I expect the ponies would much enjoy lucerne if the garden could be made to produce it, but I am sorrowfully compelled to admit that after growing a crop of carrots with infinite care, and triumphantly bearing them off to the stables as a wonderful treat, the ungrateful ponies spit them out contemptuously and would have none of them!
The stables themselves must be rather a shock to an English mind: they are just circular huts—one for each pony—either with mud walls and a conical thatched roof, or else with walls of grass matting. Mud walls have the advantage of windows, which give a breeze, but bring possibilities of flies and wasps at the same time. Doors are usually wanting; the pony is picketed by one of his feet to a wooden post about two feet high, round which he can circle by means of a ring upon it. The post is driven into the ground in the middle of his stable. The ponies are quite accustomed to this method; they have their heads free, and they can lie down or walk around as they feel inclined. We always prefer the plan of fixing three bars firmly in the doorway, dispensing with the picketing arrangement, and thus giving the ponies the luxury of a loose box. The stable floor is of ordinary hardened mud, and should be freshly sanded every day. Bedding is not required.
A few words as to the doki-boy. He is lazy, and utterly ignorant of his job, usually downright frightened of his pony, and at every whisk of the latter’s tail, will make agonized appeals to his better feelings, uttering apprehensive clucks the while. Still, even the raw material, if he is docile and willing, is quite teachable, and he is, I think, invariably kind to his pony. His sins are mostly those of omission.
You will have to begin from the very beginning in your education of him, and see all his work, for your own sake and the pony’s. For instance, I remember one evening, when a pony came in much heated after polo, we stood by while our horse-boy, quite our best and most intelligent, proceeded to rub him down as usual, after which, to our horror, he shook out a clean rubber and began to fan the sweating pony with it! This, on a distinctly chilly evening after sunset!
Mr Lafone’s ‘White Mouse.’ ([p. 261])
Riding Astride—a locally made skirt! ([p. 265])
Hand-rubbing is quite unknown, and will be most unwillingly adopted, but it is worth any amount of tiresome teaching and repetition of the same order; there is absolutely nothing that will so quickly improve the looks and condition of ponies. We have them tethered close to the verandah each morning and afternoon, and superintend the hand-rubbing ourselves, no pony’s toilet being considered complete till his doki-boy is himself in a healthy perspiration. The ponies, too, enjoy the process, especially if they are rewarded for steadiness and patience by many pieces of juicy sugar-cane, which, by the way, is most useful for fattening up a thin pony, as well as being a handy little delicacy to carry on one’s visits to the stables. It should be peeled and cut in small pieces three inches long.