THE WILLING HORSE.

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 170, 19 July 1924, Page 24

THE WILLING HORSE.

FROM CITY TO COUNTRY. A SIDE-LIGHT FROM THE FARM. (By G. EDITH BURTON.) Twenty-eight years of service on hard metalled roads is the record of ono of tho City Council's horses, and surely that is a notable record for any horse. Tho added information that "he is still willing" is surely superfluous; it is tho "willing" man, woman, and beast who goes on till he drops. "Tho willing horse for the hard road, the willing horse for the heaviest burden," are household words, used more often certainly when referring to the human family. I have driven a cream-coloured pony whose yearß were kriown to be at ■ least twenty-two, possibly four or five could be added to that, yet she spanked along; often out-distancing everything on tho road; her little feet as trim and shapely as a three-year-old. Still, it was a farm pony, and about twenty miles would be her average on metal for tho week. Some time ago I was I watching two horses drag a heavy load I of metal up a steep pinch of hill. One, a rather light draught mare, was straining every inch, literally digging her toes into the road. Her mate, a heavier draught horse, was slacking. As they took a breather at the top, the mare I was trembling, and dripping with sweat, 1 and her mate, after heaving a gentle 1 sigh, closed his eyes for a. few minutes' i nap. "That's a willing horse," I said I to the driver, and nodding towards the ! mare. "Willing!—l should think so; j sho's too dashed willing, she'd pull her I innards out to save this slug a pound I or two," and ho dug the slug in the I ribs with his whip. They are such pals I that if I take him out alone she hangs i over the gate, fretting all day." And : I knew this was perfectly true. No other animals become so strongly atI tached to one another as horses do. On 1 a farm I have seen one of the ploughhorses given a holiday, only to spend it walking up and down by tbe fence of an adjoining paddock, with tho other horses yoked in tho plough. And when an extra tempting patch of grass kept it behind for a furrow, a reproachful whinncying would come from tiro workers. I've heard an old ploughman call out in exasperation to a "spelled" horse: "If that's all you know what to i do with a spell, young fellar-me-lad, ' you'd better yoke up to-morrow." I Sometimes there appears in tho papers ; an advertisement: "Sale of Road-weary Horses." What a picture of patient toil this conjures up, with a special little ache for keen lovers of horses. Usually they .are sold to country folk; their day on metal roads is done. A harder lite sometimes awaits them, but at least 1 they will be in the country, where often the grass is plentiful, and the roads will be soft to their crippled feet. There will be no more nervous tension trying, often vainly, to keep their feet on smooth wot <{oncrote. It is always rather a distressing sight on a wet morning in thd" city to see huge horse, nervously straining on the glassy roadbed to keep from slipping. Horses bought at tiicse sales are not always prizes. I have heard many a good-natured farmer grumbling that a most promising-looking bargain was almost useless for nearly a year. There - are various reasons for this, but perI haps two of the most serious causes are the utter change of conditions, food, etc., and the fretting for old companions. City horses belonging to reputable firms receive the greatest care, and aro usually an eyeful of delight to the beholder. When I see a team of horses with rippling glossy coats, with j manes carefully plaited, some even with , ribbons interlaced in the plaits, I feel 1 I want to go over to pat both driver and horse 3 for the pleasure I get from the picture. Sometimes wo are dis- • tressed by a case of sore hock, galled sides, and shoulders, but these cases are : not very frequent. A man depending on his horses for a living knows they must be kept fit, and that is only looking at it from a commercial point of view. ; The Change in Conditions. These weary horses, then, are taken to the country (straight off their full rations of oats, bran, and chaff), where they : usually have un entirely green diet, i.e.. grass they crop themselves, and perhnpa a litle oaten hay or long chaff night and morning. Their shoes are , removed, and though this is beautiful ! to play about with, it is eery painful ! at first to work like that, until the feet ' harden. The thorough grooming they have had night and morning is altogether dropped, or it is done with the old farm currycomb, rusty and full of gaps, and with the dandy-brush, whose bristles are in isolated groups. If he is very muddy, he may only get a rub down with a bunch of fern. An old coachman used to tell mc that "groomin' is as good as half a feed, miss, so 'tis," and I think he was right. After-a few weeks of itching misery, the city horso learns to cleanse his skin, as country mates do. Over ami over on 11 linre patch of ground, or a ploughed bit, then use the barbed wire fence as a curry comb. Then tho solitary I city horse, torn from his mates—for months ho frots. Standing alone, with drooped head, and sagging lips, there actually are tears painfully rolling down his 'old nose. The young bloods, ready j for a game, gallop round him in lessening ' circles, till a bold one finally gives him 1 a gentle nip with firm hard young lips. I He never heeds them, and later he chums 1 up with an old cow and her tethered calf. j Happy aro the horses sold in mate pairs, I and hapj-y the farmer who gets them. I knew a farmer who bought a miscellaneous lot of four; two decent halfdraughts, and two scrubbers. One only was quite normal, and he was a treasure. He was named "Farmer" and deserved it. A black mare, with an outrageous bend in her withers, was named "BuckJumper," and she earned it. Used as a pack horse, she would behave beautifully for about two months at a time, then suddenly when the last buckle was being done up some morning, there would be a flash of heels, and in twenty minutes the yard would be strewn with straps, buckles, goods, and saddle, and the mare would be bare. She was often threatened with a gun, but I think, finally, passed on to the Maoris. The third purchase, a black and white pony, was a miserable wreck, stumbling at every step. But in three months' time he was sleek and sure-footed, a regular marvel the boys said. The Maoris named him Tongata _u_ahia (knowing {ellowl and he lived up to his reputation. For raising slippanels, opening gates, creeping into stalls, staaling chaff, and all sorts of horse-villainy, lie had no, equal. The fourth horse must have been very amused when looking as mild as milk, he was christened Tommie. Like the black mare, he had" a kink. At intervals lua ;

jibbed and nothing under the sun w-ould move him with whatever vehicle he had behind him, till he felt like it again. Half way up from the landing, with a cart full of long-looked for goods, he would stop dead. I.ittle bundles of straw burned under him only made him give a frantic bound, to stop again in his tracks. The boys, with a great show of cheery whistling, and slow murder in their hearts, would put in another horse, to get home. Tommies punishment was to stand for hours' harnessed to whatever he refused to pull. This treatmentof him almost broke the heart of a tender-hearted little maid, the youngest child. She would Blip out after dark with a carrot or a bit of bread (horse feed and water were strictly forbidden for poor Tommie). Once when he was doomed (so the boys said) to stand all night in the roller, they went out at nine o'clock and found a little figure with her t.rms ronnd the horse's neck, sobbing passionately into his ear, "Oh, Tommie, if you'd only pull it I'd push behind!" Needless to say Tommie was again triumphant. The baby of the family could not be allowed to break her heart like that. As time went on Tommies lapses were not punished. They were treated as an ordinary illness, and in between times he was staunch and steady.