My splendid stepfather, John Keegan, has been a little involved in the horseracing industry as a hobby. He owned a couple of racehorses, and he worked with a wonderful trainer, Doris Harwood, at Emerald Downs. Through her, I learned that from time to time, wonderfully sound and smart horses that have been trained for racing just aren't winning enough to earn their keep and, as an investment, it just doesn't make sense to the owners to continue racing them.
So, the horses need to find someone who will care for them and turn them into pasture pets or train them for uses other than competitive racing. The horses found me. And Atticus and I are so happy that they did.
 |
| Check out little Attie's tail! We've got it wrapped because I accidentally shut it in the door. I thought it was nothing til I noticed blood splattered all over my walls, and thought, "what on earth..." He had a little cut and every time he wagged that long tail (which he does ALOT), blood spattered everywhere.. The bandage doesn't phase him. He still thinks he's a horse. |
I adopted these guys with the goal of turning them into good "trailhorses." And, that is just what I have done. Well, maybe your typical quarter horse owner or cowboy might beg to differ, but for me, they are trailhorses. Or at least, they are trailhorses when I (or they) want them to be trailhorses.
But, while they conform when they need to, at their core, they are racehorses, or rather, wild, hotblooded, free spirits, with spunk, attitude, spirit, and fight. They remind me of this everyday as they pass time in the pasture.
And, every year when we prepare for riding season, they remind me again:
It seems that they need to remind themselves, as much as me, that no matter how many fallen trees they maneuver, regardless of the number of rocky slopes they handle with nerves of steel, or the number of plastic bags and grouse that appear out of nowhere without as much as a flinch from the horses, these horses are, at their core, bold, hotblooded, strong, fierce, unbridled and full of character. Sure, they have learned the etiquette, and they know how I want them to behave, and they are willing to do it. They might even enjoy it. But, at their core, they are a bundle of power, grace and beauty balancing on four spindly legs, which they allow to be harnessed.
I get that. And it doesn't take long until they realize that I do.
Certainly not your conventional horseman logic. I'm no trainer, and most of the wranglers and trainers and horsemen in these parts would think I'm an idealistic, sentimental, pansy who obviously knows nothing about horses. But, that's okay. I like imagining that there actually is a certain relationship or understanding between my horses and me.
Now's the time in this blog for me to bring it all together into a meaningful takeaway, but, well, I've got nothing. I used Derby Day as an excuse to string together some words and photos about my horses. The best I can do for now is this: those horses, they are what they are, and they are not trailhorses; but, it is because they are what they are that they have become such wonderfully fun trailhorses. A more eloquent writer (like Johann von Goethe) would say it something like this, perhaps:
All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own.Maybe that doesn't mean quite the same thing as I was attempting, but, it's related. Happy weekend. My life (and my hat) are waiting for me outside!
