Let’s get one thing straight — our job isn’t just to make the hoof look pretty or prevent a horse from limping around like it’s in a bad Spaghetti Western. Most of us aren’t vets, so forget about calling us podiatrists. We’re too skilled and proud to be called something hip and trendy like hoof stylists.

No, we’re farriers — the front-line soldiers in the war to keep Fluffy sound and Fluffy’s owners/trainers from losing their minds: part magician, part miracle worker. Admired by many, listened to by few — blamed by all. Our job is to keep a living, breathing creature from literally buckling under its own weight (or the weight of its owner). We’re in a profession where ADHD isn’t a disorder, it’s very nearly a prerequisite. You’re dealing with biomechanics, the very essence of locomotion, and the delicate balance between performance and injury.  So, why are you treating every case like it’s straight out of a textbook?

Textbooks are like training wheels — they’re useful when you’re starting out, but they’re restrictive when you get used to them. And guess what? Not every horse reads the textbook.

Throw Out the Playbook

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