginning, trying to change their opinion of man. For days he took them into the ring during lesson time and just talked to them, letting his voice go up and down the scale as if he were chatting with old cronies. Gradually the horses began to gather around, forking their ears this way and that. “They seemed to like the sound of human voices,” the trainer said. “Just because the horse is a dumb animal is no reason for the trainer to be.”
Another horseman I know soothes his horses with radio music. It keeps the fractious colt from kicking, he says, and the lonely weanling from crying. One Christmas morning, as I walked into his stable, it was like coming on a nativity scene. High and clear through the air came the song, “Away in a manger, no place for a bed. . . .” And to the rhythm of this gentle melody the horses were munching their sweet-smelling hay and the winter sun was streaming through the open door and a fuzzy colt was lying drowsy and warm in a little nest of straw. Such peace and contentment filled the stable that a mere human seemed an intruder.
As I went crunching away in the snow, I had no words big enough for the peace and the good feeling, but suddenly a high joyous whinny floated out over the half-door. It said all I wanted to say—Merry Christmas!
