Baxter Black
I consider myself among other things, a former horse mechanic. The horses I did veterinary work on were ranch and feedlot beasts of burden. Workin’ animals from man’s point of view.
Up until about fifty years ago that would describe most of the horses vets worked on. I was always a little vain about distinguishing that my patients worked for a living, earned their daily oats and made a contribution to the good of mankind.
Backyard horse practice sorta ranked with spayin’ cats and trimming Chihuahua’s toenails.
That same kind of ‘snobbery’ still exists, I think. Somehow working on a valuable race horse, a Tennessee walkin’ show horse, an endurance Arabian, a Budweiser Clydesdale, Fred Whitfield’s ropin’ horse, Kathy Petersen’s barrel racin’ horse, a New York city policeman’s horse, a ranch horse, a rodeo bucker, a Quarterhorse cutter, an outfitter’s packmule or a Lippizan performer is interpreted as doing something more worthwhile than fl