This horse’s working days are o’er.
The shafts and saddle nevermore
Shall hold him. Here he waits his end
Cared for by those who love to tend

An old companion. He may rest
In his loose box or take the best
Of grazing which the meadows give—
A pensioner while he shall live.

A beautiful racehorse became very much attached to a cat. So much so that he was never happy unless the cat was near him, either sleeping curled up on his back or somewhere in his stall. They became such close companions that when the horse was taken abroad to run in some races for which he had been entered, he became so dejected at being separated from his companion that it was found necessary that the cat should always accompany him in his horse-box wherever he went.

All horses very curious are
And things which they espy afar
Arouse their curiosity:
They wonder what on earth they see.

With ears pricked up and cautious mien
They come to see. When they have seen,
They snort and turn and off they scurry
In a contemptuous desperate hurry.

“A wicked horse,” perhaps you say,
“To shy in such a sudden way,
And almost make his rider fall.
It is not nice of him at all.”

It was not wickedness, but fear.
That dreadful white thing rushing near
Appeared to his affrighted eyes
Full seven times its proper size.

The Bus horse does not work all day,
For if he did he’d waste away.
He does his work and then is able
To take a long rest in the stable.

When summer suns beat down upon it
His head is sheltered by a bonnet;
And though it makes him look a duffer,
He hasn’t half the heat to suffer.

Of all the tiresome steeds that are
The jibber is the worst by far.

He stands and contemplates the scene—
An act embarrassing and mean.

And nine times out of ten he chooses
An awkward spot when he refuses
To move. To cure him, take him out
And turn the jibber round about.

 The horse affords the best example amongst animals of perseverance: he will go on until he falls exhausted or dead. On the Yorkshire moors, after a heavy fall of snow, the roads are quite lost, and it often happens that the mailman has to unharness his horse (the cart being blocked by the snow), and trust to the horse’s courage and endurance to carry the mails from village to village. It has been known that the driver has been overcome by the intense cold, when the horse has found his way unaided to the nearest accustomed stopping place.

When horses buck they take a bound
With all their four feet off the ground.
Unless they know just what to do
And how to keep their seats all through.

The riders come off fast and thick
When horses start this Yankee trick.
But with the cowboys of the West
The horses come off second best.

The cab horse is a useful steed,
Ever handy, good at need—
A patient uncomplaining jade,
What should we do without his aid?

By day, by night he may be had,
Be the weather good or be it bad.
Many a knock and many a fall
He gets, and yet survives them all.

See this runaway flecked with foam
Galloping fast as he can for home,
Caring nought for the shouting man
Running also as fast as he can.

Flung by the bolter on the roadside
Small is his chance of a pleasant ride.
Two legs matched in a race with four—
Perhaps they’ll meet at the stable door.