When the Farrier Comes
- It’s Taco Tuesday!
- Taco Tuesday special report
- Back in the day, I was a racehorse.
- To graze, or not to graze: that is the question
- It’s a miracle, I tell you, a miracle!
- The fine art of accepting treats from your human
- They called me the Cat Burglar
- Overall, the food here is very good.
- Inquiring minds want to know
- The new guy moves in
- Happy Vaccination Day
- Malfunctioning fly sheet edition
- The great escape
- Dog Days of Summer
- Down and Dirty
- The Quiet One
- Forest Monsters
- When the Farrier Comes
- Mealtime manner
- Happy Hour
- A day in the life.
- The Walking Wounded
- Ginger the racing pony
- Those Dangerous Cows and the Gate
- Drunken sailor and the pregnant lady
- How to eat hay 101
- Fly-free at last
- Body Work Edition
- Rainy days and dry stalls
- The dream galloping edition!
- Where did Mocha go?
- Flying squirrels and giant lizards
- Leo came to town
- It’s Taco Tuesday again!
- Facemask tug-of-war
- Hey, it is Taco here with an update!
- Taco Tuesday – Foot abscess edition
- What next?
It just isn’t as easy to stand on three legs as it used to be. “The mind is willing, but the body has other ideas”: isn’t that how the saying goes?
It always catches me a little by surprise, because I still think of myself as a finely tuned athlete ready to leap tall jumps in a single bound and run like the wind. But every 5 weeks, reality hits home when the farrier comes to trim my feet.
As feet go, mine are pretty tough and I don’t have to have steel shoes anymore. After all, I mostly just nap anyway, and I certainly don’t need shoes to frolic in the pasture with my pal Oreo.
Oreo doesn’t have shoes either. He has the biggest feet I have ever seen!! (Let’s keep that between us because he is a fine-looking fellow and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He can’t help it if he is one of those warmbloods.) Where was I, oh yeah, even though I don’t need shoes, my feet are still fragile—I am a finely bred thoroughbred you know—and if they aren’t trimmed regularly, I get chips and cracks and it is just a mess.
So, every 5 weeks, like clockwork, the farrier comes. This resort has a really fine farrier, Meghan is her name. She is extremely patient with me and gives me time to bend my old stiff joints. She doesn’t get mad if I lose my balance and have to pull my foot away. She has the patience of a saint because sometimes it takes me a few minutes to get comfortable.
When she trims my back feet, she puts a nice cushy, wide boot on the opposite foot to help me feel more comfortable. At first, I wasn’t so sure about that boot, but wow, it really makes a difference. I get lots of treats when the farrier comes, which always helps. I never mind being the center of attention.
I had my mom take some pictures of me and Meghan for my scrapbook. I like this one the best! I am such a clown sometimes.