Hi Everyone. Sorry this is late but I had a bit of a reversal with my back and leg nerve pain. I was watching television with the dogs, they love duck hunting shows, when I became wracked with pain that was equal to the levels I was at back in March. To say I’m disappointed would be an understatement. I can’t stay in any position too long so my writing production has slowed. Still, I managed to get this out and we will see what the upcoming week will be like and what the medical community says. On the plus side, Kerry has to take care of me again which just kills her, so I have that going for me. Hope you all are doing well. Talk soon.
Cheers,
John
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“Thank you for thinking of me and I’ll be there at 7:30. See you then!”
Hanging up the phone I gave Kerry a big smile.
“That was Cindy. They want me to be the show farrier for their hunter event over at the university.”
“That’s great! How much are they paying you?”
I gave her a chagrined look. “Nothing of course, but I’ll charge for everything I do, and they will give me a bag lunch.”
“So, I’ve got that going for me,” we said in unison quoting one of our favorite lines from the movie, Caddy Shack.
Despite not being paid, this was an opportunity. We had only been in Montana for a few years, and at this show I would have the chance to meet people who rode in the English tradition. I came up as an apprentice shoeing hunter/jumpers on the east coast and looked forward to applying my skills out here. It was also going to be held on a Saturday so it wouldn’t interfere with the regular customer schedule.
Being a show farrier is a hit or miss proposition. The ideal situation is to work a show held at a barn you already work at. You can shoe your regular horses and stop to fix any trouble the show people have. Normally, it’s something like a pulled shoe or a cross threaded caulk hole. I could fix things like that fast and send them on their way. This way you are making money throughout the day. If the show is not at a customer’s place, it can get boring and costly. I’ve spent two entire days at a show and never touched a horse. So that’s why you want to be paid a daily rate. However, this was Montana where modernity lags behind the rest of the world. I was also an unknown in this particular town, and my professional goal at that moment was to get into some nice barns with clean horses and not be shoeing a gorilla in the dust and weeds at a ranch somewhere.
That Saturday, after a hour and a half drive, I got myself set up next to the show barn. It was ideal. Through a man door there was a rubber mat and a set of cross ties. I was at one end of the barn far away from the in-gate to the arena and the grandstands, completely out of everyone’s way. I found Cindy, my customer and organizer of the show, for any last minute instructions, made sure the announcer would give periodic reminders that I was there if anyone had trouble, then sat down in a lawn chair next to my anvil to drink my coffee and read the newspaper. It was a blue bird kind of day, the kind that makes living here the rest of the time worth it. Bright sunshine but not hot. Not a cloud in our famous Big Sky. There was a gentle breeze from the west that the swallows rode as they hunted to feed the hungry babies in their nests just under the eaves of the arena.
“Who gave you permission to be here?” Said a highly agitated feminine voice.
Normally I am hyper aware of my surroundings, but I made the mistake of enjoying my coffee, newspaper, and the beautiful day so I let this person sneak up on me.
“Pardon me?” I stammered as I got to my feet.
A woman was standing there next to my anvil. She was almost as tall as me, with broad shoulders and hands like small shovels. She was dressed in cowboy gear with a nice Resistol black cowboy hat and a gigantic silver belt buckle. It was the sort of buckle you win at rodeos. I assumed in this case she won it bull dogging steers and it crossed my mind she might take me in a fair fight.
“I said, who gave you permission to be here?” She retorted in an unpleasant tone of voice.
I started to answer but a little man stepped out of her shadow and gave me an embarrassed look. He was painfully thin, mostly skin, muscle and gristle. He had big rough hands and was dressed in western wear as well, but his jeans were worn white at the knees and inner thighs. He had sturdy leather work boots like mine and the toes had some metal from steel toes shining through at the tips. This guy was a farrier.
I stepped toward him with my hand out, ignoring the rude Amazon woman.
“I’m John OConnell. You shoe horses too I imagine.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m Larry Haines.” He replied and shook my hand. He had a grip of iron. “This is my wife, Linda.”
“Good morning, Linda.” I said, not shaking her hand on purpose. “In answer to your question, I was hired by the show to be the show farrier for the day.”
