Vegetables

CHAPTER V
The Stable

My feminine readers may feel inclined to ‘skip’ this chapter with the remark: ‘Well, the stables are not in my department’; but I think the wife of an official in Nigeria will usually find that her husband has more work of his own to do than he can well squeeze into each day, and, however slight her previous knowledge on the subject may be, the certainty that, unless she bestirs herself and gives personal attention and supervision, the ponies will be neglected, ill-fed and uncleanly, will, I feel sure, be sufficient stimulus to any true Englishwoman. For she naturally loves horses, and cannot but be fond of her wiry little thirteen-hand ponies in Nigeria; because they are, as a rule, sweet-tempered, willing, honest little souls, whose mistress will, in almost every case, have reason to remember how gallantly they carried her on such and such a march, and how cleverly they climbed and negotiated the nasty places, and forded uncertain-looking rivers. This alone will give them a strong claim on her loving care, and she will admit, after a time at all events, that it is worth while to learn all she can on the subject, and to spend half an hour every morning at the stables, inspecting each pony and his house, and another half-hour after the evening ride to see them dried, rubbed down and fed. For ourselves, I hardly think we could sleep in peace unless we had paid our usual visit to the stables to satisfy ourselves that all was well there, the ponies comfortable and well supplied with grass.

The morning visit may well be spent in what would appear to the new-comer to be childish reiteration of most elementary instruction to the man who makes a profession of looking after your horse. For instance, it is quite necessary to demand to be shown the inside of your ponies’ feet every day: your horse-boy—until trained—takes no personal interest in them, and assuredly will not clean them out on his own initiative, so, without your daily examination, a tiresome attack of thrush may lay your pony up for weeks or months, or a painful little stone, picked up perhaps in the last canter home, may remain there all night to his great discomfort. At present the ponies are not shod in this country, and though we may advance to metalled roads I hope for the sake of their owners and themselves they will never require it, for I can see heavy additional trials in store for them both, when the shoeing art is imperfectly learned and slovenly applied.

Each horse has his own attendant, but the grass-cutter of India is not kept, as the grass is so near and in such quantities that it can usually be cut from one’s own compound, or at least from a few yards off. Here the watchful eye is necessary; the ‘doki (horse) boy’ (who, as a rule, is a combination of utter incapacity, laziness and complete ignorance) likes immensely to be left at home when you go for a ride. He will then cut a bundle of the coarsest and wettest marsh grass he can find—naturally—as ten minutes’ work will produce a bigger bundle than half an hour’s cutting of the fine, short grass which is so infinitely better. He will then squat down on the ground and engage in a process that is absolutely blood-curdling to the unaccustomed onlooker; the grass is taken in small bundles, grasped by his left hand, while his right foot is firmly planted on the ends of the stalks; he then chops up the grass, a most murderous-looking weapon falling rapidly, and without, apparently, any special aim, within half an inch of his foot at each blow. I used to feel quite sick with apprehension, and even now I always expect to see five brown toes fly up into the air! The doki-boy forthwith conveys this mass of wet stuff into the pony’s stable for his consumption during the night, thus forming a sound basis for colic in the morning. Don’t let him do it. Even if dhoob grass is not to be had, make him cut the grass before midday, and have it well spread out in the sun, so that the pony gets it thoroughly dried. Remember, he does not want real food at night, only something comforting to munch, that will employ his mind harmlessly and happily, and divert his attention from trying to break loose and go off to fight any other pony he can find near at hand.

The main horse food out here is guinea-corn simply shredded off the large stalk, the little stems being left, to ensure the pony eating slowly, and thus digesting his meal. It is not easy to lay down a rule for quantity, as ponies vary, and the size of stalks of guinea-corn also varies; the best thing for the pony’s owner to do is to ask the advice of the neighbour who appears to have the best-kept ponies, or, if there are no neighbours, let him or her ask the ponies themselves by watching them feed. It soon becomes easy to determine whether they are getting enough; that is the main point, for I believe that a pony can scarcely be over-fed in this country. Try them with twelve large stalks of guinea-corn for each feed, i.e. about half a bundle per day to each pony. The guinea-corn is sold in bundles, varying a little in size and price, according to whether the district is a corn country or not; as a rule a fair-sized bundle costs, roughly, a shilling.

On tour, in places where guinea-corn was not to be had, and the ponies doing hard work, we have given them crushed Indian corn (maize); they liked it and throve on it. Dusa (bran) should invariably be mixed with the feeds, be they of maize or guinea-corn, three large handfuls to each feed; the ponies are fond of it, nothing is better for them, and it can always be obtained easily. The majority, too, will drink far more readily and copiously if a handful of dusa is stirred into the water.

Country potash (konwa) is a daily article of diet with the Nigerian pony. He has it, a piece about the size of a walnut, thoroughly dissolved in his water, and he thinks so much of it that often he will not drink without it. N.B.—Keep the konwa yourself and give it out every day, for it is also an article of diet for the doki-boy!