03/27/2026
đź’Ż
Why do I cost more than other farriers? Here’s the truth you don’t see…
People see a set of shoes, a handful of nails, and maybe an hour of work—and think that’s all you’re paying for right?
If it were that simple, maybe the maths would make sense. But it’s not.
Yes - there’s the obvious: shoes, nails, fuel, insurance, ongoing professional development, professional memberships, and looking after your body with physio or chiropractic work—just to stay capable of doing the job.
But that’s only the start.
- There’s the vehicle—the workshop on wheels—that has to be bought, maintained, fuelled, repaired, and kept on the road.
- The tools, constantly wearing out and needing replacing.
- Time that isn’t seen or paid for—travelling between yards, organising work, answering messages, book-keeping, liaison with vets and bodyworkers, ordering supplies.
- Days lost to weather, cancellations, or the unpredictability of working with horses, and injury.
And behind all of it? The simple fact that this is a physically demanding job with a (potentially) limited lifespan. If you don’t manage it properly, it will finish you long before you’re ready to stop.
From the start, I was taught by my farrier master, the late, great and much-missed Slim Symons, to properly do my costings if I wanted a long-term career.
Rushing around, joining “the race to the bottom” on prices, doesn’t make for a healthy or happy practitioner—and it certainly doesn’t make for consistently well-cared-for horses.
My ethos has always been simple: don’t take on more than you can sensibly handle, and give each horse the time it deserves.
Five horses done well will always be better than ten done in a hurry. Because at the end of the day, you’re not just paying for a set of shoes, you’re paying for the time, the experience, the judgement, and the consistency of someone who is still able to turn up on time for appointments, and do the job properly, week in, week out.
This job is my passion but I also want a life outside of farriery, and the time and energy to enjoy it. That balance is just as important as any set of tools or pair of shoes—and it’s part of why every horse gets proper attention.
That only works if the whole thing is sustainable.
I want to encourage other farriers and hoofcare providers to work out what it actually costs to do the work properly, and ask yourself: would you rather be known for being *good*, or being *cheap*? Because chasing the bottom line rarely leads to longevity, happiness, or horses that are genuinely looked after.
