“I at once made up my mind that if he could see the objects which worried him we should get along better together, so I determined that I would take the blinders off the next time he went in harness. The people at the stable where I keep him tried, in every way, to discourage my doing so. 'He will be scared and run away when he sees the carriage behind him, and will kick and smash it to pieces.' 'It will never be safe for you to do it.' 'He will see everything at the side of the road, and you can't drive him at all that way,' and so on, without end. But; I had a woman's obstinacy and determined to try him.
“When they found I would have my way they said I must have him handled by a trainer and driven in a breaking cart until he was accustomed to the open bridle.
“So it was arranged, and I made an appointment with the trainer. Tatters was harnessed into the breaking cart, and with a good stout kicking strap attached. Then the trainer—looking as though he dreaded the job—took the reins and mounted the seat—carefully watched by about twenty grooms, who had come out on the sidewalk to see the fun, and were offering bets on the result. The trainer drove from Fifty-ninth Street up the Boulevard about a dozen blocks and back again, passing under the elevated trains each time. Tatters never behaved better in his life. 'Now,' I said, after walking him around the phaeton with the top first up, and then down, 'harness him into it and drive him up the Boulevard and back again,' and the trainer did so, with the same result. Then I got into the phaeton alone and drove around Central Park and up over the bridge at the end of Seventh Avenue, and Tatters never showed the least alarm, and he did not worry and sweat when going fast, as before; but, on the contrary, seemed to enjoy the novelty. He has never been driven with a blind bridle since, and never will be as long as I have him. He certainly goes better than ever before, he is no longer afraid of the trains on the elevated railway, he used to be scared when bicycles came up alongside of him, and now he pays no attention to them.
“It seems to me that when a horse can see anything properly he doesn't mind it half as much as when he hears a noise and can't see what is making it. Horses are slow in understanding, but once convinced they never forget. When we are near a railway or anything else that is likely to frighten him I talk to Tatters and let him take his own time to see what it is, and then he concludes he isn't to be harmed, and pays no attention to it the next time he sees it. He is a great pet; he eats out of my hand and is very careful not to let his teeth harm me, he recognizes my voice, points his ears and whinnies whenever I go into the stable and say, 'Where's my Tatters?' He appreciates every little kindness, and seems to try to do his best to please me. We are great friends; I always try to understand what he is thinking about, and act accordingly. No one can win the confidence of a horse without being kind to it, and above all—-patient.”—S. A. D.