True, at home the skewbald got none but the poorer sorts of oats to eat, and Selifan never filled his trough without having first called him a villain; but at least they WERE oats, and not hay--they were stuff which could be chewed with a certain amount of relish.

Also, there was the fact that at intervals he could intrude his long nose into his companions' troughs (especially when Selifan happened to be absent from the stable) and ascertain what THEIR provender was like.

But at Nozdrev's there had been nothing but hay! That was not right.

All three horses felt greatly discontented.
But presently the malcontents had their reflections cut short in a very rude and unexpected manner.

That is to say, they were brought back to practicalities by coming into violent collision with a six-horsed vehicle, while upon their heads descended both a babel of cries from the ladies inside and a storm of curses and abuse from the coachman.