Hoofology (2025)

05/10/2025

PART 1 - WHAT PROPRIOCEPTION ACTUALLY IS

THE BODY’S HIDDEN SENSE

If movement were a language, proprioception would be its grammar — unseen but essential, holding everything together. It is the horse’s ability to sense the position, movement, and load of its body without relying on sight. Every footfall, every correction of balance, every collected stride depends on this continuous stream of feedback.

In practice, proprioception allows the horse to know where each limb is, how much pressure it bears, and how to adjust instantly. Without it, the body becomes uncertain — hesitant, clumsy, unsafe.

THE MECHANORECEPTORS AT WORK

Proprioception is powered by millions of mechanoreceptors — tiny sensory nerve endings that register stretch, pressure, vibration, and load. They’re found in muscles, tendons, ligaments, joint capsules, fascia, skin — and crucially, within the structures of the hoof.

These receptors send constant electrical signals through afferent nerve fibres to the spinal cord and brain. The cerebellum, the brain’s coordination centre, processes that information within milliseconds, comparing real-time data with stored “movement maps.” The result is constant correction before the conscious brain is even aware a change is needed.

In the distal limb, this feedback arrives mainly via the digital nerves, combining input from:

– Muscle spindles, detecting changes in muscle length and contraction speed.

– Golgi tendon organs, sensing tension and preventing overload.

– Joint and cutaneous receptors, registering pressure, stretch, and vibration.

Together they create a detailed internal picture of limb position and load — the neurological foundation of every stride.

PROPRIOCEPTION AND BALANCE

These two concepts are related but not identical.
Balance is the outcome — the horse remaining upright and coordinated.
Proprioception is the process — the feedback loop that makes balance possible.

A horse may look strong yet still lack proprioceptive accuracy. It might stumble, trip, or misjudge footing even when mechanically sound. That isn’t inattention; it’s incomplete sensory information.

WHEN THE SYSTEM WEAKENS

Proprioception is dynamic and trainable. Like muscle tone, it sharpens through use and dulls through neglect. Horses kept on flat, predictable surfaces — concrete yards, deep arenas, level paddocks — receive little variation in sensory input. Over time, the feedback loop grows quieter.

By contrast, horses moving over natural, mixed terrain — gravel, grass, stone, slope, mud — get thousands of small proprioceptive “reminders” every day. Each stimulus strengthens the system, training both limb and brain to respond faster and more precisely.

Early signs of diminished proprioception often appear before overt pathology:

– Intermittent stumbling or toe-dragging.

– Uneven rhythm on changing ground.

– A sense that the horse “doesn’t know where its feet are.”

– Muscle bracing or overreliance on vision for stability.

Left unaddressed, sensory dullness increases the risk of missteps, strain, and secondary lameness.

WHY THIS MATTERS TO HOOF CARE

For hoof-care professionals, proprioception is not an abstract neurological idea — it’s the sensory foundation of everything we see. The hoof is not a passive block of horn; it’s a living interface between horse and ground. Every variation in surface, texture, or firmness feeds data into the nervous system.

Pain, chronic pathology, or excessive isolation from ground contact interrupt that feedback loop. The horse may still move, but it no longer moves intelligently. Subtle imbalance, shortened stride, or delayed correction often trace back to diminished sensory input rather than mechanical fault.

Every trim, every load-bearing surface, every shoe or boot design either supports or weakens that information flow. In practice this means:

– Preserving healthy frog and sole contact wherever feasible.

– Avoiding over-removal of protective or sensory tissue.

– Recognising that constant over-protection can have neurological side-effects, not just mechanical ones.

A hoof that can feel, adjusts. A hoof that cannot, guesses.

REFRAMING MOVEMENT

Understanding proprioception shifts the focus from structure to system. The horse is not simply a collection of joints and levers but a biological feedback network, constantly sensing and recalibrating. This conversation between body and brain makes movement safe, efficient, and expressive.

