Introducing our new advice column, Ask Stable Sage, where we answer queries from readers about horse- and life-related issues, especially where the two intersect. Take our suggestions with a grain of salt, or at least one sugar cube. This column is intended for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered legal advice. 

Have a question for Stable Sage? Email it to coth.advice@gmail.com. We reserve the right to edit your submission for clarity and length, and we promise to keep it anonymous. Please don’t send us questions better intended for your trainer: We can’t improve your flying changes or half-pass in this format.

Dear Stable Sage,

Over the past two years since my farrier—let’s call her Jill—has been doing my horses’ feet, we’ve become really great friends. Chatting for hours while she worked turned into grabbing happy hour margaritas, which spawned the brilliant idea that we should take up kayaking, which has led to semi-regular cabin getaways with our two families. Our kids play in the woods, our husbands chill on the deck, and Jill and I hit the river. It’s lovely.

Except that … my horse’s hooves have gone to sh*t, and I’m pretty sure Jill’s shoeing is to blame. It was a slow, gradual deterioration; for a long time I didn’t really notice or just wrote it off as a fluke. After all, I’m not the professional; she is. 

I finally brought it up in a non-confrontational way, like, “Do you think his heels are looking a little low?” She cocked her head, “Hmmm, they look OK to me.” Another time, when I mentioned mismatched angles, she joked that my eyesight must be going. We laughed it off, awkwardly.

But now it’s starting to show up in mild to moderate unsoundnesses. Not just in one horse—in several. I’m 99% convinced it’s compensation for the unbalanced shoeing. 

What am I supposed to do here? Of course, I want to do right by my horses, and if it was anyone else I’d have (politely) fired them months ago. But I feel barely capable of calling Jill up for an emergency shoe tack-on (I mean, she has a life, too), much less calling her out on something I can’t even prove. There’s added pressure because I am Jill’s biggest account, and letting her go would be a big hit to her family income. 

Is there a way to navigate this situation without losing my friend? 

Sincerely,

Shoe Struggs

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Dear Shoe Struggs,

This is a tough one. You’re caught between two important relationships—one professional, one personal—that have become so intertwined it’s hard to pull them apart.

Farriers are like the hairdressers of the horse world. You trust them not just with their craft but with your worries, your stories, and sometimes, your heart. The big difference is the level of consequence involved, i.e. a bad haircut might make you want to hide your head under the pillow but it’s not going to put you on bedrest.

Shoe Struggs, it sounds like you’ve already arrived at an important decision here—something has to give. 

I don’t love Jill’s response (or lack thereof) to your concerns, but your communication hasn’t exactly been crystal clear either. Confrontation isn’t easy and being afraid of it is common, especially if you’re used to feeling like your role is to keep everything calm. Maybe you grew up in an environment where conflict meant raised voices or slammed doors, so now even a gentle confrontation makes your stomach churn. Your instinct to keep the peace can show up in subtle ways—like avoiding tough convos and overthinking how to express your needs.

It seeps into other moments too, like when you hesitate to call Jill for an emergency trip to the barn. You respect her boundaries, which is great. But here’s the million-dollar question: why don’t you respect your own? Why is her comfort, her peace, her livelihood worth more than yours? That’s the thing with peacekeepers—they know how to give space to others but forget that they deserve the same consideration.

Avoiding conflict in an attempt to keep everybody comfortable doesn’t make the problem disappear. It just pushes it down until it pops up as stress, resentment, guilt, or random urges to tip over Jill’s kayak—none of which are helping your horses or your friendship with Jill.

It’s not selfish to prioritize your horses’ well-being and your peace of mind. And boundaries aren’t barriers to push people away nor, clearly, do they always prevent clients from becoming besties with their farrier. They’re the framework that lets you show up in relationships without losing yourself. 

By speaking up, you’re not just standing up for your horses—you’re giving yourself permission to say, “My needs matter too,” without the guilt hangover. They’re what set the stage for relationships that don’t drain you dry. 

Try reframing confrontation as a form of care. Yes, it feels risky, but it’s also a sign that you respect Jill enough to be honest: “Hey, something isn’t right, and we need to figure it out together.” Real friendships can handle uncomfortable conversations.

And guess what? Shoeing is based on measurable objectives, not subjective opinions. If angles look wonky, a hoof gauge—that protractor-looking farrier thingee—can help provide clarity. Jill might already have one, or you could pick one up for about $50. It’s a solid investment for any barn.

It could also be beneficial to involve an expert third-party, like a lameness specialist, to help identify the root of the problem. Not to poop on your gut feeling, but it’s not totally out of the realm of possibility that there’s more to the story than shoeing. Bring Jill into the process, if she’s open to it. This way, you’re working as a team toward a shared goal. 

If the root cause is shoeing, and Jill is receptive and willing to learn or adapt, you might be able to maintain both relationships. If she resists or becomes defensive, then you’ll know where things stand.

If a professional breakup becomes inevitable, you need to be real with yourself in advance that it could cost you the friendship. You can do everything perfectly and politely, but you can’t always predict someone else’s reaction. 

Jill could be fine and understand and be motivated to up her game with the next client. She could be embarrassed and come back later grateful for your transparency. Or, she could be pissed and avoid you from now on. That’s a thing that people do. 

While you can’t control her response, you can choose to be kind and to honor however she wishes to move forward. Here’s a sample script, which you should rewrite from the bottom of your own heart (important note: DO NOT TEXT. SAY DIRECTLY TO FACE.): “Jill, these recurring issues are impacting my horses’ soundness. I value our friendship so much, but I need to prioritize their health.” 

Emphasize that you’d love to keep your friendship intact and hope she understands. These are two different relationships, and while you’d love to maintain one, the other might have to change.

Best of luck.