Larry was now ignoring us and started to check out my truck and equipment. It’s a normal thing for farriers to do. It seemed to me Larry was not happy about this confrontation and wanted nothing to do with it. Besides, if he spoke out of turn she might back hand him out into the corrals.
“Well, I don’t know where they get off hiring outsiders. We shoe for all the university events.”
“Oh, you are a farrier as well?” I asked innocently.
“No… I do all the scheduling and advertising for Larry’s business.” This with an inexplicable haughty air. Scheduling and advertising for a horseshoer didn’t seem like something to brag about to me but different strokes for different folks.
“I see.” I stood there staring into her eyes with a pleasant smile on my face until she looked away.
I don’t like bullies, male or female. Staring them down and then ignoring them with a nonchalant air completely disorients them. Linda started to shuffle her feet and her face flushed. She didn’t know what to do with my refusal to argue with her. I imagined that this “biker chick” attitude along with her Godzilla like stature intimidated people. I turned away and walked to the back of the truck where Larry was examining some of my shoes.
“So Larry, what are you guys doing here? Do you shoe a lot of hunter types? I can always move over to make room for your rig if you have a customer to do.”
“Thanks. No, we are just visiting and wanted to watch what happens at these kinds of shows.” He held up a pair of hind shoe patterns I had forged. These are really nice. Are you certified?”
The American Farriers Association held sessions where you could take written tests and do a practical test like they do over in Europe where they follow a guild system. If you passed you were certified by the association. I never saw the point since being certified that, in the end, really meant nothing. Farriers in the United States aren’t licensed and you didn’t need a certification to work. Of course, studying and practicing your craft is just what a professional should do anyway, at least that’s what I was taught by my master. We didn’t need to pay a group to judge our work and tell us how good it was. We knew it was good because we were in great demand. Still, some people felt the need to certify. There was no sense in embarrassing them about it.
“No, I apprenticed for two years with Gary Golding back east on the A Show Circuit.”
Oh, I’ve heard of him. He developed that computer program didn’t he?”
We were off to the races. Just two horseshoers talking business and enjoying each other’s company. It was too good to last.
“OK Larry,” Boomed his scheduler. “Enough bullshit. We need to get inside.”
Larry scuttled away mumbling about how it was nice meeting me and slipped his card into my hand. I did the same to him and the pair disappeared through the man door. Once again I thanked fate for allowing Kerry to find me and went back to finishing my paper and coffee.
The rest of the morning went smoothly. No one had any shoeing issues but lots of people stopped to introduce themselves and I gave away at least twenty business cards. Someone dropped off my bag lunch so I ate while thinking of a plan for the afternoon. Maybe I should start up the forge and make a few sets of shoes. The ring of an anvil is magical. In a crowded place like a show or fair that sound draws in a crowd to watch. Just as I finished my sandwich a rider came up in a trot.
“Hi! I’ve got a problem!” The young woman said.
She and her horse were nicely turned out. Her tack was clean, her boots polished. The horse’s tail and mane were braided neatly, and her hair was tucked up under her helmet. She was the very model of a good hunter rider.
“I tried to screw in a caulk on his right front but I can’t get it to screw in. I only have about ten minutes before I have to go.” I grabbed my caulk box that I hadn’t used since we left Connecticut.
“OK. Do you have the caulk?”
She handed me a standard size one that she probably didn’t even need. The arena had great footing. The threads looked good except for one rough edge that took a couple swipes with a little jewelers file to fix.
“Stay up there and listen for your name and give me a countdown.”
I asked the horse to pick up his foot and he gave it to me without hesitation. The young lady was a bit shocked I think but, in this scenario, we are sort of like a pit stop at the Daytona 500 changing tires. You can’t waste a second. If she is late to the start gate, she will be disqualified and lose her entry fee. I used a stout horseshoe nail and dental pick to pull out dirt and the remains of a cotton ball from the caulk hole.
“Five minutes,” the rider said calmly. A small crowd was gathering to watch the drama.
I sprayed a quick shot of WD-40 into the hole and then reamed out the threads with my thread tap. The caulk went in smooth as silk and I snugged it up with a caulk wrench.
