Chap­ter 28: A Job Horse and His Dri­vers reflects a peri­od in Black Beauty’s life where con­sis­ten­cy and com­pas­sion are replaced by unpre­dictabil­i­ty. As a job horse, he is rent­ed to a vari­ety of tem­po­rary dri­vers, each with dif­fer­ing lev­els of skill, patience, and con­cern. Beauty’s nature is calm and respon­sive, which makes him a favored choice even for begin­ners. How­ev­er, that same gen­tle­ness leads to reg­u­lar mis­use. Some dri­vers pull the reins so tight­ly that his mouth aches for hours. These men believe firm pres­sure shows con­trol, unaware that con­stant ten­sion caus­es more harm than help. For hors­es trained with sub­tle cues, this method becomes not only painful but deeply frus­trat­ing. Oth­ers, on the oppo­site end, hold the reins too loose­ly, offer­ing bare­ly any direc­tion. Though Beau­ty can man­age with­out much inter­fer­ence, he knows not all hors­es are as steady. In such cas­es, lax han­dling invites dan­ger, espe­cial­ly on crowd­ed streets or sloped ter­rain.

Beau­ty reflects on how dif­fer­ent styles of dri­ving often lead hors­es into bad habits that take weeks or even months to unlearn. A rough hand may teach a horse to pull away, while incon­sis­tent cues make it anx­ious or con­fused. These habits, once ingrained, are dif­fi­cult to reverse and often pun­ish the horse more than the per­son who caused them. Squire Gor­don had once said that to let a horse form a bad habit is a form of cru­el­ty, because it bur­dens the ani­mal with suf­fer­ing lat­er in life. Beau­ty now sees the wis­dom in those words. When he worked under John, there was balance—firm but fair guid­ance and a deep under­stand­ing of what a horse need­ed. Now, with every new dri­ver, he risks being mis­un­der­stood, mis­han­dled, or out­right ignored. For a horse who wants only to do his job well, this incon­sis­ten­cy wears on both body and spir­it.

One par­tic­u­lar­ly painful mem­o­ry involves a man who chat­ted so loud­ly and care­less­ly that he nev­er noticed Beau­ty limp­ing. A small stone had wedged itself in his hoof short­ly after they left the sta­ble, caus­ing dis­com­fort with every step. Had the dri­ver paid atten­tion, he might have noticed the shift in gait or the uneasy way Beau­ty held his head. Instead, he con­tin­ued talk­ing, laugh­ing, and flick­ing the reins, assum­ing all was well. By the time they stopped, the pain had wors­ened. Only then, when a bystander point­ed out the limp, did the man inves­ti­gate. Even so, he act­ed irri­tat­ed, as if the stone were Beauty’s fault. This episode, while not the worst of his expe­ri­ences, remind­ed Beau­ty how deeply ani­mals rely on human obser­va­tion and con­cern. A few moments of care could pre­vent hours—or even days—of suf­fer­ing.

These expe­ri­ences con­trast sharply with those ear­li­er days when some­one like John would check the shoes before every jour­ney and stop imme­di­ate­ly at any sign of dis­com­fort. Beau­ty nev­er feared pain under John’s care, because it was clear he paid atten­tion. That kind of trust builds a bond between horse and han­dler, allow­ing for smooth work and mutu­al respect. Under care­less renters, that trust can’t form. The horse becomes just a means to an end—no more impor­tant than the cart it pulls. Yet Beau­ty holds onto the lessons he was taught: stay steady, lis­ten care­ful­ly, and respond as best he can, even when the dri­ver doesn’t deserve it. He knows that doing his part might save him from harsh­er treat­ment lat­er.

This chap­ter is not just a series of complaints—it’s a mea­sured reflec­tion on how eas­i­ly humans can shape, and often dam­age, the behav­ior of ani­mals. Beau­ty doesn’t expect per­fec­tion, only mind­ful­ness. The dis­tinc­tion between harsh and gen­tle han­dling may not be obvi­ous to a passer­by, but it’s deeply felt by the horse. Incon­sis­tent dri­vers leave behind more than tem­po­rary discomfort—they leave con­fu­sion, fear, and mis­trust. And once those emo­tions take root, it takes time and care to heal them. By recount­ing these var­ied encoun­ters, Beau­ty urges read­ers to con­sid­er the unseen impact of their actions. A horse’s ser­vice may be silent, but it speaks vol­umes through its behav­ior. How it walks, lis­tens, or flinch­es reveals more about the peo­ple behind the reins than many would care to admit.