Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. I, No. 3, December 1905

The first and easiest trick to teach a horse is to say “no.” Stand on the left side and with a tack prick him gently on the withers. He will shake his head. Ask him a question, at the same instant you prick him, and after awhile he will get so used to the inflection of your voice that he will shake his head every time you ask, without the use of the tack. To teach him to say “yes” prick him on the breast. Be gentle, so he will not get in the habit of snapping at you. For instance, ask him if he likes politics and he will shake his head “No.” Ask him if he reads Trotwood’s Monthly, and he will nod his head “Yes.” Next, teach him to lie down. Some teach this trick by the aid of ropes. The easiest way is to take the horse out of the stall, or, better, after a drive, just after unhitching, while he is sweating, lead him to the corral and say “Lie down, sir.” He will obey, because he wants to roll. After he gets up give him some sugar and pet him. After doing this several times he learns what is wanted of him and finds that by obeying he gets his sugar. Next, you wish him to kneel. This is easy, as he must always kneel to lie down. By holding the rope, you can allow him only to kneel after which you give him sugar and pet him.

To teach him to sit up it is first necessary to make him lie down. Then say, “Get up, sir.” By holding the rope, allow him to get up on the front feet only. Next you wish him to open a box. Get one with hinges and have the lid extend a little over the box. Allow him to eat out of it several times, being sure to close the lid frequently while he is eating. He will see you throw the lid back and in a short time will do so himself, that he may eat the grain. After this be sure to pet him. In a short time you can send him from a distance to the box and he will open the lid. To teach him to kiss you is the easiest of all. If he likes candy, as all pets do, place a piece in your mouth, and he will reach for it. Say, “Kiss me, sir,” and he will attempt to get it. He will become accustomed to the command, after a few times and will obey the order without the candy. Next you wish him to stand on a barrel. Lead him to a box, about five or six inches high, being sure to have it solid so it will not turn. After getting him as close to it as possible, raise one hoof and place it on the box, then raise the other and place it by the first, after which give him the usual reward. As he gets used to this trick increase the height of the box until you have it as high as you wish and he will climb up to get the sugar. Teach him to shake hands by picking up his hoof and, at the same time, giving the command, “Shake hands, sir.” To teach a horse to tell his age or the time of day, or to multiply, subtract or add numbers is the hardest of all and requires a great amount of maneuvering on the part of the trainer. Get him impatient and he will paw the ground with his hoofs. Pat him every time and he soon learns what you want. The hard part is to make him stop at the right number. Of course there is a key to this and an easy method may be used. I stand close to my horse and nudge him with my elbow when I want him to stop. For instance, I ask him to multiply 7 × 2, and he paws 14 times. To have him stop I nudge him just after he paws the thirteenth time, and he stops on the fourteenth. Train him to stop, to turn corners, and to turn around in this way: When driving go the same way a number of times, always turning to go home in the same place and being careful to turn slowly. Say, “Whoa,” and then, “Turn around, sir.” After a little coaxing with the rein he will do this. In a little while he will know what is required of him every time you ask him to turn. Get him used to your gun by driving him with an open bridle and, for the first few times, shooting back from the buggy. By proper handling he will, after a time, stop when you level your gun to shoot or, as my horse does, when he sees anything to shoot at. Teach your horse to play tag, by giving some person his sugar and having him run from the horse. The animal will learn to put his ears back, show his teeth and run for the sugar. This should only be taught horses that are perfectly gentle, as it makes them cross. When they find people are afraid of them they always enjoy frightening them. Many horses are considered of no value because their owner does not know how they should be shod. I shall be pleased to answer any communications from people who wish to know how to shoe horses, how to avoid interfering, forging, or any of the bad habits horses may have. All can be rectified if people only know how. Remember you can only teach a horse through kindness. As soon as you lose patience he will be spoiled.

In driving an animal, if you treat it kindly and do not lash it with the whip when there is no occasion for doing so, it will become attached to you and will cool down in a moment of danger or excitement, as it feels that you are its friend and going to protect it; whereas, if you were in the habit of abusing it you may get into a “tight place” and the horse will get excited and perhaps kill you. This is something that people should understand, and how much more satisfactory it is to have your animals watch for your home-coming and have them run to greet you than to have them afraid and shrink and expect the lash every time you move. Teach your animals to be courageous, and then whatever they do they will go through on their courage and not by the whip. My animal was very fast and I hired a trainer to train him for the track. I gave him instruction not to whip the horse, and being headstrong thought he knew it all, so one day he struck him with the whip and was immediately kicked out of the cart. The horse ran for about fifty yards and stopped. I informed the trainer that he received his just deserts and he never drove him again. In this instance the horse knew more than the man, and I have seen many such instances. It is not right that we abuse animals, and we should not be permitted to do so. They are willing to obey us and will always do so if we give them a chance and I am delighted when I see a horse that will have the courage to resist ill treatment. Some people check their horses up to the skies and never put the check down when they tie them, but leave the poor animals tied to a post for hours with their neck stretched so that they are in constant pain. It would be a good law that would cause such men to suffer the same punishment.

