Rural Heritage August/September 2025

Next morning I came out to see about the mares. They seemed to be more than a little stove up. One mare had both front knees swollen up til they looked like softballs, and both mares hobbled around a little like they were sore. I looked the mares over, rubbing each leg and then went to the tack room to come out with an old standby: Absorbine liniment.This has been called a cure-all more than once, and I figured these old mares could benefit form a little drop of it here. I poured the stout smelling green liquid over the brush, wincing from the cool shock as a little dab splashed onto my hand. I began to brush the liniment into the swollen joints, and the old mare let out an audible sigh of relief as the cool minty vapor permeated the air and burnt my nostrils. She closed her eyes and I swear, she almost seemed to be smiling and she luxuriated in the relief brought from the liniment and the feel of the

brush on sore joints. I knew I hadn't done anything overly hard on the mares. The climb itself would have been the hardest part of the pull. I did think their hooves were a tad long, but I didn't think that could be any cause for concern. Just in case, I figured I'd run over to the blacksmith’s shop and see if Menno had time to come look at them. Within a half hour I was pulling in at the shop. One look to the empty hitching rail told me it was a slow day for a blacksmith on Mudsock Creek. Not a buggy horse in sight. The big double doors were open. A pile of recent hoof parings, dry manure and spent cigarette butts were swept into a pile at the edge of the concrete pad. A lazy, shaggy-haired shepherd lounged in some loose hay, gnawing a big chunk of black hoof, likely cut from a recent plow horse. He looked up at me with one blue eye, nervously

August/September 2025

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