“I don’t know. Uncle John didn’t like how the man and his family were handling Patch, so he offered to buy him. He didn’t ask a lot of questions.”
“And how did the horse come to be yours?”
“I told my uncle I’d like to have him if I could,” she said. “I knew Patch might give me some trouble, but I had to do something. Like I told you before, he just seemed so sad.”
I gave the young teen a smile. “I guess if I had hooves in as bad a shape as these are I’d be sad too.”
“So what happens next?”
“Well, now that his hooves are all cleaned out, we’ll hot shoe him. That’ll give him a good fit and fix the problem of the uneven wear and tear.”
“What about his not wanting to follow commands?” Trudy persisted. “What are we supposed to do? Daed knows you’re good at helping horses with behavior problems. He told me to ask you about that.”
I appreciated hearing those words of affirmation, especially considering I was still new to the horse-shoeing business. That I was known to have a way with horses—even before I went to farrier school—was what I hoped would allow me to establish my own shop someday. I liked the idea that people thought of me as something of an expert on how to calm and coax an agitated or spooked horse. It wasn’t something I had studied up on or anything. I always figured it was an ability God had given me because I respected horses so much.
“What kinds of behaviors are you seeing?” I asked.
“Well, for one thing,” the girl said, “he doesn’t like anyone at his side. At all. In fact, I’m amazed he’s been letting you stand there like that.”
“Sounds like something’s making him feel as if he’s in danger, like he’s got a flaw or ache he can’t let anyone see.” I turned to Trudy. “Horses will hide their weaknesses, even if there is no true danger to them in showing it. There are really just two kinds of animals, you know—prey and predator. Flight animals and fight animals.”
Trudy’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, maybe in the jungle or something. But this is Lancaster County.”
I smiled. “Horses understand which one they are, even in the domesticated world. They don’t stop thinking like horses just because they start driving buggies. Every horse knows he’s prey, not predator, and that his flank is his most exposed vulnerability.”
“You’re saying Patch is scared he’s in danger, and that’s what makes him act the way he does?” Trudy looked from the horse to me, trying to understand.
I stroked the animal, caressing his long neck, hoping to draw out some of his anxiety through the gentlest of touches. “In the wild, a horse can never let on to the herd or a predator that he’s easy to pick off, or even wounded in some way. He has to hide all of that to survive.”
Trudy moved forward and put her hand on the horse’s neck near mine. Patch swung his head around and nodded, as if to say, “The man’s right.”
“How can I convince him I mean him no harm?” she asked.
This was always the part that intrigued me the most, figuring out how to get a horse to drop its defenses and learn to trust again. It usually took some time—and a little sleuthing. Some horses didn’t like certain noises, some feared tall things or shiny things or painted stripes on the road or puddles or stop signs. Once I understood what the issue was, it all came down to trust. If I could get a horse to trust me, it was a lot easier to get him to trust his owner. And only when a horse trusted his owner would he obey.
Back when I was still working at my father’s buggy shop, friends and sometimes friends of friends would bring over their problem horses so I could work with them. It was no big deal really, just an extra something we offered as part of the buggy trade. Usually, for a skittish driving horse, I would spend an hour or so with it a couple times a week, trying to figure out what it was afraid of and then helping it understand that the thing it feared was not going to cause it harm.
I would be happy to work with Patch as well, though not today. Amos and Rosanna—my boss and his wife—had instructed Owen and me to leave our afternoon clear. They had already left in a hired car for the Lancaster train station to pick up their niece, Priscilla, who was moving back here after having been away for more than six years. They wanted everyone to be available upon their return to welcome her home.
And it was to be a big welcome indeed. Much of the Kinsinger extended family was coming to greet Priscilla and share in a big celebratory meal. In fact, judging by the rattle of buggies out in the drive, it sounded as though some of them had already begun to arrive.