Yesterday I held Gabby while she was shod. I was so glad to be at the barn, I’d missed her so much, and it was so wonderful to stand around with the horse, the farrier, and his assistant and listen to them talk about horse hooves. Really. It was wonderful. Honest and I kid not! There’s nothing like standing in the barn with your horse while the craftsman goes to work.
And the farrier was so kind and so nice and so gruff. “Anything you need, you call. If you call and I’m not there but it’s an emergency, leave a message and let me know it’s an emergency. Call any time. I mean it.”
I felt surge of undue enthusiasm and wanted to throw my arms about his neck and clap him on the back and call him a splendid, splendid fellow — but I’m not sure we’ve read all of the same books and this series of gestures might have been misunderstood.
I got some advise on how to hold Gabby’s back feet when I’m picking them out. The demonstration provided by the farrier was much appreciated. I need to put her foot high up on my thigh and hold it in place. That should give me some leverage, angle, support, etc. because I often feel like I”m holding up her big butt.
It was also splendid to watch another horse get its hooves polished. I had no idea that some horses have pretty white hooves like a pair of white patent leather shoes.
Gabby was hot shod, so the red-hot shoe was applied before the final fitting to her clipped and rasped foot. The smell was not quite as bad as the smell of burning hair or feathers but in the same family, for sure. The smoke rolled off of Gabby’s hooves and she curled back both of her lips as did the other horses.
I swept up a little afterwords. I wanted to stay and help because that’s pretty much all I want to do these days; stay and help at the barn. But I had to get home.