When that conversation is dulled — by pain, rigidity, or sensory deprivation — the horse may still appear sound, yet move without true confidence or fluidity.

KEY TAKEAWAYS

– Proprioception is the “sixth sense” of body awareness.

– It depends on mechanoreceptors throughout the body, especially in the hoof.

– It can be trained and supported through varied movement and functional hoof contact.

– Hoof care decisions directly influence sensory feedback and coordination.

03/10/2025

OUTRAGEOUS – AN INDUSTRY IN CRISIS. OR IS IT…

THE SURFACE STORY
From the outside, it can look like the entire equine world is in freefall. Depending on which corner of the internet you stumble into, you’ll hear that veterinary medicine has lost its grip on fundamentals, that farriery is trapped in tradition, that barefoot practitioners are overstepping, that owners are uneducated, irresponsible, or both. Every platform seems to have its own version of the same alarm bell.

We’re told that the industry is in crisis: standards are slipping, welfare is compromised, professionals are polarised, and the future looks uncertain.

The outrage is compelling. It’s easy to share. It gives shape to unease and channels frustration into neatly packaged narratives: villains, victims, solutions. But the surface story is rarely the whole story. The louder the crisis talk gets, the easier it is to miss what’s actually happening on the ground.

A COMPLEX SYSTEM, NOT A SINGULAR PROBLEM
The equine world isn’t one industry but a tangle of overlapping systems: veterinary, farriery, barefoot hoof care, livery yards, riding schools, competition circuits, feed and supplement markets, owner communities.

Each has its own training structures, economic pressures, professional standards, and blind spots. When people say “the industry is broken,” what they often mean is that one part of that system failed to meet their expectations — or collided with another part in a way that exposed the gaps between them.

Shoeing vs. barefoot debates, vet vs. trimmer tensions, conflicting rehab protocols, nutritional philosophies that barely speak the same language — these aren’t signs of a single monolithic collapse. They’re signs of a system that has grown unevenly, where knowledge and practice advance at different speeds, and where economic and educational structures haven’t caught up with the complexity of modern horse care.

THE QUIET REALITY UNDERNEATH
Step away from the comment sections and into real yards, and a quieter, more nuanced reality unfolds.

Horses are being successfully rehabilitated from chronic laminitis, navicular pain, caudal failure. Not always quickly, not always perfectly — but with steadily improving outcomes compared to even a decade ago.

Owners are learning to read hoof growth patterns, to weigh forage, to question mineral ratios, to document change. Vets and hoof care professionals are collaborating more, not less, in places where trust has been deliberately built.

Experienced farriers are experimenting with new materials and approaches; barefoot practitioners are refining their rehab methods with more clinical insight. Quiet case studies are shared at conferences, in field notes, on small professional networks. None of this trends. But it happens, every day, often outside the public eye.

WHERE THE REAL PRESSURE LIES
The real difficulties don’t come from a single failing group, but from the friction between structures.

Education remains uneven — both for professionals and owners. Access to experienced, genuinely skilled practitioners is patchy, especially in rural areas. Economic pressures squeeze decision-making: many owners simply can’t afford ideal rehab setups, and many professionals are stretched thin, balancing travel, client expectations, and their own financial survival.

Meanwhile, the social media landscape rewards extremes. Nuance is slow; outrage is fast. A horse slowly recovering over 18 months doesn’t make for a compelling viral post. A mismanaged case, a heated professional clash, or a black-and-white statement does. That imbalance shapes perception more than practice does.

PROGRESS, UNREMARKABLE BY DESIGN
Real progress in this field isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t involve declarations of revolution or dramatic collapses.

It involves slow learning curves, iterative case work, stubborn persistence, and small shifts that accumulate over time. It’s a vet quietly adjusting their diagnostic approach after years of working with a rehab trimmer. It’s a farrier attending a nutrition talk out of curiosity, not ideology. It’s an owner keeping meticulous hoof photos and slowly realising what they’re seeing.

