314 LANGUAGE OF THE HORSE. 



mit of my going to the barn to mow away a load of hay. She 

 evidently became anxious concerning a young colt which was 

 left in the barn, and so untied herself and went to the barn. 

 She carried the rake safely through a gateway just as wide as 

 the rake, there not being an inch of space to spare, without any 

 signs of having hit it against either post. 



"When engaged in the livery business in Detroit, Mich., in 

 1887-8, I had a highly-bred young Bashaw mare — Maggie 

 Dimon, afterwards the dam of Maud Bayard by General Bay- 

 ard. She was a very nervous, high-strung animal, but very in- 

 telligent. Many times during the dead hours of the night has 

 she arrived at the stable with reins dragging on the ground and 

 whinnied to be let in, while her drunken driver and stable 

 patron failed to show up. 



While living at Fern Hill Farm, Indiana, I had a coal-black 

 brood mare, Belmont Maid. She was a granddaughter of Al- 

 exander's Belmont. One day I left her standing untied, 

 hitched to a top buggy. The top was not sufficiently fastened 

 on, and, the day being very windy, it blew over on the mare. 

 She walked around the barn to find me and make known her 

 trouble, while a less sagacious animal — or a timid one — might 

 either have ran away or kicked the buggy to atoms. 



I now have at this writing, June 7, 1894, an in-bred Ham- 

 bletonian mare, Golden Rule, used daily on a milk wagon sup- 

 plying some 150 customers. If left to herself she would go to 

 every customer in regular order without missing one, and she 

 stands in all places and all kinds of weather without hitching. 

 There are at present two bad places in the road between the 

 farm and the village, but the mare knows them as well as her 

 driver, and thinks of them each day, always slowing up from a 

 round trot to carefully walk over them. 



When living in Connecticut in 1877 one of my neighbors, a 

 former truckman in Providence, B,. I., would sometimes indulge 

 in a little too much fuddle-drink (pardon me if I have coined a 

 new word) for his own benefit businesswise. He was the owner 

 of a pretty little bay Morgan mare about a dozen years old. 



