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Chapter 10 A Talk in the Orchard Ginger and I were not of the regular tall carriage horse breed.
We had more of the racing blood in us.
We stood about fifteen and a half hands high,
And we were therefore just as good for riding as we were for driving.
Our master used to say he disliked either horse or man that could do but one thing,
And as he did not want us to show off in London parks,
He preferred a more active and useful kind of horse.
As for us,
Our greatest pleasure was when we were saddled for a riding party.
The master on Ginger and the mistress was on me.
The young ladies went on St Oliver and Mary Leggs.
It was so cheerful to be trotting and cantering all together,
It always put us in high spirits.
I had the best of it,
For I was always carrying the mistress.
Her weight was little,
Her voice was sweet,
And her hand so light on the rein that I was guided almost without feeling it.
Oh,
If people knew what a comfort a horse's light hand is,
And how it keeps a good mouth and a good temper,
They surely would not chuck and drag and pull at the rein as they do.
My mouth has never been spoiled.
I believe that was why the mistress preferred me to Ginger,
Although her paces were certainly quite as good.
She used often to envy me,
And said it was all the fault of breaking in,
And the gag bit in London,
That her mouth was not so perfect as mine.
But then old Oliver would say,
There,
There,
Don't vex yourself,
You have the greatest honour.
A mare that can carry a tall man of our master's weight,
With all your spring and sprightly action,
Does not need to hold her head down because she could not carry the lady.
We horses must take things as they come,
And always be contented and willing,
So long as we are kindly used.
I had often wondered how it was that Sir Oliver had such a very short tail.
It really was only six or seven inches long,
With a tassel of hair hanging from it.
On one of our holidays in the orchard I ventured to ask him by what accident it was he'd lost his tail.
Accident?
He snorted with a fierce look,
It was no accident,
It was a cruel,
Shameful,
Cold-blooded act.
When I was young,
I was taken to a place where these cruel things were done.
They cut off my long and beautiful tail,
And through the bone,
Took it away.
How dreadful,
I exclaimed.
It was dreadful,
He said,
But it wasn't only the pain,
Although that was terrible,
It was the indignity of having my best ornament taken away from me.
How could I ever brush the flies off my side and my hind legs any more?
You who have tails just whisk the flies off without thinking about it,
And you can't tell what a torment it is to have them settle upon you and sting and sting,
And have nothing in the world to latch them off with.
I tell you it's a lifelong wrong and a lifelong loss,
But thank heaven they don't know it now.
What did they do it for then?
Said Ginger.
For fashion,
Said the old horse with the stamp of his foot,
For fashion if you know what that means.
There was not a well-bred young horse in my time that had not had his tail docked,
Just as if the good God had made us not know what we wanted and what looked best.
Fashion is one of the wickedest things in the world.
Look at the way they serve dogs,
Cutting off their tails to make them look plucky and shearing up their pretty little ears to a point to make them look fierce.
I had a dear friend once,
A brown terrier,
Skye they called her.
She was so fond of me she never would sleep out of my stall.
She made her bed under the manger and she had a litter of five pretty little puppies.
None were drowned for they were a valuable kind and how pleased she was of them.
I was not so sure though,
For in the evening Skye brought them back again one by one,
Bleeding and crying pitifully.
They had a piece of their tails cut off and the soft flap of their pretty little ears was cut off.
How their mother licked them and how troubled she was,
But they healed in time and then they forget the pain,
But a nice soft flap that was intended to protect the delicate part of their ears was gone forever.
Sir Oliver,
Though he was so gentle,
Was a fiery old fellow and what he said was so new to me and so dreadful,
I found a bitter feeling towards men rise up in my mind I never had before.
Of course Ginger was very much excited.
She flung up her head with flashing eyes and declared that men were both brutes and blockheads.
Who talks about blockheads,
Said Mary Leggs,
Who just came from the old apple tree where he'd been rubbing himself against the low branch,
Who talks about blockheads?
I believe that's a bad word.
Bad words were made for bad things,
Said Ginger,
And she told him what Oliver had told her.
It's all true,
Said Mary Leggs sadly,
I've seen that about dogs over and over again,
But I won't talk about it here.
You know,
Master John and James are always good to us,
And talking against men in such a place as this does not seem fair or grateful.
Which we knew was quite true,
Cooled us all down,
Especially Sir Oliver,
Who was dearly fond of his master.
To turn the subject,
I said,
Can anyone tell me the use of blinkers?
No,
He said shortly,
Because they are of no use.
They're supposed,
Said Justin,
The roan-cob in his calm way,
To prevent horses from shying and starting.
Then what is the reason?
They do not put them on riding horses,
Especially on ladies' horses,
Said I.
There's no reason at all,
He said quietly,
Except the fashion.
They say a horse would be so frightened to see the wheels of his own cart or carriage coming behind him,
He'd be sure to run away.
Though of course,
When he's ridden and sees them all about him,
If the streets are crowded,
He might consider them too close to be pleasant.
But we don't run away,
We're used to it,
We understand it.
If we never had blinkers on,
We should never want them.
We should see what was there and know what was what,
And be much less frightened than by only seeing bits of it.
Of course,
There may be some nervous horses who've been hurt or frightened when they were young,
Who might be,
The better for it.
But I was never nervous,
So I can't really judge.
I consider,
Said Sir Oliver,
Blinkers are dangerous things in the night.
We horses can see much better in the dark than men can,
And many an accident would never have happened if horses might have had the full use of their eyes.
I should say,
Said Ginger,
Curling her nostril.
Things were getting rather sore again when Merrylegs held up his knowing little face and said,
I'll tell you all a secret,
Shall I?
I believe John does not approve of blinkers.
I heard him talking with Master about it one day.
The Master said if horses had been used to them,
It might be dangerous in some cases to leave them off.
And John said he thought it would be a good thing if all colts were broken in without blinkers,
As was the case in some foreign countries.
So let us cheer up,
Do,
And have a run round to the other end of the orchard.
I believe the wind has blown down some apples,
And we might just as well eat them as they're slugs.
Merrylegs then could not be resisted,
So we broke off our long conversation and got up our spirits by munching some very sweet apples.