These moments rarely get framed as “industry change” — but they are precisely what industry change looks like. Not a single, explosive crisis, but a gradual reweaving of professional practice, often unnoticed by those shouting loudest.

HOLDING TWO TRUTHS AT ONCE
It’s not wrong to say that there are serious problems. There are. Access, education, regulation, collaboration, economic realities — all need sustained attention. Some horses are let down badly by the system, and some professionals resist change long after the evidence is clear.

Outrage has its place; it can draw attention where quiet diplomacy fails.

But it’s equally true that “crisis” is not the whole story. Beneath the noise, meaningful work continues. The landscape is uneven, but not barren. The equine world isn’t burning; it’s evolving — awkwardly, unevenly, sometimes painfully, but undeniably.

Just a note from the footpath.

02/10/2025

PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE, PART II

(aka: How to say “That’s utter bollocks” without losing the client)

Hoof care is 20% skill, 10% strength, 70% saying polite things while people spout absolute nonsense in your face. We call it diplomacy. Outsiders call it having the patience of a saint. We call it not wanting to get banned from yet another yard.

Here’s the real dictionary of professional etiquette:

– “That’s an interesting perspective.”
= That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but fine, let’s play pretend.

– “I’ll keep that in mind.”
= I’ll keep it in mind never to repeat this idiocy unless I want to get laughed out of a conference.

– “There are lots of different approaches.”
= And you’ve chosen the one that requires a Ouija board and a PhD in pseudoscience.

– “The horse will tell us what works.”
= The horse is telling us, loudly, right now, that it hates you and your theory. But sure, let’s ignore that.

– “Science is always evolving.”
= But your brain clearly isn’t.

– “I haven’t seen that method used myself.”
= Because it doesn’t exist, and if it did, it would be banned under the Geneva Convention.

– “Let’s agree to disagree.”
= I’m right, you’re wrong, but if I keep arguing I’ll end up on the evening news.

– “Hmm.”
= My final defence before snapping. Translation: shut up or die.

Bonus Level Diplomacy for when you’re really at the edge:

– “That’s an old-school way of looking at it.”
= So old that it belongs in a museum between arsenic toothpaste and lobotomies.

– “Interesting, where did you hear that?”
= I already know the answer is ‘a Facebook group run by a woman named Moonchild,’ but let’s hear you dig your own grave.

– “We’ll see how the horse responds.”
= We’ll see how quickly the horse recovers once I undo your medieval nonsense.

This is the armour we wear. The fake smile. The polite nod. The saintly phrases we deploy instead of:
– “Shut up.”
– “That’s wrong.”
– “If you say one more word, I will use this rasp in ways it was not designed for.”

Professional etiquette isn’t about being nice. It’s about survival. Because if we said what we were actually thinking? There wouldn’t be enough coffee or bail money in the world.

01/10/2025

PART 3 — DONKEYS, MULES & OTHER RELATIVES WHO REFUSE TO BE LIKE US

Line up a horse, a donkey, and a mule, and you’ll find three creatures that look, at a casual glance, more or less the same. Four legs, long ears (longer in some than others), and a certain stubborn gleam in the eye. But look at their feet, and suddenly you’re peering into three different evolutionary biographies.

THE DESERT SPECIALIST

The donkey is not, as many people imagine, a small horse with better comic timing. Its evolutionary story took place in arid, rocky landscapes where survival meant walking endless miles on abrasive terrain under a blistering sun. Its hooves reflect that: steeper, denser, more cylindrical than those of horses. The horn is tighter, harder, less porous. The frog is proportionally smaller, more recessed. The entire foot is a vertical column designed for toughness.

On dry ground, the system is flawless. Each step wears the horn neatly. The density of the capsule keeps infection at bay. The smaller frog suits the firm, rocky surfaces. Donkeys thrive in conditions that would wreck a Thoroughbred.