It is a very wrong thing to feed a horse too much hay. It only distends the stomach, and gives the animal an ungainly appearance. Feed him regularly, and four quarts of oats is a good feed for a buggy horse.

When purchasing a horse, stand directly in front of the animal and look at front hoofs. If they toe-in, buy; but if they toe-out, do not accept as a gift, as every time he picks his hoofs up, if he is going fast, he will strike his shin or knee, whereas, if he toes in, he will pick them up from his knees and never interfere and you will not be under the necessity of placing boots on every time you wish to speed him. They should toe out behind and in that case they spread and pass their front hoofs when going fast and will not “forge” or strike their quarters. It is a very common thing for a horse to trot along and by forging you can hear them a block away. The click, click is caused by the hind feet striking the front ones, and is very annoying, and at the same time is very bad for the horse. You can remedy this by shoeing in front with all the weight in the toe, causing him to pick up the hoof quicker and thus getting it out of the way of the hind shoe when it comes along. If he interferes behind, shoe with weight on the outside to spread the hoofs. A horse should be shod every four or five weeks, as the hoof grows and the shoe interferes with its expansion.

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No man can be great who does not believe in himself.

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EMANCIPATION

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[The author of this poem passed away a few years ago—“Gone in the morning and there was no night there.” This immortal poem deserves to rank with that other—“There is no death.”—Ed.]

Why be afraid of Death, as though your life were breath? Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise! Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn. Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat? Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet, sleeping you are dead Till you awake and rise, here—or beyond the skies. Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench, Why not with happy shout run home when school is out? The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind— A day, and you will meet—a night and you will greet! This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath And know the end of strife and taste the deathless life, And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear, And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.

M. D. BABCOCK.

With Old Wash.

OLD WASH’S LITTLE PREACHER.

The other day I was whistling that coon song:

“All coons look alike to me.”

The old man was poisoning potato bugs on our second crop of Irish potatoes. It was getting along “t’wards de shank of de ebenin’,” as I had heard him so often express it, and I have noticed about that time that the old man is always hunting for some excuse to stop working. “Dar am jes’ two sho’ nuff fools in dis wurl,” I have heard him say—“one am de man dat wucks all de time an de yudder am de ’oman dat don’t wuck at all.”

I was not surprised, then, to see the old man set down his can of Paris green and water and give vent to a prolonged laugh. I have learned that the way to catch the old man is to get him when he is “fit and ready”—the same as a horse when he is expected to break the record—and I might carry it further and say you can’t always tell when he is ready. But there are certain signs you can go by.

And so the old man has signs, too—that he is ready to go a heat in an old time yarn—and one is when the sun gets low and the bugs high—when a watermelon is waiting in the spring trough and the sheep on the hill begin to come out from the shaded woods for their evening meal in the meadow—now cooling with the condensing shadows of a setting sun.

The sign he gives is a furtive glance around and a big, chuckling laugh.

I had cut around the melon with my pocket-knife, and broken it open on a big rock, which left the jagged, juicy heart bulging out in a tempting lump. But I divided as equally as I could, under the circumstances, and as we sat in the shade of the elm by the big spring I shoved him his half and said:

“Now that’s for what you were laughing at just now—out with it.”

“I doan’ blame white folks fur sayin’ all coons look alike, fur I tried it onct and I thou’t I knowed my own kid—thou’t ef it cum to de scratch I cu’d do lak a hoss an’ tell ’im by hees smell, ennyway. But when I wus put to de test I foun’ dey not only all look alike, but smell alike, too—an’ dar’s whar I cum mighty nigh gittin’ into de wuss scrape I eber got into.”

