decided to teach myself to be a farrier. I bought a great leather apron, a set of hoof shears, a hoof knife and a rasp. I also bought a book called Farrier Science. Interestingly enough, I still have this book on my shelf over thirty years later. I diligently followed word for word what the book suggested. First I had to learn how to pick up the horse’s leg and how to stand with the hoof in my lap. Little Kalahari also had to learn to give his hoof to me and between the two of us, I think he was the quicker learner. We did, however, progress and before long I became proficient at the job.
After waiting to back him for a year, we eventually placed a saddle on his back and I started riding him. Because he was now doing more work his hooves started to wear much faster. I could not continue to trim them because if you cut too much off the hoof you expose live tissues, which can of course be extremely painful. I needed to shoe him. As word gets around, I’d been trimming hooves for a number of horses now for a year but I’d never attempted to shoe a horse. And this would not be a straightforward job. Although I was not aware of the term at the time, it would call for ‘corrective shoeing’, a cornerstone of hoof care and equine health. I didn’t have any equipment but I remedied this immediately. I bought a farrier hammer and all the bits and pieces I would need to shoe Little Kalahari. I took an impression of his hoof and bought some shoes. I was now well and truly tooled for the job. All I needed was the courage to do it.
I was very nervous about nailing a shoe to a live hoof. I read the theory over and over again and I practised nailing a shoe onto a wooden model of a hoof. It seemed relatively simple but I was highly aware of the fact that the wooden model was not able to kick or bleed if struck in the wrong place. However, always prepared to try something new, I convinced myself that I was up to the task. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I told myself hopefully.
Kathy agreed to assist me. She would hold the horse for me and offer advice while I would try to do the job. (Thirty years later we still work in the exactly the same way.) I had been tapping Little Kalahari’s hoof with a hammer for the last few weeks to get him used to the feeling and now was the day to actually fit the shoes. It took me about fifteen minutes to shape the shoe to fit his hoof. I then took a deep breath and prepared myself for the next exciting episode.
Farrier nails are bevelled and it is important to place the nail in such a way that the flat side of the nail points out while the bevel points to the inside of the hoof. In this way the point will automatically appear in the correct spot on the outer wall of the hoof. If I was going to make a mistake, this would be it. I carefully aligned the nail and tapped it into the hoof. Like magic the nail appeared in the correct spot on the lateral hoof wall. I had done it, or at least I now had one nail in the hoof. Only six more to go. Without much fuss but with a lot of adrenaline I got the shoe on. I then did the other front hoof and after spending nearly an hour of time and a bucket of sweat the job was done. I stood back to evaluate my work. I had seen many pictures of well shod horses and when I compared my work, all I could say was ‘not bad’.
Repetition is a great teacher and over the years of owning Little Kalahari, I became skilled at this wonderful if somewhat archaic task. I ended up selling Little Kalahari but I visited him often and I know that his hoof never gave him trouble again throughout his life. He lived to the grand old age of twenty-one.
I might have bought the wrong horse but it’s a mistake I am glad I made. It was a mistake that gave me a taste of what it is like to work with animals. It was a mistake that showed me how rewarding it is to learn new things. And it confirmed for me that there was nothing more to wait for. I married Kathy and we went to vet school.
***
‘No hoof, no horse,’ the words, pronounced with a distinct Malmesburg brei, rang out like a clarion in the lecture hall. I wanted to know more. I also wanted to do more.
Now in my first year of vet school, I decided that it was time to further my studies as a farrier. Addressing him by his first name and with all the confidence of a young and newly-married man, I asked the resident vet in charge of horses, Dr Hercules van Niekerk, if I could act as farrier to the horses under his care. It took a very long time to get back into his good books. I found out that it was not the request that had offended him but the fact that I had familiarly addressed him as ‘Hercules’. He was also known as ‘Hercie’ for short but thank goodness I had not gone that far. This was just one example of what can happen when an Englishman ends up in Pretoria.
Once communication was back on track, Dr Van Niekerk explained that the shoeing was being attended to by a final year vet student who was also a professional farrier. His name was Steven O’Grady from the USA and he was a true expert in the field. Aware that it was beneath the dignity of a final year student to fraternise with a first year student, I nonetheless decided that Mr O’Grady was going to help me learn to be a better farrier whether he wanted to or not.
Steve was truly a master. I knew enough about shoeing horses to realise that I actually knew nothing. To witness the ease and grace with which he did his job made me determined that I too would be good at this wonderful, ancient craft. He had a beautiful anvil and a portable forge that had a fan that was powered by his car battery. You make a fire and then switch the fan on – this blasts oxygen through the fire, which makes it hot enough to melt metal. This was the first time I had actually witnessed this and I wanted to do it too. After watching him at work, I introduced myself and tried to engage him in conversation. It would have been more fun talking to a brick wall. Undaunted, I made drawings of his forge and took notes about his equipment. Each time I saw him do something I practised it myself whenever I had the opportunity. Slowly but surely I improved.
While on holiday in Cape Town I asked my Uncle Maurice, a motor mechanic, to make me a forge. Within a week I had a great working forge and was the proud owner of an anvil, a present from a family friend. By the end of my holiday I was tooled up almost as well as Steve was. Now all I had to do was acquire some of the knowledge that he had. Within a short while I became quite skilled at using a forge and adjusting the shoes after heating them to a wonderful cherry red in the fire. I would beat out a rhythm with my hammer whilst the shoe was held firmly on the anvil. I did this because Steve did this and it seemed so cool. It also took some of the effort out of what was a very hard and physically demanding job.
The next term I met Sparks Erasmus. Sparks was an assistant in the anatomy department and had some knowledge of farrier science. We decided to put the word out that we were available to shoe and trim horses on Saturdays and then waited for the clients and their horses to come rolling in. Before long, they really did come rolling in and we had more work than we could cope with. I continued to observe Steve when and where I could and I practised many of the techniques I learned covertly from him.
Soon I could shoe ten to twelve horses on a Saturday. Sparks did the same number of horses and we shared costs so between us we were making a fairly decent amount of money. Over the next five years at university I made my mark as a farrier. I worked with the department of surgery and became skilled at specialised shoeing. I was fit and strong and could shape a shoe to fit even the most problematic of cases and feet. I had a great working knowledge of lameness in horses.
At this point I thought that I would become an equine vet. A large proportion of equine veterinary science is to do with lameness and I felt that I really had a head start. However, I landed up as a small animal vet and all the knowledge that I had garnered slowly seeped out of my head. I do have a souvenir from those days and that is a damaged back.
A few years ago my wife and daughter started riding again and bought horses. They decided to keep their horses unshod. This, I told myself, was going to be my comeback. I’d get fit, buy some tools and rekindle my passion for this craft. But, alas, it was not to be. My hands were too soft for the job and I was too unfit to do more than one foot without taking a rest. And my back was killing me. As I limped back to the house, I told my wife to call a professional farrier. My farrier days were well and truly over.
