@vonny,
You've carried me back in time, vonny. I was raised in a cobbler's shop, that being the family business. Dad taught my four brothers and me (the runt of the litter) the trade. Eventually he opened stores in five other towns in the surrounding area and put a brother and my brother-in-law in charge of them. I was the sole (?) exception. I was too interested in sniffing the leather to advance far. And the glue, oh yes. Mixing and heating 'cement' (as Dad called it) and brushing it onto roughened leather for soles and patches.
Years later, one brother and I had a small farm where we boarded and pastured a coupla dozen horses for folks. We didn't actually work with the horses, each hobby-horser being responsible for the care of their own mount(s) and mucking out the stalls, but we were around them much of the time, fetching vets and farriers, as needed. I commandeered the tack room, simply for the smell of it. Walking into the barn on a cold winter morning was pure headiness. Sold the farm last year; I hadn't been on it much in several years, only for family get-togethers and to pitch horseshoes.