08/05/2026
"Wisdom Wednesday"
SOME LESSONS PACK A PUNCH
Before I went to horseshoeing school, I trimmed horses on my own and learned whatever I could along the way. Looking back, I realize I had a lot more determination than experience, and more confidence than good sense.
Back then, I often worked with horses that others stayed away from. If someone said a horse was difficult, I wanted to give it a shot. If they said nobody could trim it, I was even more interested. I felt proud when I could handle problems others wouldn’t. Most of the time, things went well, but not always.
One hot, humid day, I drove out to a remote farm. The air was thick and still, and just standing outside was tiring. The owner said there was a tough mare to do last, so I brought a cowboy friend with me in case I needed help.
By the time I got to the mare, I was hot, tired, and just wanted to be done. I managed her front feet with only a little trouble. When I moved to her back feet, she gave a few warning kicks. They weren’t too bad, but they made me pay attention.
I used a cotton rope and worked with her back feet until she settled down. My friend asked if he should keep the rope on and stay close. I told him, "No, she'll be alright."
I took off the rope and walked back to her hind end. I didn’t even get a chance to pick up her foot. I had one hand on her hip when she suddenly pushed into me. I pushed back instinctively. At that same moment, I felt her hip shift underneath my arm.
I knew right away what was about to happen. There was no time to get out of the way. I just clenched my teeth and braced for a kick to the thigh, but that’s not where she aimed. She twisted her whole body as she kicked. One hoof hit me under the jaw, the other near my belt line.
What I recollected was taking a few steps back and then lying down because the pain was so intense. Others said the impact sounded like a shotgun. People saw me stumble back into a nearby panel, slide down to the ground, curl up tight, and then suddenly go limp. Some thought I was dead. They couldn’t find a pulse, and if I was breathing, it was so shallow they couldn’t tell.
They let the mare go while everyone tried to figure out what to do with an unconscious farrier in the middle of nowhere.
Eventually, I managed to answer someone kneeling next to me who asked a question. I thought it was the only thing he said, but he later told me he had asked at least 20 questions before I responded.
Past the gasping for air, the first thing I remember seeing when I opened my eyes was an open can of beer and my inhaler on the ground next to my face. Apparently, beer was part of my friend’s emergency medical plan. I still tease him about it, saying, “I was there at the pearly gates, then I heard a beer can open. I told St. Peter I’d have to get back with them because I couldn’t leave an open can of beer.”
When I finally stood up, my friend gave me the biggest hug I’ve ever had. He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. "Don’t you ever scare me like that again!" he said.
While everyone was trying to figure out how badly I was hurt, I had only one question: "Where’s that damn horse?" They told me they had let her go. I told them to bring her back. I didn’t care about finishing the trim or proving anything. What worried me was what lesson she might have learned. If she learned that kicking made people go away, the next farrier, or even her owner, could be in even greater danger.
After a lot of convincing, they brought her back. This time, it was clear what she wanted to do. She wasn’t just giving warning kicks anymore. She was serious.
My friend and I had to lay her down so I could do a “mock trim.” Even with him holding her legs, she still managed to kick my hand before we finished.
Looking back, I know I was very lucky in a very bad situation. She kicked me square in the jaw but didn’t break anything or even chip a tooth. I still don’t know how I walked away. My jaw was a bit crooked afterward, though. Later, when I finally got the courage, I had a chiropractor realign it, and I don’t recommend that experience!
For months after that, I stopped trimming horses. My body healed, but the questions stayed with me. I had wanted to go to horseshoeing school for a while, but money was tight and, honestly, I was scared. Getting hurt once is one thing. Making a living standing next to a huge animal that could hurt you any day is something else, especially when you need that paycheck.
For the first time, I really questioned if I wanted to do this at all, whether part-time, full-time, or anything in between. But as the months went by, I found myself drawn back to horses. I did a trim here and there, and before long, I was working again
That’s when I realized something important. For years, I worried that if I committed to horseshoeing full-time, one bad accident would end everything before I ever had a chance to build a career. Ironically, the very thing I feared happened before I even started. Yet here I was, still being drawn back to horses.
That’s when I understood that courage isn’t pretending the risks don’t exist. It’s acknowledging them, respecting them, and still choosing the path you believe is worth taking. Life is never guaranteed. We can’t always undo the choices we’ve made, but we can decide what those choices will teach us and how they’ll shape the ones we make next.
Strangely, the horse that almost ended my trimming career was also part of what started it. Sometimes, the hardships that nearly break us are the very things that shape who we become.