12/05/2025
THE ENDLESS BATTLE BETWEEN HOLISTIC, CLASSICAL, NATURAL, FUNCTIONAL, CORRECTIVE METHODS…
…AND “I JUST TRIM THINGS.”**
(A geopolitical conflict fought exclusively on Facebook at 2am.)
Welcome to the hoof-care landscape, a place where adults with professional qualifications behave like rival cult leaders fighting for control of a small island nation made entirely of frogs and coping mechanisms.
Every method has followers.
Every follower has opinions.
Every opinion is defended with the ferocity of a starving terrier guarding a stolen sausage.
Let’s meet the factions.
THE HOLISTIC HERETICS
Float into the yard like a barefoot druid performing an exorcism on a pastern.
They trim by moon cycle, planetary alignment, and vague “energetic feedback.”
Will confidently announce your horse’s hoof is experiencing ancestral trauma.
Horse yawns.
Owner weeps.
You stare into the distance, reconsidering your life choices.
Their followers post things like:
“Science hasn’t caught up to us yet.”
Yes. Because science is busy.
THE CLASSICAL FUNDAMENTALISTS
Everything they know was chiselled into stone tablets by a dead cavalry officer in 1872.
Believe the hoof should be “exactly 52° because that’s what the book says.”
Have never met a horse who read the book.
Own compasses, rulers, and calipers that could measure tectonic plates.
Say things like:
“The toe should align with the cosmic axis.”
Nobody asks what that means because nobody wants the 40-minute explanation.
THE NATURAL EXTREMISTS
Your horse must live exactly as horses lived in the wild…
…except in the UK
…on clay soil
…in February
…in rain that can dissolve metal.
They will insist shoes are the root of all evil, forgetting that their own horse is currently 3/10 lame because the track turned into custard overnight.
Their mantra:
“He just needs movement.”
He can’t move.
He’s stuck in the mud.
He’s been in the exact same place for two hours.
THE FUNCTIONAL ENGINEERS
Do not see horses.
Only algorithms.
Carry iPads, graphs, overlays, and software that could run a satellite.
Trim according to lines drawn by a man in Ohio who hasn't touched a horse since 2014.
Say things like:
“If you just zoom in, you’ll see what the hoof should have done.”
Meanwhile, the horse steps in a bucket.
THE CORRECTIVE WEAPONISED BRIGADE
Arrive in a truck the size of a warship.
They have forges, anvils, welding equipment, a full Iron Man workshop.
If a problem can’t be solved with steel, wedges, or fire, they are uninterested.
Will attach more metal to a horse than the average Victorian bridge.
Their motto:
“Better living through hardware.”
AND THEN THERE'S YOU
Covered in hay, mud, regrets, and yesterday’s coffee.
You’re not here to join a faction.
You’re not here to recite scripture.
You’re not here to perform interpretive spiritual hoof theatre.
You just… trim things.
You show up, look at the feet, use your brain, use your tools, fix what needs fixing, and leave before someone corners you with a printout.
When asked for your “method,” you say the most triggering words imaginable:
“I use whatever works.”
This phrase alone could start a civil war.
THE COMMENT SECTION WARFARE
The battlefield.
The arena.
The place where hope goes to die.
Someone posts a frog.
Within six minutes:
A Natural Extremist says it’s thrush.
A Corrective Specialist says it needs a bar shoe.
A Holistic Practitioner suggests grounding exercises and Himalayan salt.
A Classical Purist quotes a cavalry manual from 1904.
A Functional Engineer draws 19 red arrows.
Two people start fighting about diet.
Three more argue about trimming cycles.
Someone blocks someone.
Someone reports the post.
An admin says “Ladies please.”
A rogue chiropractor enters the chat.
You turn off notifications and lie face down on the floor.
THE OUTRO — THE REAL TRUTH (WHICH THEY’LL ALL IGNORE)
All the factions — every last one — are absolutely convinced they’re doing what’s best for the horse.
They’re all right sometimes.
They’re all wrong sometimes.
And none of them, not one, has ever improved a hoof through Facebook combat.
Meanwhile you’re in the stable, being the quiet, unfashionable heretic who just… works.
You are methodless.
Factionless.
Religionless.
Faithless.
But your horses are sound.
And that, ironically, is the only doctrine that ever mattered.
