Part 5 (2/2)

CLEAN ABOVE IT.]

x.x.xI.

Let us have a trot, and see how Penelope moves, and how you sit. You, Tom, will take your pace from me. There is nothing more unhorsemanlike and annoying than for a rider to keep half a horse's length in front of his companion. Your stirrup should be even with mine. A gentleman can be a foot or two in front of a lady, for safety and convenience, but men should ride as they would walk, all but arm in arm. Now you can see the effects of education. Penelope insists on trotting a twelve-mile gait, and no wonder, for she has such fine, open action, that a sharp gait is less effort to her than a slow one. On the contrary, I, who, as the senior, have the right to give the pace, am satisfied with two-thirds that speed; and Patroclus, who, as you well know, can easily out-trot, or, I fancy, out-run your mare, and would dearly like to try it, yields himself to my mood without an ounce of pull or friction. Look at his reins. They are quite loose. Now look at yours. Nelly is pulling and fretting for all she is worth, while you are working your pa.s.sage. Two miles like that will take three out of her and five out of you. She will fume herself into a lather soon, while Pat will not have turned a hair. She certainly is a candidate for training. You appear to need all the strength of your arms to pull her down to a walk, whereas a simple turn of the wrist, or a low-spoken word, should suffice.

By the way, always indulge in the habit of talking to your horse. You have no idea of how much he will understand. And if he is in the habit of listening for your words, and of paying heed to what you say, he will be vastly more obedient as well as companionable. Patroclus and I often settle very knotty questions on the road. We think we helped elect Cleveland. And I must confess that occasionally a pa.s.ser-by fancies that I am talking to myself, whereas, if he but knew the meaning of Patroclus' lively ears, he would see what a capital comrade I have, and one, moreover, who, like one's favorite book, is never impertinent enough to answer back, or flout you with excessive wisdom.

It is certainly a very pleasant study to see how many words or phrases a horse can learn the meaning of, and act intelligently when he hears them.

x.x.xII.

What, then, shall you do first in the way of education? Well, let us see. As Nelly has been broken to harness, she can probably only walk and trot. You, yourself, seem to stick fairly well to the saddle. But how about your own position? Your leathers are a trifle long. They should be of just such length that, when you are in the middle of the saddle, on your seat, not your crotch, with the ball of your foot in the stirrups, your feet are almost parallel with the ground, the heel a trifle lower than the toes. Your toes are below your heels, you see.

You should be able to get your heels well down when you settle into your saddle. The old rule of having the stirrups just touch the ankle-bone when the foot is hanging is not a bad one. The arm measure is unreliable, and physical conformation, as well as different backed horses, often require, even in a sound man, odd lengths of leathers.

You should not attempt to ride with your feet ”home” until you can keep your stirrup under the ball of your foot without losing it, whatever your horse may do; and when you do ride ”home,” you should occasionally change back to the ball of your foot, so as to keep in practice. Moreover, you can train a horse much more easily, riding with only the ball of the foot in the stirrup, for you can use your legs to better advantage. My disability obliges me to ride ”home” at all times, and I have always found it much more difficult to teach a horse the right leg indications than the left. I have to employ my whip not infrequently, in lieu of my leg. Your stirrup should be larger and heavier, for safety. I don't like your fine, small stirrups; and your saddle should have spring bars, which you should always keep from rusting out of good working order. They have saved many a man's collar-bone.

Be in the habit of using your knees and thighs alone for grip, though the closer you clasp the saddle without getting your legs _around_ the horse, the better. In the leap, or with a plunging horse, you may use the upper part of the calf, or as much more as your spurs will allow you to use. But of all equestrian horrors the worst is the too common habit of constantly using the calves instead of the knees to clasp the saddle-flaps. To such an extent is this often carried by a tyro (and no man gets beyond this stage who does it), that you can see an angle of daylight between the points where his thigh and calf touch the saddle, showing that his knee, which ought to be his main and constant hold, does not touch the saddle at all. The stirrup-leathers, especially if heavy, as they should be, often hurt the knee, if you are new to the saddle, and perhaps are the main inducement to this execrable habit. But you must either get your knees hardened, or else give up the saddle. Keep a steady lookout for this. You will never ride if you don't use your knees. If you do use them properly, your feet will look after themselves. Ride with the flat of the thigh and the knee-bone at all times close to the saddle.

