06/03/2026
"Wisdom Wednesday"
THE WEIGHT THEY CARRY
Over the years, I’ve worked with many old horses. Some were already old when I first met them. Others started out as young horses and simply stayed on my books long enough for both of us to grow older together.
I’ve seen young, lively horses turn into seasoned veterans. I’ve noticed white hairs show up around their eyes, their backs start to sway, and their steps slow down. Some grew old gracefully, while others had a tougher time. Some were pampered every day, while others faded into the background when they couldn’t do their old jobs anymore. But each one had a story.
One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that old horses are rarely alone on their journey. Often, there’s an owner right there with them.
I remember one pair in particular. The horse was about 30 years old, blind in one eye, and clearly showing her age. Her owner was around eighty-five, and her hearing and eyesight weren’t perfect either.
Still, the owner came to the barn every other day. She checked on, groomed, and spent time with her horse. She made sure that old mare felt cared for and loved, just like any top performance horse would.
Watching them, it was hard to say who was caring for whom. The mare gave the woman a reason to keep moving, and the woman gave the mare a reason to keep going.
I’ve seen that kind of story many times—an old horse and an old owner helping each other through the later parts of life. Maybe that’s why some of my hardest moments as a farrier have involved old horses.
As I get older, I think more about the horses nearing the end of their lives. Their struggles aren’t about training or behavior anymore. Now, they’re simply facing the challenges of age.
I had an old horse in my books that I often think about. He was old, thin, and struggling.
For months, I talked with his owner about his condition. We went over vet options, quality of life, and those tough decisions no one wants to make.
Yet there he stood, still trying.
One day, while I was cleaning his feet, I saw he was having trouble lifting them. His knees buckled and shook. I switched from one foot to the other so he could shift his weight. I often do this with sore horses to give them a break.
As soon as I picked up his other foot, one of his front knees gave out. He collapsed and almost fell on me. When he hit the ground, he just stayed there. His eyes looked distant, glazed, and tired—not in pain, just tired.
A horse that once could have run all day had simply lost enough strength that standing on three legs became impossible. Time had quietly taken that from him.
I was alone with him, so I called his owners. They said someone would come later and told me I could leave and go on with my day.
But I stayed with him instead. I sat by his side for almost thirty minutes, gently rubbing his neck, talking to him, and trying to reassure him.
There was nothing practical I could do. No trim would fix this, no shoe would change the outcome, and no special technique could turn back time. All I could offer was simply being there.
People often think farrier work is just about hooves, and that’s part of it. But after enough years, you realize the job sometimes asks for more. Sometimes it takes patience, courage, and judgment. And sometimes, it just means sitting with an old horse on a tough day and letting him know he’s not alone.
Young horses teach us about potential and patience. Old horses teach us about grace and humility. And if we're paying attention, they teach us something about our own lives as well.
None of us stay young or strong forever. Time humbles every living thing. The real question isn’t if that day will come, but how we choose to care for each other when it does.
