“Provide yourself with a gig-whip and three or four carrots cut in slices. Lead the horse out in either a halter or a common watering-bridle. A closed barn or riding school is the best place for all instruction, because there is then nothing to distract the horse's attention, but a quiet lane will do as well. Begin by fondling your horse, talking to him in horse-language, and giving him one or two bits of carrot, for which, if he has not been fed recently, he will be eager, and begin to push his nose into your hand for more. Then commence by leading him forward and backward with one hand, holding the gig-whip trailing behind you with the other, calling to him by name, if he has one, all the time, as thus:—Come—come along, come along, old fellow, touching him up gently or sharply, as the case may be, on his hindquarters, with the point of the gig-lash to drive him forward, and fondling or rewarding him as he comes to your hand. He will soon learn to press forward to avoid the flick of the whip behind, and to come to your shoulder to be caressed and rewarded. Instead of flying from you, he will learn to seek safety by your side, and follow you anywhere.”
“The whip has something to do with the instruction,” George remarked, as he read the foregoing paragraph to Charley.
“Yes,” said the latter, “but you see there are more carrots and caresses than whips. Here's something about the use, or rather the misuse, of the whip which I have just found in Our Animal Friends. The writer appears to know what he wants to say.”
“The whip is the parent of stubbornness in a high-spirited animal, while gentleness will win obedience, and at the same time attach the animal to us. It is the easiest thing imaginable to win the affection of animals, and especially horses. An apple, a potato, or a few lumps of sugar, given from the hand now and then, will cause the horse to prick up his ears at the sound of his owner's footstep, not with fear, but with a low whinnying note of pleasure. The confidence of the noblest beast thus gained, will lead him to obey the slightest intelligent tone of voice or indication of the bit. There is no such thing as balkiness to be found in a horse thus treated; he shows a desire to obey, whereas a few lashes of the whip, smartly applied, if he be a horse worth having, will arouse in him a spirit of retaliation and stubbornness that may cost the owner hours of trouble, and possibly danger, to life and limb. Horses are made gentle by kindness. They believe in the 'master' they love, and his voice will calm them in a moment of fear, or induce them to struggle forward, even when overladen, and when a whip would be sure to bring them to a stubborn standstill.
“No man knows the true value of his horse until he has won his regard and confidence, as it were. The whip will never know this. A kind hand and gentle voice will act like magic. Thus we have known women who could handle and drive horses that would almost invariably show vicious traits in the hands of a male driver.”
“And here's a good story,” said George, “which is copied from the Cornhill Magazine:
“'All horses have their fancies, and know perfectly well whom they have to deal with. I am just now exercised with Whitefeet. One day I found her in the drawing-room. To reach it she had walked into the house by the front entrance, and after traveling a corridor some forty feet long, had passed through three door-ways. There she was, examining furniture, smelling knick-knacks, and looking out of the window. I expected a scene, since she was as good as wild, having never been made acquainted with saddle, bridle or shoe. Yet she behaved like a young lady, not only daintily walking about among chairs and tables without damage, but exhibiting solitary self-consciousness, especially when she came to look at herself in the mirror. This she did with much interest, getting first one side of her face and then the other into the most appreciable position. It seemed to me that she smiled. When she had gazed her fill I said. 'Now come out, my dear.' Then she put her warm, velvety nose into the hollow of my uplifted hand and followed me, as I walked backward like a courtier into the paddock. And yet a professional breaker had found her hard to manage. She was evidently too refined for him, and resented his coarse manners. Horses show deliberate resentment. Years ago we had two piebalds, Marquis and Tag. I have a portrait, but knew them not, as they lived before I was born. You might—it was so related to me when a boy by my elders—call Tag anything but a 'blackguard.' Tradition says that an incredulous guest, having been told this, one evening after dinner, went up by himself to Tag, before breakfast the next morning, and quietly said: 'Tag, you are a blackguard.' He was thankful to get into the house with only half his coat torn off his back. Tag flew at him, open-mouthed, at once.'”
“The intelligence of horses in England is not monopolized by the high bred ones,” said Charley after listening to the account of White-feet in the parlor. “Here's what an Englishman says of the London omnibus horses!—
“'I like riding on an omnibus; it is the best way to see London, and I often sit by a 'bus driver's side to the end of his stage and back. So I see a good deal of the 'bus horse, and I find in him an animal who well repays watching. Most people know that he understands the conductor's bell; but few know how well he understands it. The London 'bus driver is a very Jehu, but his cattle need very little driving. I see them stop when the bell rings, and I see them start when it rings again, even when it does so within two seconds. Yet, when the 'bus is in full roll, and the conductor rings twice, to show the driver that he is 'full inside,' the horses know the double ring and never pause in their stride. Again, the 'bus horse knows the policeman's signal. I am driving down Oxford Street. At the corner of Bond Street, an old lady wants to cross the road. The policeman holds up his white-gloved hand and the horses stop, automatically, not pulled up by Jehu. The lady safely across, the policeman jerks his thumb forward, and the horses start again. A heavy dray is in front. Without sign from Jehu, the horses swerve to right and circumvent it. I sometimes think the conductor might drive by merely pulling his bellcord, and so save the driver's wages. Further, these sagacious beasts know all their stoppings; they know the import of the cue 'higher up,' and they know the clatter of the released brake. Observe, too, how skilfully the 'bus-horse picks out the dryer portion of the wet and slippery wood pavings. And see him cleverly skate down Waterloo Place, after a shower of rain or water-carts, with heavy 'bus behind him. What other animal could do the like?'”