Until then I had always been driven by people who at least knew how to drive. Now I was a horse for hire, and anyone could hire me. Because I was gentle and safe, I think I was given to ignorant drivers more often than the other horses.
Some drivers held the reins as hard as they could and never stopped pulling on the horse’s mouth, as if a horse could not hold himself up. Others let the reins lie on our backs, with their hands resting lazily on their knees, and could do nothing if a horse stumbled. Still, a horse likes to feel the reins a little when going downhill, and to know that the driver has not gone to sleep.
These drivers often thought about everything except their horse. One day one of them took me out in a small carriage with a lady and two children. The roads were being mended, and there were many loose stones. My driver laughed and joked with his family, but he never watched his horse or kept to the smoothest part of the road, and so I picked up a stone in one of my front feet.
Any good driver would have seen that something was wrong before I had gone three steps. But this man went on laughing and talking, and the stone was pushed deeper with every step. He drove me like that for half a mile before he noticed how lame I was.
“Well, look at that!” he cried. “They’ve sent us out with a lame horse! What a shame!” And he flicked me with his whip. “Come on, it’s no use pretending with me.”
Just then a farmer came riding up on a brown cob and stopped.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I think your horse has a stone in his shoe. May I look at his feet?”
He got down, lifted my foot and said, “Bless me, there’s a stone! Lame? I should think so!” It was stuck so tight that he needed a tool from his pocket to get it out. “There,” he said, holding it up. “It’s a wonder he didn’t fall and cut his knees.”
“Well, I never!” said my driver. “I didn’t know horses picked up stones.”
“Didn’t you?” said the farmer, not very kindly. “Well, they do, on roads like these, and you must watch out and get them out quickly. This foot is badly bruised,” he said, putting it down gently and patting me. “If I may advise you, sir, drive him gently for a while.”
Then he rode off. My driver shook the reins and flicked the whip again, and I went on, glad that the stone was gone, but still in a good deal of pain.