One day my lady came down later than usual. “Drive to the Duchess’s,” she said, and then, “York, are you never going to get those horses’ heads up? Raise them at once, and let us have no more of this nonsense.”
York came to me first and pulled my rein so tight that I could hardly bear it. Then he went to Ginger, who was already jerking her head up and down against the bit. She knew what was coming. The moment York unhooked her rein to shorten it, she reared up so suddenly that he was hit on the nose and his hat flew off. York and the groom could not hold her. She went on rearing and kicking wildly, until at last she kicked right over the carriage pole and fell, giving me a hard kick on my back leg as she went down.
York quickly sat down on her head so that she could not struggle, and shouted, “Get the black horse out!” The groom set me free and led me to my box. I stood there, angry, my leg sore, my head still pulled up tight, with no way to get it down. If I had ever been used to kicking, I am sure I would have kicked the first person who came near me.
Soon Ginger was led in, badly bruised, and York let my head down at once.
“These bearing reins!” he said to himself. “I knew there would be trouble. The master will be very angry. But if a woman’s husband can’t rule her, a servant can’t.”
The Earl blamed York for doing what my lady said, but nothing changed. I thought York might have stood up better for his horses, but perhaps I am no judge.
Ginger never pulled the carriage again. When her bruises were better, Lord George, one of the Earl’s younger sons, said he would like to have her as a hunter. I still pulled the carriage, with a new partner called Max, who had always worn a tight rein. I asked him how he could bear it.
“I bear it because I must,” he said. “But it is shortening my life, and it will shorten yours too.”
“Do you think our masters know how bad it is for us?”
“I can’t say, but the dealers and the horse doctors know it very well. I once heard a dealer say, ‘People won’t buy horses unless they carry their heads high. Of course it is very bad for the horses, but it is good for trade. They soon wear out, and the people come back for another pair.’”
For four long months I pulled my lady’s carriage with that rein. The sharp bit and the unnatural position of my head always made me foam at the mouth. Some people think this looks very fine and say, “What spirited animals!” But it is a sure sign that something is wrong. The rein pressed on my throat, so that it was often hard to breathe, and after work my neck and chest ached and I felt tired and low. I am sure that if it had lasted much longer, either my health or my temper would have given way.
At my old home I always knew that John and my master were my friends. Here I was well treated in many ways, but I had no friend.