The Power Of The Wiffle
Hi everyone. This was a story from 2022 and not many of you were subscribed then. Hit that Like and Restack button so I can be famous and feel free to Share this story. Just hit the button at the bottom of the piece. I’m working on two new stories, one of which our youngest son will be disgusted by and the other involves everyone’s favorite talking GSPs, Bella and Maggie so I’m sure you are looking forward to them!
People unfamiliar with horses usually asked two questions when they came upon me shoeing a horse at a dude ranch or horse show. The first one was, “Does it hurt the horse when you nail shoes on?”
I used to explain that no, it doesn’t hurt because where the nails go the tissue has no nerves. Inevitably, that answer lead to more questions. If I was doing an educational demonstration at a 4-H fair or school that was to be expected and not a problem. But during my usual working day answering all the questions was distracting and slowed me down. You might find this shocking, but I talk too much as it is.
So, being sublimely clever, I changed my standard answer to, “Do you think they would let me do it if it hurt?”
People would laugh, accept my explanation, and didn’t ask about foot anatomy and innervation.
But then there is the other question they would ask.
“Have you ever been kicked?”
A dangerous question to a talkative storyteller like me because the answer is yes. I’ve been kicked. I’ve also been bitten, stomped, struck at, run over and one time got my finger wrapped in a loop of mane (don’t ask) and managed to pop the joint capsule in my finger, thus ruining my burgeoning hand modeling career. People love injury stories (Chicks dig scars you know) and I would spend way too much time entertaining them.
When it comes to injury, I’ve been lucky compared to some farriers I know. A few broken bones, two compression fractures in my spine, minor burns and some stitches were all I ever suffered from 30 plus years of horseshoeing. That’s because I was taught by my master the right way to work around a horse and I was a little lucky. While they are beautiful creatures and often eager to please, horses are large, immensely strong animals who can injure you quite severely by accident, let alone on purpose.
I used to shoe at a barn where a gentleman and his wife raised Thoroughbred racehorses. Jonathon was a former steeple chase jock who probably forgot more about horses than I ever learned. If you know anything about steeple chase you know how dangerous it can be and Jonathan had the scars to prove it. We sat one afternoon drinking beer in his living room after work and watched a VHS tape that was entitled “Greatest Hits”. (Don’t tell Kerry. She thinks I was working.) The tape was clips of all his wrecks at the track. They were spectacular to say the least.
His wife Debbie wasn’t happy we were watching this. I couldn’t blame her. She had seen most of them live and in person and had to deal with the aftermath of Jonathan’s rehab. Being guys we kept saying manly things like, “How did you not die?”, “That had to hurt!” and “Good thing I fell on my head, I could have gotten hurt!” after each crash.
Debbie finally left the room but only after giving us an exasperated look and mumbling, “Ugh… men!” We looked at one another, shrugged and kept watching. Chicks do dig scars but never want to see how you get them.
Jonathon and Debbie knew how to run a horse farm. Their barn was clean, well lit and the horses were always very well behaved. The latter made a huge impression on me. They were all young colts and fillies so you would expect some shenanigans. Young horses like to mouth things and bite. They don’t want to stand still when you are trying to work on them. Imagine a two year old human who has four legs, is far stronger than you and weighs hundreds of pounds and you want to give them a bath that they don’t want to have. The moms out there at least will get the picture.
Jonathan had a secret weapon that he used for training young and exuberant horses. A yellow wiffle ball bat, just like the one you played with as a kid. Now before you lose your mind about animal abuse, you need to understand that he didn’t hit a horse with the bat. He never hit any horse at all. He believed, as I do, that hitting horses usually ends up with you hurting yourself and the horse doing what it wants anyways.
The secret with the bat was that it made a noise. Remember that whoosh noise the bat made when you swung hard at the wiffle ball? Horses find that a very scary noise. They quickly learn that the scary noise comes from the bat itself. If you hold the bat, they know you wield the scary noise and they should pay attention.
Picture a long aisle running down the middle of a barn with seven stalls on each side. In each stall is a young horse who sticks its head out over the stall door and likes to bite to greet you. They aren’t mean. They bite you in a friendly way like they do with each other. The problem is of course that you are not a horse and even friendly biting hurts. I know a couple people who had their collar bones broken by a horse bite. I got picked up off the ground by a horse that reached down and bit my butt while I was working on a front foot once. I had a hickey the size of a football and a whole bunch of blood blisters on my butt. Kerry found it hilarious as did my friend the nurse at the ER.
I think that’s enough about my butt for now but it’s definitely a story for another time. Where was I?
So, when you walked in the main door at Jonathan’s barn, hanging there on the wall there were a couple wiffle ball bats. As soon as you touched one bat, all the heads sticking out of the stalls disappeared back inside. You now have the Power of the Wiffle in your hand. (I just made that term up. Patent Pending so don’t steal it)
I was trimming a young stud colt’s feet one day. Jonathan was sitting on a stool loosely holding the horse by a halter rope but never taking his eyes off the the horse. His wife, Debbie brought a pretty bay filly down the aisle to put her away. I put the foot down to let them pass but Jonathan stopped me.
