Its life begins steel, polished, and flawless. They are affixed to the bottom of a horse's hoof and trodden for an unidentified period of time; one day, one week, one month... only they know. They are damaged on edges, scratched on the face, dented, and gouged; but only they know. When they are removed, full of nails, they are discarded, and forgotten; left to rust away, but only they know.

Each has its own story, which only they know. Some may call them "ugly" others "junk", or perhaps, "useless and dirty". However, I disagree! I, with the help of some amazing friends, have reserved these horseshoes, removed the nails, heated them in a forge, red hot... removed the dirt, rust, and contaminants, and bent them into a simple ribbon shape. Some bend easily, others, almost inflexible. Some twist to the left and some to the right, some, almost symmetrical, but others, quite lopsided. Despite their unique characters, they are all quenched, inspected, hung, and painted pink.

An abundance of love, sweat, and pain are emptied into the next 24 hours, transforming what was once discarded into a thing of beauty, and a symbol of hope and moral support. Are they perfect? No. They still have their scars, but their imperfections are a representation of their unselfish journey. They all have a story, but don't we all.