Somebody… please take his shoes off

I left the vet’s office sobbing so hard I couldn’t speak. Andy sat on the other end of the phone, saying, “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry, and let’s make sure to get a second opinion. We had done everything at that point after a bad farrier job, new farrier, new shoes, massage, ice, salt, And while he improved he was still lame and the whole time my heart kept saying what if we take his shoes off? I didn’t know why, but from my holistic background it seemed to make sense.

In that moment I was devastated, I heard words like “severe” and his “future is not bright” about my beloved horse Waylon.

According to this vet my options were clear: cut the nerve or consider putting him down to stop the pain. That was it.

The others—bursa injections, coffin bone injections—they were just Band-Aids on a bullet wound. They treated symptoms, not the source.

The issue was a cyst… on his navicular bone.

The dreaded, “always”- a-problem navicular bone.

I got home and looked up “cut the nerve,” texting Andy and my mom:

I don’t understand.

If we cut the nerve, how can he feel the world beneath him?

How can he trust where he’s going?

How does it make him feel?

How can I trust being on his back if he has no feeling? The listened to me.

They heard me cry. This can’t be it.

The horse world says, “No hoof, no horse,” and now they want to cut the nerve?

I couldn’t stop crying. I want to help—but I didn’t know how.

There had to be a better way.

I needed to think. I needed to breathe.

I drove up the mountain to talk to God.

I pulled over and sat on the side of the road.

“God, what do I do?”

And I heard:

“You have the power to heal. I gave you that power. He has the same power to heal—it’s in you.”

Jesus said so. The Bible says so.

Okay, I thought. If the power is within me, there must be another option there has to be a better answer.

I got home and pulled out every horse book I had. There has to be something.

Yet, All I could think was:

Please, somebody, take his shoes off. I don’t know why just please someone listen.

I had been asking for months.

And I kept getting the same answer: “It can’t be done.”

But I kept pleading—please, take his shoes off.

The world—my world—and my world of horses, would never be the same.

So I went to the computer.

There has to be a better answer. A different way.

Show me, God. Show me.

Article after article, Facebook post after post. Bar shoes. Osphos. Injections. Steroids.

And explanations on why it’s okay to cut the nerve.

“They’re fine.”

“We’ve done it at the track.”

“Oh, he’ll feel better.”

But it all felt like Band-Aids over a bullet wound.

Not just for Waylon’s foot—

But for my heart.

Different Google searches, one after another—

And then God reminded me:

“Ask, and you shall receive.” I kept asking.

And there it was:

An article by a vet—Dr. Thomas Teskey—on why nerving is bad.

Why we shouldn’t do it.

Then his website.

Then his videos.

I remember thinking:

Yes. This is what I’ve been looking for.

Someone who put into words what I knew deep down but couldn’t explain.

A vet with different way.

A light at the end of what felt like a cave—

But turned out to be the light at beginning of a new journey.

He talked about grounding.

I thought, I do that for myself.

Now my horse needs to do that too.

A.K.A. be barefoot.

Please, somebody, take his shoes off.

I kept thinking:

God made us perfectly, in His image.

I read a verse about the body being whole.

I told Andy,

“God didn’t mess up when He made  us and he didn’t mess up when he made horses.

He didn’t send them down here with metal on their feet.

Why do we mess with His creation?” My questions didn’t stop.

Wild horses don’t have shoes—

And how are their feet?

Every where I looked I got the same answer:

“This is just how it’s done.”

I thought about metal—how hot it gets. How stiff it is.

I thought about my own toes when I take my boots off—

“Oh gosh, yes… that feels so good.”

Even rubber soles take away our sense of grounding.

So I danced barefoot in the corral,

Calling in good vibes, healing, prayer.

Red light therapy.

Nutrition.

Massage.

I did it all—and still do.

I emailed Dr. Teskey.

Please, God—let him write me back.

The next day:

“Hey Nikki. Don’t let them scare you. I’ve seen way worse on x-rays. Here are some resources.”

Relief. Hope.

A few emails back and forth…

Then:

“Hey Nikki, would you like to bring Waylon up to our ranch? I’m about an hour from you.”

God. Wow. He’s only an hour away.

YES. YES. YES.

When can I come?

The appointment was made about a week out and I thought I still think it will help if I can get his shoes off. And my appointment was with a vet not a farrier. Little did I know Dr. Teskey was a Ferriar before he was a vet.

So I was still looking for a farrier.

I asked at bars, churches, feed, stores, I was calling and emailing anyone I could, anyone who would simply take his shoes off. Andy offered to fly down in a week or two “just” to take his shoes off. Ok, hope. Someone is listening

Finally—I got a local farriers number, highly recommended.

He came over.

We argued.

I paid him $50 to leave.

“A horse with navicular can’t go barefoot.” I was told.

I didn’t care who was “right.”

I didn’t care what had been done for years.

All I could think was:

Please—take his shoes off. Let him be free. Please someone help me help him.

The day of the appointment with Dr. Teskey came.

We made it.

I prayed the whole way:

Please… take his shoes off. I hope we have found hope.

Dr. Teskey’s book had arrived the day before.

I had just read the introduction.

He wrote about our connection to the earth.

Our love for horses.

Do no harm.

And how, as long as you keep moving, the bullets of the status quo can’t hit you, when you challenge them and  keep asking questions.

Hope.

We arrived at Dr. Teskey’s ranch.

I told Waylon,

I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can. I promise.

And then it happened—

The last day Waylon will ever have metal nailed to his feet.

Shoes off.

We watched as he took longer strides.

He didn’t kick the dirt as much.

I saw where the hoof had been too compressed via the shoe.

And I saw a light in his eyes that said:

Thank you, Mom. Thank you.

I still can’t put words to that day besides:

Thank you, God. You are so good.

Driving home, I just kept saying:

I wish there were more words than thank you.

My world changed that day.

So did Waylon’s.

So did my mission.

That night, Dr. Teskey sent me the photos from the day.

One in particular struck me—

It reminded me of “Let there be light.”

A beam of sunlight rested on Waylon’s back.

A glow above him.

It brought me to tears.

His glow was back. His light was back.

Waylon has healed me many times.

This time—I got to return the favor.

It’s been a week and a half since the shoes came off.

He’s standing square.

He already shows signs of improvement.

New boots are on the way.

While the cyst may never go away completely, now he has the chance to heal. To do what he does and we do best let the body work its magic and as Dr.Teskey said it's time to "heal for real"

This has reignited my passion to help horses and humans.

I know these beautiful divine encounters are no mistake.

How could they be?

If you really look, there is beauty in everything. Even in the pain.

As I left Teskey’s ranch, I saw flowers emerging from the rough edges of a cactus.

It’s not what’s on the outside that matters—

It’s the beauty that comes from within.

We humans often think we know best.

But if we simply look…

Listen…

And become present…

The Garden of Eden has always been right in front of our eyes.

Nature is showing us the answers.

All we have to do is get out of the way—

So we can see the Light and run barefoot on the earth.

So always, please… listen to your heart.