“Three minutes.”
I put the foot down then checked the other three feet.
“Two minutes.”
Everything looked good and solid.
“One minute.”
“You are good! Go!” I said and she took off at the trot waving goodbye. The crowd applauded so I took a bow which cracked them up.
I ran into the man door to watch and sure enough she trotted into the arena as the clock struck zero. She went clean over the jumps and in a good time. She went into first place on the board, and I was thrilled even though I had no idea who she was. I had a flash back to the east coast and the big time A circuit. Jumpers from there will compete all over the world in the Olympics and Pan Am games. The horseshoers might not have been in the limelight or get any recognition but we knew our contribution to a gold medal or a big check. It’s always a thrill watching a horse you work on win at any level.
My rider stopped on her way back to her trailer to thank me, show me her blue ribbon and give me some money.
“Could you show me how you did that in case I’m somewhere where I don’t have a shoer?”
I was happy to teach her. The big issue is people don’t hold the foot up with their legs so that both hands are free to work. They also don’t take care of the empty caulk holes properly. A ten-minute lesson was all it took. I pulled caulks and filled holes and made her do the last one by herself.
“That was easy!” She exclaimed.
“When you know how, everything is easy,” I said putting on my philosopher’s cap.
I gave her a leg up and she trotted away. I watched her go, paying attention to how the horse moved. Smooth as silk. It’s funny how a short interaction with a nice kid and her horse can make my whole day. Heck, sometimes I even think I know what I’m doing. I felt great.
“I talked to these people about horse shows and how they need to call us first.” The Amazon’s triumphant voice smashed my reverie. She apparently did not know who she was messing with. She was about to find out.
I spun around and walked to my anvil. I marked a pair of shoes for right and left and put them in the forge to heat up. A propane forge is quite loud and you usually have to almost shout to be heard near it. I wanted to be sure no one would hear our conversation. I crooked a finger to beckon her closer.
“Are you an employee of the university?’ I asked in her ear.
“No.” she said but now she wasn’t acting triumphant, and I knew why.
“So, who gave you the horseshoeing franchise for this arena which belongs to the university?”
“Franchise?” She asked her eyes getting wider.
“Yes. You must have the franchise, or you would never flounce around here telling people what to do. In fact, if you didn’t have the franchise and the university found out that you were bullying people, they would have a big problem with you.”
“My husband went to the horseshoeing school here,” she said pointing at the building. Interesting explanation I thought and instructive.
“And I have taught classes there. The head instructor and I are friends and have worked together. If I tell him about this episode he will not be happy with you and more importantly, your husband. It won’t be good for business.”
I pulled a shoe from the forge and started shaping it.
“If I were you, I would leave right now. I will go to the committee people and tell them you were mistaken.”
I pulled the second shoe and shut off the forge. I shaped it and threw it on the ground to cool. Looking up I saw she was still standing there slack jawed and red faced. I lightly tapped my rounding hammer on the anvil face.
“You are still here?” I asked. “You can go now.”
Larry walked out of the man door at that moment.
“Larry?” I called out. “Take your wife home and out of my face.”
Larry took her by the arm and led her away.
“Sorry,” he said quietly as he left. I’m sure he meant it.
Cindy came out of the man door at that moment.
“Are they friends of yours?” She asked pointing at Larry and his wife’s retreating figures.
“Nope. Just met them today.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a self-important jackass who thinks she can tell people what to do. You know that whatever she told you is BS, right?”
“I thought it must be, but she said she had explained it all to you and you agreed to not come here again without permission.”
“Well, you can add liar to self-important jackass.”
“People are so weird. Everyone loved having you here just in case there was a problem. Will you come again next year?”
“You bet.”
I never saw Larry’s wife again except one time at a horseshoeing seminar. The main subject was shoeing draft horses with handmade shoes which I find fascinating. Larry was friendly and he stopped to talk. She kept walking, which was a smart thing to do. I have no idea why she would be at a seminar but maybe she liked to keep Larry on a short leash. I did notice that people moved away from wherever she was standing or sitting. Like my friend Cindy said… weird.
Ah, fond memories of your mentor. He taught me how to forge and still do.