Then there was the "steam-engine" style of driving. These drivers were usually Cockneys (people from the city of London). They did not own horses. They usually traveled by train.
They thought a horse was like a machine. They thought that if they paid money, the horse must go fast. It did not matter if the road was muddy or stony. They wanted the horse to go "on, on, on" at the same speed.
These people never walked up steep hills. They paid to ride, so they stayed in the carriage. They used the whip and shouted at the horse. This style of driving makes a horse very tired and sad.
These drivers also forgot to use the brake (a piece of metal that stops the wheels from turning). This is very dangerous on a hill. Sometimes they left the brake on when we went up the next hill. This was a terrible strain on my body.
The Cockneys always started at full speed. When they wanted to stop, they pulled the reins very suddenly. This hurt my mouth. They also turned corners too fast. They did not care about the rules of the road.
One evening, I was with a horse named Rory. We were going home at a good pace. A young man was driving another carriage very fast around a corner. He was on the wrong side of the road. He could not stop.
The carriage hit Rory in the chest. Rory made a terrible cry of pain. He was bleeding very badly. It was a very deep wound. Rory lived, but he could not do light work anymore.
Rory was sold to pull heavy coal carts. That is a very hard life for a horse. It makes me sad to think about him. After Rory left, I worked with a mare named Peggy.
Peggy was a pretty horse and very kind. But she had a strange way of walking. She took short, jumping steps. She told me it was because her legs were short. Men always wanted her to go fast. She had to jump to keep up with the fast horses.
Peggy’s first master was a kind priest. He never whipped her. But her second master was a mean farmer. He always whipped her to make her go faster. Finally, two ladies bought Peggy. They were very kind. Peggy was happy again.
Then a young horse came to the stable. He was famous for shying (jumping suddenly because of fear). He said he was scared of new things. His masters always whipped him when he was afraid. This made him even more scared.
I wished all horses had masters like Farmer Grey or Squire Gordon. They were always patient. They let horses look at new things quietly. Then the horse was not afraid anymore.
One morning, a gentleman hired me. He was a very good driver. He took off the curb (a tight chain under a horse's jaw). He said I had a good mouth. He drove me gently and with skill. I felt very happy. This man told my master to sell me to a friend named Mr. Barry.