Again, the educated smith, in order to give what he terms “a better hold,” drives the fastening nails into the black or outer substance of the wall of the foot; whereas the untutored Arab preserves his horses’ feet by permitting the walls to descend about half-an-inch below the sole, and then driving the nails through this portion of the hoof. By so doing, he averts the evil consequences of inserting iron into the brittle substance, and secures at the same time the resistance and tough qualities of the complex covering of the foot. While the English smith is labouring to give a tight hold, he is in reality involving three distinct perils—firstly, pricking the sensitive foot, should the nail chance to turn a little bit on one side—a thing which very often happens; secondly, driving a nail too fine, or, in other words, too near the white horn—the consequence of which is that it, the nail, turns inward when the horse is worked, causing lameness to ensue; and, thirdly, to avoid these evils, he points his nails so far outward that the outer crust cracks, splits, and chips away, in time occasioning a difficulty about finding any place at all capable of affording holding properties for the necessary nails.
FOOT WITH FRACTURED HORN.
SHOE HANGING PENDULOUS.
It is owing to this evil that riders are so frequently inconvenienced by their horses’ shoes becoming partially detached from their feet. The weakest portion of the chipped hoof yields first, the remaining fastenings follow, the shoe wags, the nails lose their hold—with, perhaps, the exception of one or two,—when the foot is raised its covering hangs pendulous from it, and when again put down some nail still remaining in the shoe pierces the plantar surface of the foot, or, perhaps, even penetrates the coffin-bone, and prolonged lameness follows. “This may be, and no doubt is, all very true,” I fancy I can hear some reader say; “but what on earth am I to do? I cannot shoe my horses myself, and smiths are so intolerably conceited.” Just so; they certainly are, and I can entirely sympathise with you; horse-owners are terribly dependent upon them, ladies in particular. But I should advise you to do what I myself have found effectual, namely, take your horses either to a thoroughly competent farrier (there are, happily, such to be found), or, what I think better still, to a complete duffer!—one who knows very little about his trade, and who, being aware of his deficiencies, will be humble enough to accept your directions, and also willing to act upon them and thankful for being afforded an opportunity of doing so. I have heard that railway companies seek for fools to act as pointsmen; by all means, then, look out for an idiotic smith!
CHAPTER XXI.
FEEDING.
As already stated, I give my own ideas and opinions on this subject, without any desire to thrust them forward, or the least expectation of seeing them generally adopted. Old prejudices are hard to get rid of; grooms are self-willed, obstinate, and ignorant to a degree, and masters are too yielding, or too indolent to interfere. I therefore regard it as probable that on many persons the advice contained in this chapter will be thrown away, while on others—those who are willing to break new ground—it will, I venture to say, have the salutary effect of producing improvements in the stable, and increasing the weight of the purse. By good management, which is the true secret of all economy, a man, or woman, may keep a pair of horses for the same yearly outlay that his or her less provident neighbour will expend on keeping one—while the credit of the stable will be quite as well, if not better, maintained.
I am most strongly in favour of cooked food, and opposed to the giving of raw oats in any shape or form. The absurd theory that this system of feeding is calculated to make horses “soft,” is about as sensible as that which avers (or would do so) that a man fed upon cooked rice and well-boiled potatoes, would be less capable of doing a good day’s work than if compelled to eat the same materials raw. Animals possessed of even the very best digestions lose a great portion of the nutriment of their food when given in the ordinary way—a large quantity of the oats passing through their bodies quite as whole and unbroken as when swallowed; whereas every grain of the cooked food is assimilated with the blood, and goes to nourish the system,—consequently, nothing is lost.