Kindness to Dumb Animals

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Nov 30, 1911

Kindness to Dumb Animals

THE wagon was heavily laden with great bags of metal, too heavy for a single horse to draw, one would have thought.

It turned into a side street, and halfway down the block again turned into an alley at the rear of a livery-stable. It required considerable tugging on the part of the horse to pull the load up the incline of the alley driveway, but he did it, and the driver looked pleased when the back wheels had made the rise, and settled down to level ground. At the barn door it was necessary to turn the wagon around completely and back in. Surely one horse could not do that. The turn was made easily enough, but there the wagon remained.

“Back up, Jim!” said the man, pulling lightly at the reins.

The horse braced his forefeet, and shoved.

The wagon didn’t move.

The man got down from the seat, and went around to the back of the truck, and pulled. “Back!” he commanded. The horse put every muscle to the strain. “Back!” The wagon moved this time at least a foot. Two more, and the back wheels would be over the threshold of the barn door. “Back!” The command moved the horse to exert his greatest effort. There was a crunch of splintering wood, and the wagon rolled back.

Not a blow had been struck the animal. Only gentle words had been spoken, and the horse had done the rest.

And when it was all over the man did not go on unloading the wagon without a further thought of the great, obedient animal standing still between the shafts. He went to him and took his nose in his hands, and, patting him between the eyes, said: “Good, old Jim! You did do it, didn’t you? I knew you would.”

And the horse rubbed his nose against the man’s cheek.

It is pleasant now and then to see such things.—Catholic Calendar.