But transplant that donkey to northern Europe, put it on lush pasture and soggy soil, and you have a problem. The tough, dense capsule that shrugs off sand and stone softens in constant wet. The metabolic system that evolved for sparse scrub suddenly faces ryegrass like rocket fuel. Laminitis, thrush, seedy toe, collapsed heels: pathologies pile up. The donkey is not fragile. It is simply designed for the wrong theatre.

THE HYBRID ENIGMA

Then there is the mule — part horse, part donkey, and wholly unpredictable. A mule’s hoof is not a neat arithmetic blend. It is not half horse, half donkey, sitting obediently in between. Instead, it is a hybrid cocktail.

Many mules inherit the dense, upright hoof wall of the donkey, with the morphology of the horse layered over it. Often narrower than horse feet, frequently more infection-resistant, mules can boast a resilience that frustrates pathogens and delights owners. But they are also contrary. One mule may grow feet that trim like a dream. Another may produce hooves that seem to sneer at every rasp stroke, defying expectations and leaving the practitioner muttering under their breath.

This unpredictability is evolution’s sense of humour at work. Cross a donkey and a horse, and you don’t get an average. You get a roll of the genetic dice. The result is a foot that refuses to be filed neatly under one set of rules.

THE COST OF ASSUMPTION

What unites donkeys and mules is that they refuse to play along with equine assumptions. Too often, they are treated as “horses but smaller.” But a donkey frog is not a horse frog. A mule heel is not a horse heel. Expecting them to behave the same way is like expecting a camel to graze happily in a dairy field.

This is not academic nit-picking. It has very real welfare consequences. Many donkeys suffer from neglect not because owners don’t care, but because they simply assume horse rules apply. Farriers and trimmers, too, sometimes fall into the trap of working donkey feet with horse expectations. The result is pathology, frustration, and a sense that donkeys are “difficult.” They are not difficult. They are different.

ANATOMY AS A MAP

Comparative anatomy is not a parlour game for paleontologists. It is the map that guides practical hoof care. Knowing that donkey horn is denser explains why rasps bounce differently. Knowing that mule capsules can resist infection better helps predict treatment outcomes. Understanding the evolutionary pathway each species took prevents us from imposing the wrong blueprint.

It is easy to forget, when you stand under a horse, that each hoof you touch is part of a much bigger family tree. Horses, donkeys, and mules are cousins, but not clones. Their feet are evolutionary diaries, written in keratin.

A LITTLE HUMILITY

What all this really teaches us is humility. Hoof care is not about stamping one system across all species. It is about listening to the history in front of you. A donkey’s steep capsule whispers of deserts and stones. A mule’s unpredictable walls mutter of mixed heritage. A horse’s flatter foot remembers the plains. None of them are “wrong.” They are simply themselves — each shaped by the environments that made them.

So the next time you hear someone say “a hoof is a hoof,” look down at a donkey’s neat column, a mule’s hybrid mystery, or a horse’s broader arc. What you are really seeing is evolution’s refusal to repeat itself.

Not one hoof, but many stories.

29/09/2025

PART 3: ENVIRONMENT & MANAGEMENT

Environment makes or breaks winter hoof health. Mud, frost, and bedding can undo months of good trimming and diet.

MUD CONTROL
Eliminating mud everywhere is unrealistic. The goal is reliable dry areas: hardstanding, pea gravel, geotextile pads at gateways, water points, and hay stations. Even small dry pads transform hoof resilience.

FROZEN GROUND
Freeze–thaw cycles create sharp ruts. Thin-soled horses are prone to bruising. Mitigation = route choice, boots where necessary, careful turnout after night frosts.

STABLING & BEDDING
Stabling reduces circulation and movement. Bedding must absorb moisture and neutralise ammonia, which softens horn. Keep entrances dry; use grids, mats, or gravel to avoid churn.

