The Horse 257 



Nothing equals a wallow on freshly ploughed 

 ground. To obtain it, the quietest animal 

 will often jump or throw down a lawful fence 

 — that is, one ten rails high, either locked 

 or stake-and-ridered. Such jumping is the 

 privilege of elegant leisure. A working ani- 

 mal, horse or mule, wallows when and how 

 he can, the minute he is stripped of gear and 

 turned loose. But whatever his haste, he 

 always puts his muzzle upon the ground, and 

 turns slowly around, feeling all over his pro- 

 spective bed. If he finds a stone, or snag, or 

 brush stout enough to hurt, he moves on and 

 feels over a fresh place. He does not even 

 neglect the feeling over upon his favorite 

 ploughland, though after the first wallow, 

 when he rises evidently thrilling through and 

 through from the delicious contact with 

 Mother Earth, he often flings himself reck- 

 lessly down a yard or so from his first bed, 

 after the merest perfunctory whirl-about, head 

 down, tail up. 



After wallowing three or four times on one 

 side, he turns himself full on his spine, and 

 rocks rather than rolls for half a minute, all 

 four feet playing convulsively in air. Then 

 he whips over, wallows the other side well, 

 maybe rolls again, gets up, humps himself, 

 puts his head down, and shakes, shakes, until 

 there is a cloud of dust or fine mud-flecks all 



