The mule named Toby had a good life. He lived in a big field with his pal the little Shetland mare Marguerite who was sweet tempered, patient and gentle. He had shade and sunshine all summer and a stable full of straw and hay in winter. Lots of water in a huge old fashioned bathtub which was never empty. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. Toby was king of the castle in his little corner of Aquitaine.
He didn’t see a lot of human people, and that suited him just fine, he didn’t care two hoots about human people. It is a fact well-known to all equines and those who understand and love them, that the most important thing in a horse’s world, is other horses (...not at all their “owners”, whatever they like to think!)
It is indeed human people that caused his only occasional worries. By the time he had reached the age of twelve, Toby had had very few contacts with human people. His owner, Monsieur Martin, satisfied all his basic needs without ever bothering him. As far as Toby was concerned, things couldn’t have been better. Ah, of course, from time to time, Monsieur Martin would have like Toby to have been seen by a vet or a farrier, but since Toto buzzed off to the far corner of his field every time somebody turned up, nobody had ever managed to catch him.
Of course, human people always think they’re cleverer than anybody else, don’t they?... To try and approach Toby, they try to slow him down by putting some sedatives in his pony nuts. Who did they take him for, honestly? As if he wasn’t going to notice straightaway that they’d put some rubbish in his food? He carefully swallowed what he liked and left the rest. The thing is, Toby was practically a wild pony and therefore behaved like any equine does naturally: he instinctively did what was needed for his survival and his independence. Since he had plenty of good food and drink, why should he take some unknown smelly stuff?
And so it came to pass that poor Mr Martin, who was, after all, only a poor human person full of good intentions but limited as to his knowledge of mules, gave up all hope of ever catching Toby. He had to make do, day after day, season after season, year after year, with loving Toby from afar, and just providing him with the bare essentials.
Madame Poqueur, next-door neighbour of Mr Martin, Toby and Marguerite, was walking by with her little dog Cinderella when she noticed the amazing length and curvy shape of Toby’s hoofs. It reminded her of those slippers sometimes called mules, from the Thousand and One Night stories.
  She pointed this out to Cinderella, but as her little dog didn’t seem to respond very helpfully, Madame Poqueur decided to contact someone else. That’s how ASHA got involved.
It’s not right, is it, for a mule to have such long and curved hoofs?
No, it’s not right. It does indeed show that there’s something amiss with the way Toby’s cared for. That’s what Marjolein explained to Mr Martin. Mr Martin wasn’t at all pleased.
“What do you mean, I neglect my horses? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Madame, let me tell you! Do they lack food, drink, company, space? Do they? Many human people on this planet would dearly love to be so well cared for...etc...etc...”
“But what about his hoofs?” ventured Marjolein“ Ah, that can’t be helped. It’s not for lack of trying, but nobody can get anywhere near him, how can we tend his feet? Back in the days of my poor dear deceased wife Eugénie, it was a different story. Every day, she came to see him. He would run to her. She stroked him and talked to him. But since she left us, nothing’s been the same; Toto has become practically wild.”
For strangely enough, Toby still managed to run, and pretty fast too, with his wonky hoofs. But you could see it was awkward for him, it looked as if all his feet were limping at once. It was both at the same time, funny and painful to watch, this frightened pony who stumped along in a clumsy canter...
Marjolein could see that Mr Martin was getting on his high horse, and that wasn’t what she wanted, not at all. That’s not what ASHA is about. At ASHA, we mean well, we want to make people happy, human and equine people alike. There are no enemies, just folks who don’t realise their mistakes, and we seek to help them all in a peace-minded way.
Marjolein said to Mr Martin, “Don’t worry, we can help you.”
“It would take a miracle, or magic to get near Toby!”
“As it happens, we have a magician. She’ll do the trick. You’ll see! You be amazed.”
The magician called Helen arrived the next morning.
“Leave it to me,” said Helen, “don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” replied Mr Martin, serene but wary (Who’s this nutter? He was wondering) But believe me, you won’t get near Toby.”
“Let me try to get acquainted...” Helen entered the field, stopped in a corner, waited. From time to time, she peeped towards Toby, at other times, she pretended not to be in the slightest bit interested in him.
“Who’s this nutter?” wondered Toby, wary and not at all serene.
At the end of a couple of hours, Toby was no more than 50 cm away from Helen, he was smelling her, listening to her (she spoke equine language fluently) , he was even looking at her and gently touching her shoulder and her cheek.
Mr Martin couldn’t get over it. He was beginning to believe in magic and miracles. He and Helen were becoming friends.
“OK! See you next week!”
Same time, same place. Helen is back with Toby, on Toby’s patch. This time, Mr Martin welcomes her with open arms, and Toby isn’t looking as wary. He even comes towards her, and, under Mr Martin’s amazed eyes, Toby, who has recognised Helen, comes to her (not closer than 50 cm, though!). He sniffs her, touches her with the tip of his nose. Helen didn’t try to catch him, and when she walked away, he didn’t follow her, but he kept looking at her. Helen decided to teach him a fun game. She had brought with her a head collar. She dropped that on the grass.
“So what?” thought Toby...But after a while, he put his head down and started smelling it, then he moved it about a bit. From one thing to another, and from week to week, this game developed until Toby found himself looking forward to his new friend’s visits. Helen never tried to catch Toby until he was ready. She started gently stroking him at the end of her second visit.
Less than three months later, Toby allowed Helen to put a head collar on him. Mr Martin a delighted to be able to stroke his mule again (in Helen’s presence!) and Toby started letting Helen take his foot.
One day, Simon came with his equipment. He’s not a farrier, he files and trims hoofs so that horses can go barefoot, without shoes. He treats each equine differently, according to his own particular needs. Helen first spent, as she did every week, a good half- hour in the field with Toby, persuading him that life was a cabaret, human people are not all bad, and the fate of a mule in Aquitaine is the best in the world. That Monday morning, after this little session, followed by an amount of touching and tapping Toby’s front hoofs, she said to Simon, “Can you come with your gear?” Simon approached very gently. (Simon does everything gently, he never gets worked up. He is zen.) He crouched down, holding his pincers as close as possible to Toby’s left foot, pretending that was all he wanted to do. Toby trusted him, and eventually let Simon cut a tiny bit of pointy hoof off. Then a bit more, and a bit more. Then the right foot, until pretty soon, Toby’s hoofs were no longer so long... What bliss! What a success!
It all took quite a while, because nobody was in a hurry, particularly Toby who thought that the only urgent thing was to wait and see...So, from time to time, he would buzz off as if he wanted to try everybody’s patience: human people can be so irritating with their demands!...
Well, in the end, Toby allowed Simon to finish the job. It took a few more weeks, but now Toby’s hoofs are becoming practically normal, Toby is more and more friendly and Mr Martin is as happy as Toby and his brave rescuers!