MOVEMENT IS MEDICINE
Every step pumps blood through the digital cushion. Daily free movement supports sole growth, frog function, and circulation. If turnout is limited, provide track systems, in-hand walking, or short multiple turnout windows.

RUGGING & THERMAL ECONOMY
Rugging alters calorie expenditure. Over-rugged metabolic horses may keep weight too easily; unclipped horses in cold rain may burn too much. Align rugging and clipping with body-condition goals.

👉 OWNER TIP: Engineer dry footing, manage frost risk, control ammonia, and keep horses moving.

28/09/2025

PART 1: WHAT PATHOLOGY REALLY MEANS

We often talk about pathology as if it’s a verdict. Laminitis. Navicular. White line disease. Words that fall heavy, like doors shutting. But pathology is not just the name we give to a condition — it is the whole story of what tissues do when life pushes them too far. It’s the body’s history written into horn, bone, blood and fibre. Sometimes it is a story of resilience, sometimes of collapse, more often a mixture of both.

A hoof may look solid, but it is alive. The outer capsule is horn, yes, but beneath it lies a suspension system of laminae, a bone suspended within, a cushion designed to absorb shock, blood vessels, nerves, ligaments, tendons — all working within the tight confines of a rigid shell. And it is that confinement that makes hoof pathology unlike any other. In most parts of the body, inflammation produces swelling. In the hoof, there is no room to swell. Pressure builds instead. Pain arrives not just from injury, but from the body’s own attempt to heal itself.

Pathology is not an on–off switch. It is a sliding scale, and horses spend more time in its grey zones than we realise. Small cracks, minor wall separations, low-grade inflammation — these things may tick along for years without producing crisis. The hoof adapts, compensates, redistributes forces, remodels tissues. But there are thresholds. At some point, the balance tips. The compensation fails. What looked like “fine” yesterday becomes lameness today. It feels sudden, but it rarely is. Pathology is the current that runs beneath the surface long before it shows itself.

And that surface is deceptive. A toe crack looks mechanical, but its root may be weak horn from dietary imbalance, leverage forces from a flare, microbes seizing a chance to colonise oxygen-starved tissue. A case of thrush is not simply “dirty feet,” but the interplay of environment, horn quality, and impaired self-cleaning. The outward sign is only the tip; pathology is the deep story underneath.

At the same time, pathology is not simply decline. It is repair as well. Scar tissue is pathology. New wall growing down to replace a laminar wedge is pathology. Bone remodelling after strain is pathology. None of it returns the tissue to its pristine, textbook form. But it restores function. A hoof that has carried laminitis may never look “normal” again — but it can become strong, stable, and serve the horse for years. Pathology is not the opposite of healing. It is healing, written in the language of compromise.

This matters because how we think shapes how we act. If we treat pathology as nothing more than a label, we stop at the name. But when we see it as a process, we ask different questions. Not just what condition is this, but what is happening in these tissues, and where are they on the spectrum between adaptation and damage? That shift makes us better listeners to the hoof.

It also helps us avoid the traps of panic or dismissal. We don’t assume every ugly radiograph means pain, nor do we ignore a horse in obvious distress because “the x-rays look fine.” We learn that pathology and pain are related, but not always proportional. We understand that one horse can remodel bone extensively and stay comfortable, while another struggles with pain long before changes show on film.

Pathology also gives us the bridge between the other lenses we use. Morphology shows us the form: the flare, the distortion, the rotation. Kinematics shows us the movement: the shortened stride, the toe-first landing, the altered load. Pathology explains why they changed. It is the thread that ties form and function into one continuous story.

And that is why we begin here. Because to work with hooves is to read stories written in tissue. Pathology is not simply a list of conditions to memorise. It is a language. It tells us what the hoof has endured, how it has coped, where it has broken, and where it has healed. To learn that language is to see beyond cracks and labels, into the living reality of the hoof itself.

