A Young Dick Jones

My sister recently reminded me of this incident that occurred when I was ~5 years old. She had a horse at the time, and asked me if I wanted to go along with her to the blacksmith’s shop to get him shod (she is 18 years older than me). I didn’t know what “shod” meant, so I figgered I oughtta go along for the ride and see what was gonna happen to the horse, me being a naturally inquisitive kid.

We pull up to the blacksmith/horse-shoe’r dude’s place out in the country—he had a barn/shop with two large barn doors that were wide open at the time, so Sis backed the truck/trailer up and I lept out and scurried inside for a look-see.

The blacksmith dude had (apparently) JUST finished hammering out a set of shoes in anticipation of our arrival—I espied four of them hanging up on a long straight rod next to the blacksmith’s anvil and workbench.

I had to see ’em, so I dashed over to the rack and, before he could utter a word of warning or move to stop me, I picked one of the shoes up off the bar and IMMEDIATELY put it back down.

He chuckled and said: “Hot, aren’t they?”

“Nah—it just doesn’t take long to look at a horseshoe.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s