Shoot Low Boys, They're Riding Shetland Ponies

Before the arrival of our two bouncing baby boys, my husband and I had a full time hoof care practice. (Yes, for those of you who are sitting there chuckling to yourselves, I am one of those somewhat rare women who actually CAN and DO trim horses for a living. Been there, done that, have the knife and rasp scars to remember it all by. Get over it.) Back to the story.

We would set aside one full day every five weeks like clockwork to head to one family with a bit of Noah’s Ark going on. There were miniature goats, llamas, saddle horses, mini horses, and a couple of draft babies too. For the most part, all the equines were good. However, there is always one in the crowd who makes life interesting. In this case, it was one of the mini stallions, whom we recall fondly as Chupacabra. Chupacabra stood maybe 31 or 32 inches tall, had a long flowing mane and tail, and a shiny golden palomino coat. And fangs. No one bothered to tell him he only weighed about 250 pounds. Ok, let me revise that. I am sure, somewhere along the way, SOME unfortunate soul attempted to tell him he was a small fry. However, knowing Chupacabra well, I am also quite sure he flat out refused to LISTEN to them. He was convinced that he stood 18 hands and tipped the scales at 2,500 pounds.

Trimming Chupacabra was always interesting. My dear husband and I would draw straws to see who was pinning him down, and who was going to trim. As soon as Chupacabra saw us coming, he knew what was up. He would begin to dance around on his hind legs, waving his little forefeet in the air dangerously close to his owner’s face. His little golden ears would be pinned flat back to his skull, and there were a couple of times I am pretty sure we saw fire shoot from his nostrils. Once we managed to get his little front end back stationary on the ground, the fun would start in earnest. I often times got the short straw, which meant I trimmed. Now, trimming a mini is usually not a big deal. Sure they are a bit smaller, but on MOST of our little horse clients we could just sit down on the ground and they place their tiny little hooves oh-so-delicately in our hands. This was never to be the case with Chupacabra. Ever.

You had to be quick with this little yellow man. While the owner and his wife deflected blows aimed at them from tooth and claw in front, my husband would try and stabilize his wiggly little hindend. I would slip in as fast as I could, and try to nab a swinging hoof, hold tight, and trim. Now after a few of these sessions, Chupacabra threw in a twist. He began a Death Roll. (Note to self- do not leave Animal Planet on in the barn when humans are not there. Those Croc Hunter reruns will get us into trouble every time.) I kid you not- this was a well thought out maneuver on his part. He would wait until we were reaching for a hoof, pick himself up in the air, and throw himself to the ground and roll. This is also where he made his mistake, as it made life much easier to trim him.

Let me explain quickly here- my husband is not a tiny man. He stands just shy of 6’, and people have approached him on the street asking what NFL team he was a linebacker for. When Chupacabra decided to do his Death Roll, my husband and I looked at each other, and pounced. Turns out that having a big guy around to hold a small yellow squirming body works wonders for getting tiny hoofs trimmed!

After the first couple Death Rolls, we had a smooth system worked out. The owner would stay at Chupacabra’s head, and pray he could keep his hands, arms, fingers, and face away from little Chupacabra fangs. The wife would help hold extra legs still, so there would be no little hoof marks indented into my legs. My dear husband would sprawl across his body, holding down the bulk and also extra legs to prevent permanent hoof tattoos on my being. It all worked out pretty darn good until one fateful day. Chupacabra was in his usual prone position, with his owner at his head, the owner’s wife vainly trying to hold a hind leg, and my husband holding down the body and the front legs. I was trimming the one remaining hind leg. In the blink of an eye, we all heard a "whump" as the owner’s wife hit the dirt, cussing and holding her arm. While we were distracted by the wife rolling on the ground, Chupacabra took advantage of the situation, and sunk his little fangs rather deeply into the owner’s arm. He, of course, let go of Chupacabras head to pry those nasty little fangs off of his person and stop the bleeding. My husband was telling me to hurry up for God's sake, so I was doing my best to finish with that last hoof when WHAM- the free hind leg caught me in my calf, and sent me forward just enough that I lost my grip on him too. The only one left was my husband, trying vainly to hold down this 250 pound mini. Needless to say, that surely did not last long either. With a huge effort, Chupacabra stood up. Pretty mean feat, as my husband weighs the same as he does. My dear husband did not let go. He was determined to hold that horse. Hold that horse he did too. With his legs wrapped around Chupacabra’s neck, hands wrapped around his long flowing white tail, and he took a ride across the grassy barn yard on a fire breathing steed.

Talk about a Kodak moment. The look on my husband’s face as he gripped the tail while he was flying around the yard was priceless. The look on ol’ Chupacabra’s face was pretty impressive too. It didn’t take long for my husband to realize he could put his feet down and stand up- which he did in short order, luckily avoiding flying hind feet aimed at his person.

The score that day: The owner needed his shirt stitched, and ice packs on his arm, butterfly closures kept sutures at bay. He would up with a beautiful bruise in the shape of tiny little fangs that turned some of the prettiest colors under the sun. The owner’s wife also needed ice packs, and walked with a limp for six months from wrenching her knee on landing, though her arm healed well and the bruise only lasted about 2 weeks. I have a permanent reminder in the form of a small indentation in my calf muscle from Chupacabra’s tiny hoof. The only one that day who was unscathed was my dear husband. Well, the mental trauma from his ride on a man-eater still rears its ugly head now and again. To this day, he refuses to trim small yellow minis. Not that I blame him- Chupacabra sure did us all in!

I hear tell that the owners finally had him gelded. Whether or not he continues to Death Roll I don’t know, as they moved to NC and we moved to GA. I did get an email shortly after we all moved, asking if it would be possible for us to come to NC to trim their herd- included in the email was a picture of Chupacabra’s latest tally- a broken nose. There was also a brief description of damage done to a more "sensitive" area that I wish I had never known about. It was incentive though, for us to decide there was not enough money in the world to go back and tackle the only mini who ever gave my linebacker husband a ride.