“Way back in slabery time, when a young p’ar ob niggers ’ud marry, de rule wus dey was to lib wid de gal’s muther ontwel de fust chile was bohn. Ole marster useter la’f an’ wink an’ tell me it wus a trick ob de white folks to mek ’em hurry up wid de fus’ chile! Jinerally we didn’t need no hurryin’ for ole Daddy Stork is mighty kind to young folks, ’spesh’ly niggers, which wus p’uffectly nat’ul, you know—rangin’ all de way in his visertachuns frum a few weeks arter de suremony to es menny months—fur no nigger dat had enny manhood an’ independence wanted to be pendin’ on his wife’s mammy enny longer den he cu’d h’ope it! Den arter de chile wus bohn de marster ’ud gib a log-rollin’ an’ a house-buildin’—jinerally on a Sad’dy arter de crop wus laid by—an’ all de niggers frum de joinin’ farms ’ud cum ober, fetch dey wives an’ babies, an’ whilst de men cut logs an’ put up de cabin, de wimmen and gals ’ud quilt de young p’ar a quilt or two an’ cook a big dinner ob gumbo soup and green cohn an’ bakin an’ greens. An’ if de baby dat de young fo’ks had was a boy de rule was dat Marster had to fling in a good big lam’, es er kind ob a free gratis prize fur ’em gittin’ a boy, an’ den Lord, boss, de barbycue an’ de stew we did hab! In dem days enny man in Tennessee cu’d ’still de fruit ob his own orchard and not pay no rivernew, an’ Marster had a nigger named Pete Gallerway dat cu’d beat de wurl’ makin’ apple-brandy. Ebery fawl he’d ’still Marster twenty gallons an’ it ’ud stay in de cellar twell de naixt fawl, an’ Lord, boss, by dat time it wus dat kind o’ stuff dat es you drunk it in dis wurl’ it seem ter kinder tel’fone to de angels in de naixt! It was so ra’ar an’ ripe you cu’d jes’ put de stopper outen de bottle in yo’ boot-legs an’ cudn’t keep from cuttin’ de pigeon-wing to save yo’ life an’ er singin’ dat song we sung den—

“‘Cum down ter Tennessee— (Ride er ole gray hoss)— Yaller gal’s de gal fur me— (Ride er ole gray hoss)— Kiss her under de Mulberry tree— (Ride er ole gray hoss)— O my, nigger, don’t you see Better cum ter Tennessee!’

“I tell you, boss, dey kin preach all dey please agin good licker an’ de famblys it busts up, but I’ve knowed menny a man to git a drink jes in time ter keep outen a divorcement. I don’t see how sum men cu’d lib wid de wives dey got ef dey cud’nt tak a drink an’ furgit dey mizz’ry now an’ den! Wal, in erbout three moons it was my time to hab a house-buildin’ an’ I was mighty proud ob de job. Dinah was kinder dissociated kase she’d sat her h’art on de fus’ baby bein’ yaller. Er ’oman, ob course, ain’t got no reason fur enny thing—dey jes’ goes by instinct, I reckin—an’ de onlies’ reason she had for spectin’ an’ wantin’ a yaller baby was dat she was allers mighty fond ob sorrel hosses an’ she natur’ly hoped her fust child ’ud be a sorrel. It cum black, of course—jes’ lak me, an’ arter I opened his mouth an’ seed he hed one tooth already cum an’ ernudder comin’ an’ wus reddy fur eatin’ de fus’ day, I knowed he wus Bre’r Washingtun up ter the thu’d an’ fo’th jinerashun. But Dinah she tuck it mighty hard an’ lowed she’d nurver git over he’s not bein’ a sorrel wid black p’ints!

“I say he was black, but did yo urver see a right young nigger? A buzzard, you kno’, is hatched white an’ turns black, an’ so er nigger is bohn red an’ turns black. It’s funny but it’s so. A simon-p’wore nigger when bohn is red with a leetle bunch of woolly h’ar on his head, an’ five holes in his face, de two leetle ones in de center bein’ whar his nose gwineter be. Dey ain’t no mistakin’ his mouth, fur dat’s de bigges’ part of his vizerbles, an’ in jineral lang’widge you mout say it curls up on de north an’ is bounded by hes h’ar, an’ curls down on de south an’ is bounded by his belly-ban’. He’s red, ’ceptin’ de skin of his head, which is sorter yaller, but on the thu’d day he gin ter turn black jes’ above de eyes, and in a few weeks he’s all black ’ceptin’ de bottom of his hands an’ feet, his wottles an’ hock fethers, de tip ob his stomach an’ de spot whar he sets on all day.

“Wal, arter de cabin was put up an’ de sun had set, de big stew wus sarved wid apple brandy an’ den, Lord, de fun sho’ started! Course I c’u’dn’t be in it much—de dancin’ an’ juberlashun under de trees—case I was de keeper ob de lams, it bein’ my house-raisin’ an’ my fus-bohn. Now de keeper ob de lams is dis: de wimmin folks allers bring dey babies along ter de dance an’ de house-raisin’ an’ when de house is up an’ de floor laid an’ night cums an’ de games begins, de babies is all suckled an’ laid out, ebry one on his own sheepskin, on de flo’ of de new house fur ter go to sleep, an’ de daddy ob de new-bohn kid is called de keeper ob de lams an’ must set dar an’ watch ’em an’ nuss ’em whilst de yudders eat an’ play. It’s hard, but it’s de onwritten law, an’ de objec’ am to give de new daddy a lesson in pashents an’ nussin’ an’ keerin’ fur chilluns.