27/09/2025

THE FUTURE IS CYBORG

Finished my first custom set of Goodsmith hoof boots — fitted to each hoof, all parts exchangeable, rehab bases available.

A proper modular system: build it, change it, adapt it. One set, endless possibilities.

25/09/2025

AN ODE TO THE GOOD CLIENTS 🫶

(You exist. We see you. We love you.)

This one’s for the clients who make us sigh with relief as we turn into the yard.
The ones who meet us at the gate with horse in hand, brushed, feet picked, coffee offered, and no emergency chaos in sight.

The ones who read what we send, listen when we speak, and don’t ask us to trim their 29-year-old Cushingoid cob “just a smidge shorter because he’s going hunting this weekend.”

This is for:

– The ones who hold the lead rope without simultaneously holding a phone, a toddler, and a conversation about their cousin’s divorce

– The ones who say, “He’s been a bit footy, let me show you a video” before we even spot the half-moon bruise in the toe

– The ones who know what copper is, and better yet, why ratios matter (and don’t bring us a mineral block as evidence of nutritional diligence)

– The ones who check the forecast, the track, the surface, and cancel if it’s a swamp — not at 9:03am as we pull in, but the night before, with an apologetic emoji

– The ones who say “Take your time” — and mean it, instead of watching the clock like we’re on borrowed oxygen

We salute:

– The hand-drawn rehab charts with actual dates that line up with reality

– The labelled forage samples in resealable bags (you angels)

– The immaculate hoof boots that don’t smell like compost bins

– The side-quest texts that start with “Quick question, don’t worry if it’s a no” instead of “Can I just pick your brain for three hours?”

– The horses who stand calm, because you are calm (and because you actually pick up their feet between visits)

You’re not perfect — nobody is. But you’re in the arena. You’re asking questions, you’re learning, adjusting, showing up, standing still (both of you), and yes — paying the invoice on time.

You tag us in wins.
You don’t hide the wobbles.
You say thank you — and then you go out in the mud, in the wind, in the chaos of horse ownership, and you keep doing the hard work that no one claps for.

We notice.
We remember.
We silently thank you as we drive away, a little less tired than we were when we pulled in.

You’re the reason we still love this job.
Keep going. We’re with you.

24/09/2025

PART 2 — THE FOOT BONE THAT RULES THEM ALL

Hidden inside every hoof is a bone with the gloriously melodramatic title of the coffin bone. Anatomists prefer the rather drier “P3,” but even that sounds like a Cold War fighter jet. It is not large, nor intimidating, nor even particularly beautiful. If you came across one in a box of odds and ends, you might mistake it for an oddly-shaped bit of coral or something your dog dragged in from the beach. Yet this unassuming lump of porous bone is the blueprint of the entire hoof.

THE BLUEPRINT IN BONE

The hoof capsule — that glossy wall of horn that farriers rasp and trimmers balance — is not, in truth, free to do as it pleases. It is a shell moulded over P3. If the coffin bone is flat, the hoof grows flat. If it is steep and arched, the hoof follows suit. Trim styles may polish or disguise, but the bone writes the first draft.

P3 is shaped like a crescent moon, riddled with small holes where blood vessels and nerves weave through. It is surprisingly light, almost fragile-looking — hardly what you’d expect for the structure that carries the horse’s entire weight. But that is where the hoof capsule comes in. Horn provides the armour. The coffin bone provides the frame. Together, they form a structure that is both delicate and astonishingly durable, provided it is treated as nature intended.

EVOLUTIONARY CLUTTER

The horse’s lower limb is also a museum of evolutionary oddities. Running down either side of the cannon bone are splint bones — the withered remnants of toes long discarded. Millions of years ago, those toes touched the ground. Now they serve no role beyond occasionally splintering or forming bony lumps to puzzle owners and vets.

