Although I have retired from any daily shoeing activity, I retained around a half dozen clients, mostly just trims. Those clients and I enjoyed each other’s company, and I looked forward to the time spent together for reasons other than income.
This business gets into your head and your life like nothing else I have experienced. The horses I saw numerous times a year, sometimes from foaling into their old age and retirement, became more than a part of my business. The owners and I can look back and remember the pack trips, the horse shows, rodeos, cow cuttings, parades, etc., that they enjoyed with their horses. They always thank me for my part in keeping them sound and able to take on whatever the next challenge might be.
One by one, those remaining horses have gone the way of all flesh, and a call from one of those long time clients came this morning telling me she had to have her 32-year-old gelding put down yesterday, so our next appointment was no longer necessary. Winter is coming on, and he was having an increasingly hard time getting up once he lay down.
His name was Buckwheat, though he wasn’t called that too often. (There were a few more descriptive barn-names often used.) He was a 15-hand Quarter Horse gelding with an ornery streak who somehow always managed to take up more room in the barn aisle than necessary. Once I got hold of a foot, however, other than some minor tug-of-war getting it onto the stand, he was no problem to work on.
The owner had numerous other mounts over the years, and some were proficient eventers, but Buckwheat was the manager of the pastures. Once the lead rope came off the halter and the pasture gate closed, it was Buckwheat who called the shots, which was a good thing for the numerous babies he mentored over the years. No one messed with them if Buckwheat was nearby.
“Some things are hard to let go of…”
With his passing, I am left with just one horse in my book. Mind you, retirement is just what I hoped it would be, and I certainly don’t mind not having to get out in whatever weather the day throws at us, (it’s 12 degrees outside) but I have to admit, something is missing.
I guess I’m missing the equine energy I worked around for so many decades. Horses don’t lie to you, and they see through any bull puckey you try to hand them. Being herd animals, they feed off the energy of their herd-mates, and that includes whoever is at the end of the lead rope. If I or the person holding the rope was nervous or upset for whatever reason, the horse always picked up on that and figured there must be a reason for them to be on edge as well. I am a better person today for having worked with and around horses for so many years. Though I must admit, being around their honest ways for so long hasn’t made life with my fellow humans any easier.
Sometime ago, I came home after trimming a horse who also is no longer with us. I was walking into the bathroom to wash the hoof-stink off my hands and told my wife that I almost didn’t want to. Some things (even the smelly ones) are hard to let go of.
While the number of horses I see regularly has diminished considerably, the memories and stories of the years spent with them have not abated in the least. In my mind they mill about like a herd of horses in a corral. I just let them out one at a time.
"The Way it Was", by the late Washington farrier David Hazlett, is a series that explores how farriery has changed — and stayed the same — over the years. You can read previous installments here.