“Wal, dey was forty on ’em, mighty nigh de same age, wid a fair sprinklin’ of sorrels an’ browns, whilst sum look lak dey mouten be made outen new saddles an’ jinger cakes. It went agin me mightily to be pestered wid all er dem new colts wid dey projeckin’ ways, but I had a big bottle of apple brandy an’ tuck a little consolashun frum it now an’ den myse’f, an’ eb’ry time a kid ’ud wake up, I’d jes gin ’im a stiff drink ob apple brandy an’ stick de big toe ob de kid jes’ above him in hes mouth ter suck on twell he dosed off. Dey was three long rows on ’em. I’ll sw’ar, boss, ef onct I didn’t hab ’em all konnected dat away lak links in a sausage. Dat an’ de brandy focht ’em eb’ry time an’ I was jes’ chucklin’ ter myse’f at whut a fine nuss I was, an’ dat I c’u’d soon be able to go out an’ hug de gals, too, when dey all commence to hab de jim-jams in dey sleep—seein’ snakes an’ things an’ howlin’ an’ wigglin’, an’ frum de way some on ’em’s eyes bulged out dey must er had ellerfants an’ rinocerasses arter ’em, too. Wal, suh, I broke fur de stable an’ got a quart bottle ob stuff we gin de mules fur de colic—asserfedity an’ h’artshorn, ladernum an’ tu’pentine, all mixed—an’ den I got de vinerger funnel to git it down, an’ I drenched eb’ry one on ’em wild dat mule medercine, stuck eb’ry one’s toe in de naixt one’s month an’ put ’em ter sleep ergin.

“Sum on ’em didn’t wake up fur a week, but dat ain’t de tale I’m tellin’ now.

“I tuck ernuver drink outen de bottle an’ den I happen ter see one ob de lam’s dat struck my eye. He was de preacher’s kid, whose daddy, a yaller feller, ole mistis had l’arned ’im to read an’ write an’ he tuck to preachin’, and his lam’ wus a bright sorrel wid flax mane an’ tail, an’ as he was erbout de size ob my little coon I thou’t I’d play a joke on de wimmin folks, bein’ es how Dinah was sot on habin’ a yaller kid. So I ups an’ changes de clothes an’ puts de yaller preacher’s lam’ on our sheepskin an’ ourn on de yuther’s pallet. Wal, suh, de mo’ I thort of it de funnier it seemed, an’ den I laffed twell I nearly wake ’em up again an’ tuck ernuver drink an’ went in ter swap ’em all off. I’d pick out two erbout de same size an’ sex an’ changed dey clothes an’ bed, an’ when I got through dere wa’nt nary one on’ em dat u’d know hisse’f from de naixt one, an’ es dey all smelt erlike I didn’t see how dey mammies was eber gwine ter git ’em straight ergin. Course I ’spected a lot ob fun when de games broke up an’ I tuck ernuver drink an’ fix fur ter see it. But hit seems de niggers played on twell one o’clock an’ forgot all erbout time ontwell one ob de patteroles—de mounted poleece dot kept niggers from prowlin’ at night in dem days—rid up wid a hickory whip an’ tole ’em it wus time fur to go to bed. Dis skeered ’em so dey all lit out an’ eb’ry ’oman jes’ bundled up her baby an’ left, an’ not one ob ’em knowed de difference. Es dey all libbed from one ter ten miles aroun’ on de farms, thinks I, dar’ll be lots ob fun in de mawnin’! Dinah tuck ernuver look at hern befo’ she went to sleep, an’ den I heurd her whoop: ‘Glory,’ she said, ‘my chile is done turned yaller—glory—glory!’ She heard of it bein’ done onct befo’ an’ b’leeved it. Wal, I seed she had her h’art sot on it so bad I ’lowed I’d let it go at dat, ’specially es dey nurver had been a preacher in de family, but all er mine hed tuck to hoss racin’ an’ Dinah was so happy over it she c’u’dn’t sleep.

“I sed dar ’u’d be a time in de mawnin’, but bless you’ soul, honey, it started befo’ day. Lights was seen flashin’ eb’rywhere an’ niggers was runnin roun’ wailin’ an’ weepin’ an’ wonderin’. De black uns had yaller babies an’ yaller ’uns had black ’uns, de upper crust had scrub babies an’ de leetle black cohn fiel’ scrubs wus in de highes’ nigger socshul swim—wid de house gals an’ maids an’ qualerty niggers. Wuss en all, de chilluns jes’ slept rat on an’ didn’t seem to keer whar dey wus an’ who dey b’longed to. I tell you, boss, ef you eber gits bothered ’bout yo’ chap not goin’ to sleep, jes’ gin ’im a good dose ob hoss medercine!