The Way It Was
Learning Curve in a Southern Oregon Shoeing School
As I reached out to open the door of the nondescript building, it opened in my face. A man, the spitting image of Hoss Cartwright (think of the TV show Bonanza, for those under 50), down to the 10-gallon hat, fished about a half ounce of chaw from his lower lip, deposited it neatly on the winter-bare ground and said, “Come on in!”
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