but the racehorse must be kept in condition. This requires sweating the beasts to remove spare flesh what weights 'em down. Though I've no great likin' for the practices of some what calls themselves training groom in Newmarket. I seen 'em destroy good horses by keepin' 'em always in a box wi' no air and covered in rugs three or four layers deep, turnin' the stables into a blessed Turkish bath.
"They send the horses out daily for 'strong exercise,' two or three times doubled wi' rugs, sometimes even addin' a woolen breast sweater and a hood. They put 'em through a four-mile gallop, and they returns heavin' in the flanks and lookin' like buckets of water was thrown over 'em. After this, the animals be scraped, rubbed down, wiped dry, and new clothes put on 'em afore goin' back in the hot box, where they breaks out in fresh sweats.
"This routine what some swears by, workin' 'em to exhaustion then clothin' and stovin' 'em, does naught more'n drain their juices such quantities as to destroy their strength and spirits."
"What a cruel and inhumane practice!" Charlotte exclaimed.
"Now I don't be sayin' a weekly sweat don't do a horse good," Jeffries said. "The cumbrous flesh a fat horse carries tears down his sinews when he runs. I lief run a horse lean than large. A horse don't never meet wi' his destruction by runnin' light in the carcass. But as to the sweats, all things be best in moderation. It be nigh easier to pull down than to put up flesh on a running blood."
As he spoke, he removed the three layers of rugs from the gelding. Scrutinizing the horse beneath the blankets, he gave a low whistle, murmuring curses to himself. "What's he thinking, the Bart, 'specting me to train a screw like this!"
"Whatever do you mean?" Charlotte asked.
"He be from the best sire, and 'he cost too much not to be good, Jeffries,' the Bart says." The stable master snorted in disgust. "Horses run in all shapes, lass, but always best when the shape is good ."
"But I've never seen a coat with such a coppery sheen. He's akin to a new penny."
"Ye must look beyond the coat! Too many judge a horse's condition by the color or shine. This one be bad-kneed and built downhill. His croup's nigh taller than the withers. A horse that's ill-formed can't tolerate the training. He's thick-winded, too. He'll be roarin' like a lion afore the second mile."
"But how can you know which ones will be any good?"
"It begins in the breedin' shed, by selecting proven blood from a running family on both sides. Too many breeders care only for the sire and the damsire, givin' no heed atall to the dam herself. Begin wi' good blood then make sure the horse be well put together and full of vigor. The rest be in the training."
"But what will become of this one?" Her hand moved over his coat of satin.
"I says, by 'is looks, Sir Garfield would do better training that aged broodmare"—he indicated Amoret—"than this four-year-old."
"Amoret? Do you really think so?"
Jeffries chuckled. "Nay, miss. Her runnin' days be well past, but wi' exercise, she'll regain the vigor she lost in the last foaling. Some light rides on the heath will be good for the twain of ye, though I doubt yer Uncle would be too fond of the notion. Now then, time's a wastin'. We'd best be about your lesson."
Charlotte looked at him blankly. "But I don't know what to do."
"Then it be high time ye learn."
He conducted Charlotte into the harness room. The air was permeated with the rich smells of leather and neatsfoot oil. Several boys were at work cleaning the saddlery. Charlotte scanned the rows of gleaming leather as Jeffries moved to lift Beatrix's saddle from its rack.
"But isn't that a side-saddle, Jeffries?" She asked, regarding the saddle askance. "I don't want to amble along side-saddle like the fine ladies who parade on Rotten Row. I want to really ride, like the lads do. I want to hear the thunder of hooves and feel the
"They send the horses out daily for 'strong exercise,' two or three times doubled wi' rugs, sometimes even addin' a woolen breast sweater and a hood. They put 'em through a four-mile gallop, and they returns heavin' in the flanks and lookin' like buckets of water was thrown over 'em. After this, the animals be scraped, rubbed down, wiped dry, and new clothes put on 'em afore goin' back in the hot box, where they breaks out in fresh sweats.
"This routine what some swears by, workin' 'em to exhaustion then clothin' and stovin' 'em, does naught more'n drain their juices such quantities as to destroy their strength and spirits."
"What a cruel and inhumane practice!" Charlotte exclaimed.
"Now I don't be sayin' a weekly sweat don't do a horse good," Jeffries said. "The cumbrous flesh a fat horse carries tears down his sinews when he runs. I lief run a horse lean than large. A horse don't never meet wi' his destruction by runnin' light in the carcass. But as to the sweats, all things be best in moderation. It be nigh easier to pull down than to put up flesh on a running blood."
As he spoke, he removed the three layers of rugs from the gelding. Scrutinizing the horse beneath the blankets, he gave a low whistle, murmuring curses to himself. "What's he thinking, the Bart, 'specting me to train a screw like this!"
"Whatever do you mean?" Charlotte asked.
"He be from the best sire, and 'he cost too much not to be good, Jeffries,' the Bart says." The stable master snorted in disgust. "Horses run in all shapes, lass, but always best when the shape is good ."
"But I've never seen a coat with such a coppery sheen. He's akin to a new penny."
"Ye must look beyond the coat! Too many judge a horse's condition by the color or shine. This one be bad-kneed and built downhill. His croup's nigh taller than the withers. A horse that's ill-formed can't tolerate the training. He's thick-winded, too. He'll be roarin' like a lion afore the second mile."
"But how can you know which ones will be any good?"
"It begins in the breedin' shed, by selecting proven blood from a running family on both sides. Too many breeders care only for the sire and the damsire, givin' no heed atall to the dam herself. Begin wi' good blood then make sure the horse be well put together and full of vigor. The rest be in the training."
"But what will become of this one?" Her hand moved over his coat of satin.
"I says, by 'is looks, Sir Garfield would do better training that aged broodmare"—he indicated Amoret—"than this four-year-old."
"Amoret? Do you really think so?"
Jeffries chuckled. "Nay, miss. Her runnin' days be well past, but wi' exercise, she'll regain the vigor she lost in the last foaling. Some light rides on the heath will be good for the twain of ye, though I doubt yer Uncle would be too fond of the notion. Now then, time's a wastin'. We'd best be about your lesson."
Charlotte looked at him blankly. "But I don't know what to do."
"Then it be high time ye learn."
He conducted Charlotte into the harness room. The air was permeated with the rich smells of leather and neatsfoot oil. Several boys were at work cleaning the saddlery. Charlotte scanned the rows of gleaming leather as Jeffries moved to lift Beatrix's saddle from its rack.
"But isn't that a side-saddle, Jeffries?" She asked, regarding the saddle askance. "I don't want to amble along side-saddle like the fine ladies who parade on Rotten Row. I want to really ride, like the lads do. I want to hear the thunder of hooves and feel the
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