Then there are chestnuts and ergots — those peculiar, callus-like growths found higher on the legs and near the fetlocks. The best guess is that they are echoes of ancient pads, once functional, now merely decorative. Evolution, ever the hoarder, rarely throws anything away. Instead, it leaves these little breadcrumbs of history on the body, like forgotten buttons on an old coat.

Put it all together, and the equine leg looks less like the pinnacle of design and more like a DIY project built from spare parts. Yet somehow, improbably, it works — and works well enough that horses have not only survived, but thrived, for millions of years.

A DESIGN WITH LIMITS

It is tempting to think of the hoof as perfect, but perfection is a word evolution has no use for. Evolution does not design for “best.” It designs for “good enough.” The one-toed hoof, built on the foundation of P3, was good enough to let horses outpace predators, travel long distances, and graze vast territories. That was all it needed to do.

What it was not designed for was life in domestication. The coffin bone blueprint anticipates arid ground, constant movement, sparse forage. It does not anticipate wet winters, rich ryegrass, or hours of standing in stables. It does not anticipate farriers balancing capsules every six weeks, or owners applying oils and resins in search of cosmetic shine. It certainly does not anticipate ponies eating their bodyweight in improved pasture while barely moving more than a few hundred metres a day.

And so we encounter the paradox. A hoof that is strong enough to carry a horse across continents is simultaneously vulnerable to crumbling in British mud. A structure that can withstand the pounding of migration over stony plains can collapse under the strain of metabolic overload. The problem is not poor design. The problem is the mismatch between blueprint and environment.

WHAT P3 TEACHES US

For hoof care practitioners, the coffin bone is both guide and reminder. Radiographs showing the angle of P3 reveal why hooves look the way they do, why walls flare or collapse, why toes grow long or heels underrun. You cannot argue with the bone. The hoof capsule is a faithful mirror.

At the same time, P3 is a cautionary tale. It shows us that evolution solves the problems of one era, not another. The hoof we work on today is a time capsule of ancient steppe survival, forced into landscapes it was never built for. To understand its strengths and weaknesses, we have to think both like anatomists and like historians.

THE COFFIN BONE IN CONTEXT

So next time you pick up a hoof, imagine the bone hidden within. Imagine it as the crescent-shaped frame dictating every angle you see. Imagine the splints alongside, ghosts of toes past. Imagine the chestnuts, useless relics clinging stubbornly to the limb. The hoof is not a polished final product. It is a patchwork of history.

That patchwork, improbably, has lasted for millions of years. It has carried animals through ice ages, across continents, over terrains as varied as tundra and desert. And now it carries them through riding schools, eventing arenas, and weekend hacks. A design both brilliant and limited. A reminder that what we call “the perfect hoof” is, in fact, an evolutionary compromise.

22/09/2025

PART 2: HOOF CARE ADAPTATIONS

Hoof growth slows in winter, but distortion and infection risk don’t. Care must adapt.

TRIM CYCLES
Cold reduces horn growth, but toes still creep forward and heels still underrun. Extending intervals often backfires. Many horses hold well at 4–7 weeks in winter; fragile feet may need shorter cycles.

SOLE & FROG PROTECTION
Frozen ruts and hard ground punish over-pared feet. Preserve sole depth and frog callus. Boots with pads protect compromised hooves while preserving function. Keep pads dry to avoid microbial growth.

THRUSH & WHITE LINE DISEASE
Winter mud and stabling create the perfect storm. Fusobacterium necrophorum and keratin-eating fungi thrive in deep sulci and stretched white lines. The best prevention is environmental control: daily picking, clean dry standing, and balanced trim. Topical treatments help, but environment fixes last.

CRACKS & SEPARATIONS
Flares, cracks, and old nail tracts are microbial entry points. Address leverage and loading before chasing “miracle” crack treatments. Cracks are symptoms of imbalance, not standalone conditions.

OWNER TIP: Stay on schedule, protect structures, prioritise daily hygiene, and provide dry standing time.

Hoofology

05/10/2025

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