It was a typical winter day as far as I can recall, grey, just below freezing, and for me, perfect for shoeing horses, or at least it was up ‘til the incident. I turned into the driveway, and with nobody home I drove right into the corral next to the round pen. The round pen had proved to be an ideal place for the task of shoeing. The sandy footing was well drained and never got muddy like the surrounding ground. After setting up my anvil and tools, I stepped into the barn to find Lucky Boy waiting for me. Having had his breakfast an hour ago, he was in a restful mood, and I anticipated nothing out of the ordinary. Leading Lucky out of the barn, I noticed Piggy following not far behind.
Piggy was a rather unkempt longhaired black and white kitty who missed the memo that cats must be clean and spend a good part of their spare time grooming. That grooming wasn’t at the top of Piggy’s to-do list was obvious even from a distance. His hair stuck out in patches at odd angles, and he gave off an odor that made everyone thankful he was a barn cat. Piggy was, however, a master mouser, and Lucky got all the grain coming to him because the mice certainly did not get any. Lucky and Piggy had a barn companionship going; they shared and enjoyed, I think, each other’s company. In fact, during the long winter nights Piggy would approach along the stall wall and jump onto Lucky’s back. Lucky didn’t mind in the least because Piggy would sit just behind his withers and “make muffins” in Lucky’s long winter coat. The cat got the warmth of a large animal with a lot of soft hair, and the horse got lots of scratching where he liked it most.
I looped the lead rope over the tie rail located next to the entry and proceeded to strap on my chaps and get ready for the task ahead. It happened just as I started toward the horse with my shoeing box. Lucky was OK with the shoeing process, but anyone approaching with a large box of tools will get any horse’s attention. So Lucky’s attention and focus was on me when Piggy made his move. Now, jumping on Lucky’s back from the wall of the round pen didn’t seem that different to Piggy from jumping off of the wall of the stall except for one big difference: It was outside of the barn, and that made all the difference to Lucky.
Horses, being a prey species, are always looking for the bear in the bushes. No matter how domesticated or well trained a horse is, he never forgets that he is on the menu. All unexpected or unanticipated happenings are a catastrophe, and a surprise of any kind is one of the scariest things in the world to a horse. So you might understand Lucky’s reaction when, with his attention on me, out of nowhere what appeared to him to be a predator of enormous proportions launches itself towards his back with obvious ill intent.
The lead rope, even had it been tied, could not have withstood the sudden strain of an 1,000-lb. scared-out-of-his-mind horse propelling itself backward with the force of a train pulling out a tree stump, and it didn’t take a ½ second for Lucky to be free and starting what would be several laps around the round pen.
Apparently Piggy had made his usual calculation of just how hard to propel himself in order to land just behind Lucky’s withers and launched. It was at that instant that Lucky’s genetically enhanced peripheral vision kicked in, and he saw what appeared to be a large animal with all four limbs extended and claws in full display descending fast and within inches of landing on his back. No doubt the lethal bite would follow. His movement was to the rear and the side at the same time. Piggy’s descent was unstoppable, and he landed not on Lucky’s back but wound up clinging to his side. With the predator now firmly attached to his side, Lucky did the only thing a horse would do under the circumstances. He ran like hell.
I had not seen the cat make his fateful leap and did not know he was an unwilling passenger until the start of Lucky’s second lap. Standing in the center of the whirlwind, I had a first rate view of the goings-on, and I spied a dark blotch on the side of Lucky as he gained the other side of what he now assumed was an arena of death.
Lucky had worked himself up to maximum velocity and was running tipped at an angle in order to navigate the tight circumference of the pen. Piggy couldn’t let go for fear of winding up under four thrashing feet and so dug in deeper to secure his position. Lucky, meanwhile, was obviously having zero luck detaching the persistent predator and figured he’d try another tack. Just before beginning the third lap, Lucky made a sudden reversal and now carried the cat on the side toward the fence. This offered Piggy the possibility of escape from this obviously demented horse. Unfortunately for him, he decided that leaping from the back of a careening horse onto the perimeter fence of the pen was a good bet. He dug in, crouched and made his leap at the same moment that Lucky came to a sliding stop, which alas, threw Piggy’s trajectory off once again causing him to slam onto the ground and slide under the fence like a ball player sliding into home plate. Lucky, having rid himself of the marauding carnivore, came to a halt right in front of me and, still breathing hard, stood there as if to say, “Can you please explain what just happened?” I could not.
We both caught our breath for a few seconds, and I looked over the top of the fence to see Piggy moving with purpose and a slight limp toward the barn where he would no doubt be waiting for his friend Lucky when my business with him was finished.
"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.
