Rachel Wise
Horseshoes are meant to be lucky.
We paint them and preen them and tie them with white satin ribbon and give them to brides to carry on their wedding day.
We make wee gold and silver ones as lucky charms and flaunt them on necklaces, signet rings and charm bracelets. We nail them onto doors - open side up of course and nice and even so that none of the luck can spill out.
It always makes me wonder, just why are they lucky? Because if you find a horseshoe all it really means is that somewhere there is a horse that's missing one.
Lately it's been quite likely to be my horse.
And that's not good luck in my book - in fact it veers sharply in the direction of bad luck.
For the most part, over the last decade or so, I have had my horses barefoot.
In human terms barefoot simply means not wearing any shoes. In equestrian terms when you confess to having a barefoot horse, serious equestrians look at you funny, step away a bit and change the subject.
"Barefooters" are oft considered the equestrian version of tree-hugging, hemp-wearing, leather-and-meat shunning mantra-chanting hippy folk.
I won't reveal how much of that applies to myself, but as far as putting shoes on my horses goes, mainly shoes are needed for extra traction and protection if you are going to be going far, fast, or jumping imposing obstacles.
I am moderately unlikely to be doing any of that anytime soon. So my horses were happy to potter about with bare feet, in their recyclable hemp saddles.
Until Chalkie.
Chalkie made it known early on he was not having any of this hippy nonsense.
Thrusting aside my hand-woven unbleached muslin bridle he demanded shoes, damn it, and lots of them.
Chalkie couldn't possibly potter about in bare feet. Quite apart from how it would look to the other horses - his feet were soft, pampered, and tender!
I attempted to ride him on my favourite river trail and he limped pitifully, stumbling and staggering and demanding I piggyback him home.
I tried riding him in my grassy paddock and he claimed his legs were, quite possibly, broken.
I rode him in the softest footing in the softest equestrian arena I could find. Maybe only a couple of his legs were broken, he admitted, but the other two were most definitely different lengths and he couldn't possibly use them like that.
So I rang the farrier to have Chalkie shod.
Now, like most equestrians I spend money on rugs for my horses while I resent the cost of clothing myself. I book the equine dentist like a shot but when I get a human toothache I take painkillers and grumble.
I will get a virus and carry on, but a cough from my horse brings on a call to the vet requesting blood tests, antibiotics and a referral to a specialist.
So the bill for Chalkie's shoes well eclipsed what I would pay to dress my own feet - even given that he got four shoes where I only need two at a time.
They were fitted, filed and nailed on firmly.
Chalkie liked them, I was all good with it, and we hit the trails happily.
A couple of weeks later Chalkie presented at the paddock gate wearing just three of his nice new shoes and a smug look on his face.
He couldn't possibly be ridden like this, he claimed. Look - it was sore - he demonstrated by strolling off with a pronounced limp.
It took me two days to find that shoe.
At which he promptly lost another one. This one took three days to locate.
The farrier came and put them back on again at moderate - but still more than I would pay for human shoes - expense.
A week later and Chalkie flung another shoe to the breeze.
I was tired of searching by now so enlisted the grandsons and offered to pay them.
"Do you know what a horseshoe looks like?" I asked.
"Yes," answered the eldest, "I have seen them in cartoons on TV. They are golden!"
"I wish," I told him and showed him the ones that remained on Chalkie's feet.
He was disappointed they were steel, with a bit of rust and some dirt. The absent shoe was located, nailed on again and Chalkie resigned himself to getting back to work.
A couple of rides later I could hear an ominous jingling sound that signalled a loose shoe.
"You haven't?"
Chalkie promptly stepped out of a front shoe and left it lying in the paddock.
It's now hanging on the fence. Next to the one he shook off yesterday. They are hanging open-side down but I figure all the luck had well run out of them anyway.
Chalkie is looking smug.
He's assuring me he can't possibly be ridden all sad and barefoot. But I have news for him.
If he can't be trusted with his nice shiny steel shoes he's on for a special treat. I'm knitting him some organic hemp sneakers.