Rural Heritage August/September 2025

thumping his tail a time or two before going back to that hoof with his full attention. From the dark recesses of the shop I heard a hiss, a crackle and saw a shower of orange sparks. As my eyes adjusted, Menno came into focus, setting at a makeshift table by the forge. His eyes shielded by the welding goggles, he hadn't noticed my entrance as he worked welding the drilltec corks on the heels of a horse shoe. As I stepped closer, he gave a side ways glance in acknowledgment of my presence, turned down the flame til it fizzled out with a pop and removed his goggles.“How are things on Three Mile?” he asked with a big grin. “Well enough, I reckon. I figured I'd come over and see what you was up to.” “You see it! We was covered up yesterday, but it's feast or famine here. I sent all the help home and was thinking hitting the creek bank myself!” Now, I knew the only help he had was his cousin Harvey, so “all” didn't cover as much as it was meant to sound like. “Well, I hate to tear a man away from important tasks like fishing, but I bought a pair of mares that are in bad need of hoof work. Reckon you could come over our way and straighten'em out fer me?” “I suppose I could, are they gentle?” “So far, they've been gentle as kittens! I reckon all you'll need is your nippers and a rasp.” He grabbed his things and we hurried back to the house. The mares were still standing where I'd left them. Menno commented that from a distance they were a good looking pair. He went on into the pen to look them over while I got halters and lead rope from the barn. I haltered the mares and tied one on one side of the lot and one on the other, leaving plenty of room to work. The first mare was no problem. Menno trimmed both hooves and then sniffed. He straightened up and said,“Looks like you've been pretty rough on this one! She's still sore!” “That the thing,” I said, “They ain't worked a'tall just yet.I drove to the top of the hill and circled the hay field a time or two and they're stove up something awful” Menno twisted his mouth and never commented but I could see the wheels spinning. He was thinking something serious, but he didn't want to comment. The next mare was a little less agreeable to the hoof trimming. She refused to lift her hoof, which was only

slightly smaller than a good-sized iron skillet. While Menno tugged and tried to convince her to remove the weight, she suddenly came forward with a good kick from the back hoof, missing, but still getting his attention. I asked Menno if he thought we might ought to twitch her? I told him I'd run get some hay string and a corn cob and we could wind up that front lip to get her attention if he thought it would help. He was just discussing our options when she suddenly lunged forward and kicked sideways at Menno. She was starting to show the makings of being a pure outlaw about her hind feet. Menno stepped back and scratched his head.“I'd never have thought she'd act like that! I don't think we can trim her without a set of stocks!” I was suddenly more than a little aggravated and said “Oh, we'll trim the ol' gal! Never you mind that! I'll scotch hobble her if we need to, but I'll not have one a kickin' like that!” Menno said he had never heard of “scotch hobbling,” but if I thought it would work, he was willing to give it a try. I went back in the barn and came out with the rope. I tied a big lope around the mare’s neck, letting it rest loosely back against her shoulders, then taking a doubled piece and threw them back through between her hind legs I picked up the ends and brought them back up through the neck loop. While the mare fussed and fumed, not liking the situation at all, we hauled the offending leg up from the ground and tied it off in the loop with a slip knot and enough loose ends that I could pull it quick if things went sour. Next, I pulled off my flannel shirt, rolled it a few times and tied it over her eyes,“Ol gal, I reckon things are about to happen you might not wanna see! “ I said. I held the lead rope in one hand and took a hold of her closest ear with the other hand. “I reckon you can trim her now!” I said. “Iffen she don't stand still, I'll wring this hyer ear. Iffen that don't work, I'll bite it.” Menno shook his head and grinned, not sure he believed me. He picked up the hoof and the old mare tried to lunge once more. I gave the ear a good twist. Her reach was shorted considerably with that back leg, but she still wanted to shake hands with Menno something fierce. As she snorted and lunged, I leaned over the ear in my hand and sunk my canine teeth into the tip. The old mare slung her head but began to slacken the fight. As I ground my teeth into her ear she seemed

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