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“My horses are barefoot. I trim my own horse's hooves:
It seems such a simple statement, but said to other women who do the same, it initiates long discussions of a journey shared, it lights a spark of recognition, of knowledge gained, of traditional roles left far behind, of struggles overcome and of empowerment.
I trim my own horses' hooves;
I work in the summer sun and winter cold. I gladly sacrifice precious time that could be spent riding to spend it bent over, my hands working tools designed for manly hands, my face pressed close against a warm and shiny chestnut flank.
I trim and the world retreats for a while as I am engrossed in this special chore.
I trim my own horses' hooves;
I watch the hooves transform under my stewardship, I am guided by shape and texture and slowly they return to the hoof form of their ancestors, I revel in this accomplishment.
I trim my own horses' hooves;
To utter this simple statement pleases me more than I can say; I have stepped back in time and learned a craft that has till now been denied me. I have learned how to move the tools over the hard hoof, learned how to make the steel rasp bite deep and slide effortlessly; learned how to drive the sharp knife safely, learned how to read the hoof terrain and follow closely its instructions, and watched with satisfaction as a shower of dead hoof falls across my boots.
I trim my own horses' hooves;
Because I do, I am at one with my horses. I read the changing seasons in the architecture of their hooves. I know secret things about my horses that I would have never discovered any other way. I have learned patience and strength and to trust my intuition.
And when the job is done I lean happily on the pasture gate and watch my horses move once more as they did when they were young, knowing in my heart that I have done something very special for them. Repaid a great debt.
I trim my own horses' hooves .......... it's such simple way to thank them for the joy they bring to me.”
Author Unknown
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