Sit erect, but avoid rigidity. It is good practice to sit close, that is, without rising, on a slow jog-trot. Let us try. Sit perfectly straight and take the b.u.mping. On a jog-trot, it is an unpardonable sin to lean forward at all. You will find that shortly it does not b.u.mp you so much, and by and by it will not at all. But don't lean back either. That is the country b.u.mpkin's prerogative. Nelly is evidently easy enough, only she has not been taught to curb her ambition. Nothing shakes a man into the saddle better than this same jog-trot. Nothing is more absurd than the attempt to rise when the horse is only jogging, or, as it were, the attempt to make your horse begin to trot by beginning to rise. It looks like an attempt to lift yourself up by your boot straps. Teach him some other indication to start a trot. It is useless to rise unless a horse is going at least a six-mile gait.

Some School-riders taboo the jog, but all the cavalry of the world use it; it is the homeward gait of the tired hunter, and it does teach a man a good, easy, safe seat. It is true that a horse who won't walk at speed, but who falls from a slow walk into a jog whenever you urge him, is a nuisance. Moreover, the uneducated jog is neither a fas.h.i.+onable nor a desirable gait. But a schooled jog, which the horse does under your direction and control, is quite another thing, and a jog greatly relieves a tired horse. It seems to be unjustly tabooed.

Unless, then, you are ultra-fas.h.i.+onable, make a habit of jogging now and then. By this I mean jogging with your horse ”collected,” so that you have not an ounce of hold on his mouth, and he is still under your absolute control, your seat meanwhile being firm and unshaken. But never let the horse jog of his own motion. That may spoil his walk.

Make him jog only when you want him to do so, and when walking, do not let him fall into a jog unbidden. The jog I mean should be almost a parade gait; too slow to rise to, but still perfect in action, and so poised that from it your horse can bound into any faster gait at word.

Your hands are too high. They want to be but a couple of inches above the pommel, better lower than higher. A man whose reins wear out the pigskin on his pommel is all right. A horse who carries his head high needs lower hands. Some low-headed horses require the hands to be held a bit higher to stimulate the forehand.

It is difficult to say thus much without saying a great deal more; for this is but a hint of what is essential to correct such a physical defect as a low-carried head. But what I tell you will whet your appet.i.te for a thorough knowledge, and this you will find in the books of Baucher's followers. The use of snaffle and curb, each for its best purpose, is very delicate.

Let me again repeat, of all things never hang on your horse's mouth.

You may have to do so on Penelope's, or rather Penelope may hang on your hands, till you get her suppled, but you must try to do that soon. You don't want to be a ”three legged rider.” If you cannot learn to ride at any gait and speed smoothly and well, with your reins so loose that you might as well not have them in your hands, you will never do anything but ”ride the bridle.”

This applies to your seat, not to Penelope. It is not wise habitually to ride with reins too loose; you should always feel your horse's mouth. But you can feel it without a tight rein. Good driving horses often pull. A good riding horse should never do so.

Nelly seems to be sure-footed. If she is apt to stumble, sell her.

Your neck is worth more than your pocket. By School-training and its consequent habit of keeping the hind legs well under him, a stumbler will learn instinctively to bring up the succeeding hind foot to the support of the yielding fore foot, so as to save himself a fall; but you don't want an imperfect horse, Tom. If Nelly can trot without stumbling, it is excellent practice for you to tie the reins in a knot on her neck, and to ride along the road without touching them. When you feel as secure this way as any other, your seat is strong. You do not want to do this _en evidence_. But get off on the country roads and practice it. This is one advantage of a careful riding-master and a good school; a pupil is taught the seat apart from and before the uses of the reins.

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