Beautiful Joe [53]
Adele, kept coming and going from the kitchen to give them
hot cakes, and fried eggs, and hot coffee. As soon as they finished their tea,
Mrs. Wood gave me one of the best meals that I ever had in my life.
CHAPTER XVII MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES
THE morning after we arrived in Riverdale, I was up very early and walking
around the house. I slept in the woodshed, and could run outdoors whenever I
liked.
The woodshed was at the back of the house and near it was the tool shed. Then
there was a carriage house, and a plank walk leading to the barnyard.
I ran up this walk, and looked into the first building I came to. It was the
horse stable. A door stood open, and the morning sun was glancing in. There were
several horses there, some with their heads toward me, and some with their
tails. I saw that instead of being tied up, there were gates outside their
stalls, and they could stand in any way they liked.
There was a man moving about at the other end of the stable, and long before he
saw me, I knew that it was Mr. Wood. What a nice, clean stable he had! There was
always a foul smell coming out of Jenkins's stable, but here the air seemed as
pure inside as outside. There was a number of little gratings in the wall to let
in the fresh air, and they were so placed that drafts would not blow on the
horses. Mr. Wood was going from one horse to another, giving them hay, and
talking to them in a cheerful voice. At last he spied me, and cried out, "The
top of the morning to you, Joe! You are up early. Don't come too near the
horses, good dog," as I walked in beside him; "they might think you are another
Bruno, and give you a sly bite or kick. I should have shot him long ago. 'Tis
hard to make a good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way of the world.
Well, old fellow, what do you think of my horse stable? Pretty fair, isn't it?"
And Mr. Wood went on talking to me as he fed and groomed his horses, till I soon
found out that his chief pride was in them.
I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr. Morris often reads his sermons to
me, and Miss Laura tells me secrets that I don't think she would tell to any one
else.
I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while he groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he
called Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand, and a curry-comb in his
left, and he curried and brushed every part of the horse's skin, and afterward
wiped him with a cloth. "A good grooming is equal to two quarts of oats, Joe,"
he said to me.
Then he stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs. "Your shoes are too heavy,
Dutchman," he said; "but that pig-headed blacksmith thinks he knows more about
horses than I do. 'Don't cut the sole nor the frog,' I say to him. 'Don't pare
the hoof so much, and don't rasp it; and fit your shoe to the foot, and not the
foot to the shoe,' and he looks as if he wanted to say, 'Mind your own
business.' We'll not go to him again. ''Tis hard to teach an old dog new
tricks.' I got you to work for me, not to wear out your strength in lifting
about his weighty shoes."
Mr. Wood stopped talking for a few minutes, and whistled a tune. Then he began
again. "I've made a study of horses, Joe. Over forty years I've studied them,
and it's my opinion that the average horse knows more than the average man that
drives him. When I think of the stupid fools that are goading patient horses
about, beating them and misunderstanding them, and thinking they are only clods
of earth with a little life in them, I'd like to take their horses out of the
shafts and harness them in, and I'd trot them off at a pace, and slash them, and
jerk them, till I guess they'd come out with a little less patience than the
animal does.
"Look at this Dutchman see the size of him. You'd think he hadn't any more
nerves than a bit of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a girl's. See
how he quivers if I run the curry comb too harshly over him. The idiot I got him
from didn't know what was the matter with him. He'd bought him
hot cakes, and fried eggs, and hot coffee. As soon as they finished their tea,
Mrs. Wood gave me one of the best meals that I ever had in my life.
CHAPTER XVII MR. WOOD AND HIS HORSES
THE morning after we arrived in Riverdale, I was up very early and walking
around the house. I slept in the woodshed, and could run outdoors whenever I
liked.
The woodshed was at the back of the house and near it was the tool shed. Then
there was a carriage house, and a plank walk leading to the barnyard.
I ran up this walk, and looked into the first building I came to. It was the
horse stable. A door stood open, and the morning sun was glancing in. There were
several horses there, some with their heads toward me, and some with their
tails. I saw that instead of being tied up, there were gates outside their
stalls, and they could stand in any way they liked.
There was a man moving about at the other end of the stable, and long before he
saw me, I knew that it was Mr. Wood. What a nice, clean stable he had! There was
always a foul smell coming out of Jenkins's stable, but here the air seemed as
pure inside as outside. There was a number of little gratings in the wall to let
in the fresh air, and they were so placed that drafts would not blow on the
horses. Mr. Wood was going from one horse to another, giving them hay, and
talking to them in a cheerful voice. At last he spied me, and cried out, "The
top of the morning to you, Joe! You are up early. Don't come too near the
horses, good dog," as I walked in beside him; "they might think you are another
Bruno, and give you a sly bite or kick. I should have shot him long ago. 'Tis
hard to make a good dog suffer for a bad one, but that's the way of the world.
Well, old fellow, what do you think of my horse stable? Pretty fair, isn't it?"
And Mr. Wood went on talking to me as he fed and groomed his horses, till I soon
found out that his chief pride was in them.
I like to have human beings talk to me. Mr. Morris often reads his sermons to
me, and Miss Laura tells me secrets that I don't think she would tell to any one
else.
I watched Mr. Wood carefully, while he groomed a huge, gray cart-horse, that he
called Dutchman. He took a brush in his right hand, and a curry-comb in his
left, and he curried and brushed every part of the horse's skin, and afterward
wiped him with a cloth. "A good grooming is equal to two quarts of oats, Joe,"
he said to me.
Then he stooped down and examined the horse's hoofs. "Your shoes are too heavy,
Dutchman," he said; "but that pig-headed blacksmith thinks he knows more about
horses than I do. 'Don't cut the sole nor the frog,' I say to him. 'Don't pare
the hoof so much, and don't rasp it; and fit your shoe to the foot, and not the
foot to the shoe,' and he looks as if he wanted to say, 'Mind your own
business.' We'll not go to him again. ''Tis hard to teach an old dog new
tricks.' I got you to work for me, not to wear out your strength in lifting
about his weighty shoes."
Mr. Wood stopped talking for a few minutes, and whistled a tune. Then he began
again. "I've made a study of horses, Joe. Over forty years I've studied them,
and it's my opinion that the average horse knows more than the average man that
drives him. When I think of the stupid fools that are goading patient horses
about, beating them and misunderstanding them, and thinking they are only clods
of earth with a little life in them, I'd like to take their horses out of the
shafts and harness them in, and I'd trot them off at a pace, and slash them, and
jerk them, till I guess they'd come out with a little less patience than the
animal does.
"Look at this Dutchman see the size of him. You'd think he hadn't any more
nerves than a bit of granite. Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a girl's. See
how he quivers if I run the curry comb too harshly over him. The idiot I got him
from didn't know what was the matter with him. He'd bought him