“I appreciate you being careful, but we don’t stop everything just because a horse walks down the aisle. They need to learn to mind their own business. You can go back to work but just be ready to bail in case anything happens.”
His wife and the filly walked right past us, and the stud didn’t even nicker in greeting. The stud colt was too busy watching the wiffle ball bat in Jonathan’s other hand. He wasn’t threatening the horse with it. It just was there. After a while Jonathan leaned it against the stool. Still later he laid it on the concrete floor. The mere presence of the bat was enough to get the animals to focus and behave. This went on all day as we worked and it was a true pleasure to not have to worry about my butt getting nipped. (My butt again. Last time. I promise)
The final horse that day was a four-year-old racing veteran that I had shod several times. The horse had come home from the track where it had been freshly shod, and Jonathan was concerned about the horse’s heels on its front feet. We had worked hard to get this animal’s feet balanced and to have someone else shoe the horse without permission annoyed us both. I liked this horse and was comfortable around him and that may have been my downfall.
We had taken him outside to the flat concrete pad by the wash rack to clean off his legs and feet so I could get a better look. I was standing next to the horse’s flank, my left hand resting on his back, facing forward and was bent over with my other hand on my knee trying to see the animals’ heels when suddenly there was a blinding pain in my head and the world went black.
I could hear Jonathan’s voice very far away and faint along with the sound of a horse’s feet rapidly clomping on the concrete. There was blood running down my neck. No, not blood. It was cold. I reached up and found a cold cloth on my face.
Jonathan said, “Hey buddy. You with me? Take it easy, you aren’t in a fight or anything.”
It was strange he said that because I did think somebody had sucker punched me, and I needed to defend myself. I tried to get to my feet but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“Here, let me sit you up.” Jonathan got his arms around me and sat me up against the barn door.
“Here.” He gently put my glasses back on my face and suddenly I could see. The horse was standing there watching us. I wiped my face and my hand came away a little bloody. My nose was sore but not broken.
“What happened? “I managed to croak out.
“He turned his head fast to bite at a fly I think, and hit you square on the top of your head with his teeth. Your head is cut a little but not bad and when you hit the concrete you gave yourself a bloody nose, but I think you are ok. You were out for a few seconds.”
Debbie showed up with a plastic bag full of ice and carefully set it on my head. She had a small flashlight and looked in my ears, then my eyes and finally asked me to open my mouth to be sure I hadn’t hurt my teeth.
“I think he could have a concussion, and we should get him to a hospital Jonathan.”
“Wait a minute.” I said thinking of medical bills I couldn’t pay. “I think I’m ok. Help me up.”
This time my legs cooperated, and ignoring Debbie’s protests, Jonathan gave me a hand. I was a little wobbly but at least I was standing. Why that was so important to me I don’t know, but it was.
“Debbie is a nurse John, so she knows what she is talking about.”
“I understand but I would rather go home, and Kerry will take care of me. Besides my doctor is on the way home and I can stop in there quick for something like this if need be.”
Debbie was trying to clean the blood off me with a warm washcloth she produced from somewhere while inspecting me for more injuries.
“You should sit down for a minute and let me look at that cut on top of your head.”
She produced a stool and pushed me down onto it. I couldn’t figure out where she kept getting all this stuff from. I finally dismissed it as some magical nurse thing. To me, nurses seem to have magic powers and produce what they need out of thin air.
“I don’t think you need any stitches.” she said softly while dabbing my head with the cloth. “But let me put something on it.”
If I hadn’t been watching Jonathan fussing with the horse and paid more attention to Debbie, I would have been ready for the betadine she applied to my cut. Everyone has betadine at horse barns. It stings a little.
“Damn it, Debbie! That hurts!” I complained.
“Of course it does. Stop squirming.”
Who needs smelling salts when you have betadine?
Jonathan was looking at something on the horse’s face and turned to look at me with a big grin.
“If it makes you feel better John, I think your head gave him a bloody lip!”
Sure enough, the horse was bleeding a little from his lower lip. I walked over to pet and assure him there were no hard feelings. It was just an accident. He rubbed his face on my t-shirt in a friendly way leaving a little more blood on it but at least we were friends again.
“Good thing he hit me in the head,” I said with a smile. “Anywhere else and he might have hurt me.”
Jonathan laughed.
“Ugh… Men!” Debbie gathered up her first aid supplies and headed back into the barn. “I should use the wiffle bat on both of you!”
Jonathan and I looked at each other and shrugged. I pulled out my bandana from my back pocket and wiped my bloody nose.
“Let’s try this again Jonathan. Which foot was it you were concerned about?”
As you can see, in the time it would take me to tell that story to a curious passerby I could probably get three or four feet trimmed. My master used to tell me constantly that it’s possible to talk and work at the same time. He was right but being Irish, I just never got the hang of it.
So, if you ever meet someone shoeing a horse, don’t ask about horse anatomy or ask to see their scars or tell war stories. You will be doing them no favors. Instead, you be the storyteller. Tell them how your grandfather or great grandfather shod horses back in the day and never did it “that” way. That’s always a big hit with farriers. We love to be educated.
