FarmWife's daughter treated her to a professional hoof trim today—that is, FarmWife presented her own work-worn fingers to a manicurist at yonder shopping mall and watched him work his magic. The poor chap probably didn't know what hit him. FarmWife's fingers had never been pampered much, you see, so he wrestled with myriad hangnails, battered unkempt cuticles into submission, and finally coated the whole thing in a layer of clear shellac (FarmWife drawing the line at colored polish). Daughter, in the next chair over, got black polish on her own hoofies. This, she explained later, was so that she might match the dog.
We recently celebrated Toenail Day here at Bent Barrow Farm, upon which occasion we all submit to FarmWife's ministrations to our own hooves and claws. The rabbits get cradled like footballs and have their toenails chopped with a guillotine-style cutter, the goat sits in FarmWife's lap and presents her funny feet one at a time, and Arrietty and I stand in the shed with poise while we are trimmed and rasped. You can tell by the nature of the proceedings who among us has retained our dignity.