Woman and beast

I wasn't looking forward to my first appointment of the day. Not, I would stress, because of the owner, who is a lovely lady and always a pleasure to visit, but because of the beast.

The beast in question is a half tonne, rather spoilt, cob-like creature who looks like a scaled up version of a fells pony. He's not. HE is the product of - well, something's liaison with a warm-blood....apparently. In my imagination he has all the qualities of the Horse of the Apocolypse but bigger. The real beast is actually only 15.1 hand high but he has the presence of something more like 17hh.

So....hooves.....He has them.....fine, big, boulder-crushing hooves. Unfortunately today they are also 'Hoof Trimmer Crushing' hooves.

The trim is rather overdue....one of those things that I've been putting off due (in part) to other work coming in, the fact that the horse has always been awesomely sound and also due to my fear of the beast.

"Where would you like him?" she says with beast on a (not insubstantial) rope.
"Whereever," I say, "preferably away from any solid objects that he might crush me against."
"Rightio!" She says cheerfully.
Suddenly the wind picks up and blows a large quantity of oak leaves around the yard. Just my luck. Beast is now going to fake 'spooky' behaviour. I am going to be crushed to death, my bones snapping like twigs, left a pile of fabric and bones amongst a pile of hoof nippers, rasp and hoof stand. Contrary to popular opinion I do not wish to be buried in my trimming apron but rather in my scuber diving kit along with gas cylinders. Cremated preferably. I will go out with a 'bang'.....The newspaper will say, "Hoof Trimmer, tragically crushed to death......mourners comment, "who will trim Billy/Flash/Binky (delete as applicable) now?"

Anyroad, back to the present. Here I am with a beast of a horse. Horse views me disdainfully, but hay net with great interest. He takes some large mouthfuls and commences movement in a large arc. I move. Back the other way. I move again. It takes a little bit of time, but after a while it dawns on me that I will not be able to trim that front hoof without risking life and limb. I am decided. I do not want to die today.
"Can I get you to hold him for me please?" I ask. She cheerfully obliges.
 "I'm doing Pirelli with him now!" she smiles, "he's ever so good!"
"Will it make him stand still?" I ask hopefully.
"Errrrr....." She says. I'm not convinced. I nip three hooves and then commence rasping. I dodge moving hooves, repeatedly. The owner, ever cheerful, is also getting ever more frustrated. So am I.
"This horse needs training", I say. Owner bites her lip and looks at me shyly. "I will get my clicker. You get some treats and click and treat exactly when I say. The owner hurries away and returns with large chunks of carrot. I look disdainfully at the large chunks and say, "you got lots?" She did.

It took me very little time to complete my trim of the beast, transforming his overgrown dirty hooves into perfectly manicured boulder-crushers.
"Its a miracle!!" the owner exclaimed.
"Where is that coffee?" I said.