Saturday, February 27, 2010

Testing God - Seeking Answers


After hanging up with Nate, I put in a phone call to another veterinarian that did a lot of work for the Kentucky chapter of ReRun. This guy is a phenomenal vet, and I knew that he would be able to answer my question. But because he does work directly with some clients at the track, I wanted to be careful not to put him in a bad spot.

“Hey Chris, I need to access your super human brain cells,” I joked when I finally got him on the phone. “I’ve got a question, but remember to dummy down the answer for me.”

“No problem,” the good doctor said, but I knew it would be, because speaking in medical-eze is just the way he rolls. “What’s up?”

“I came across a drug that I’m unfamiliar with,” I started, “and I want to know what it would be used for.”

“Uh oh, did a new ReRun disaster ship in?” the doc wanted to know.

“Um, no, not exactly,” I hedged, giving him the name of the drug.

“Oh, that’s an antibiotic,” Chris said.

“What? I thought it was illegal to run on antibiotics!” Realizing a little too late that I might have just blurted out a bit too much.

“No, not all of ‘em, just some of ‘em, It can also depend on how they’re used.” Chris returned, obviously eating and driving while we spoke. “But…”

“But what?” I wanted to know. “Your ‘but’ sounded a little weird.”

“Well, that antibiotic is fairly use-specific,” Chris continued. “In fact, I can only think of one use for it.” A long pause while the chewing continued.

“Which would be…?” I prompted.

“That antibiotic would be mixed in with cortisone or whatever was getting put into a joint. They would be using it if the joint had already been injected a lot, and they had a pretty good idea that there may be some infection.”

Daily Notes: I’ve had the oddest feeling all day today. I’ve not gotten much accomplished, either. I can’t seem to think straight. When I turned on the TV this morning at 5:45, the breaking news story was about yet another earthquake and the resulting tsunami warnings for the entire Pacific Rim.

That, on top of Haiti, on top of a small quake near Chicago and record-breaking snowstorms. I think somebody is trying to get our attention.

If you have a Bible, flip to Matthew 24 and Luke 21.

I’m cutting to the chase here, folks. For those of you reading along that don’t know what I’m talking about when I say ‘end times,’ (or even if you do) check out the following:

http://www.joelrosenberg.com/

From the home page, click on Blog and then look for the February 27th postings. Then check out the Four Spiritual Truths that you can access with a mouse click.

All I’m asking you to do is think about it. Then make an assessment. I made my assessment a long time ago, and the more I study about the Tribulation, the more certain I am that I don’t want to be here for that party. I’ll take Jesus, thank you very much.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Testing God - Anatomy of a Breakdown, con't

As I perused the paperwork that now completely covered the island in my kitchen, I tried to piece together the racing career of the horse that had broken down. I was also trying to match the drug records to each of the horse’s races.

I found a notation in the horse’s not too distant past performances of “DNF.” This stands for Did Not Finish, and indicates that the horse did not make the full course before being eased. Not good, for sure.

Much of what I saw was pretty much what I had expected, but there was something that puzzled me. On the list of medications along with several drugs that I was familiar with there was one that I had never heard of.

I decided to make a couple phone calls. Luckily, through my ReRun connections I had ties to the best vets in the biz. These vets work for world renowned equine hospitals here in Lexington and the majority of their clients are Thoroughbred owners and breeders. Because of this, I kept all of my questions general.

The first call I made was to a young vet who had a reputation as somewhat of a wiz kid. This guy was indeed brilliant. Nate had become a personal friend of ours, as he had devoted much time to the cause of equine rescue. He and I served together on the board of a group whose goal was to try to standardize Thoroughbred rescue groups. He was often my sounding board for much of the frustration I felt dealing with an industry who adamantly denied that there was any sort of problem with misuse of drugs.

“Nate, hey, thanks for taking my call,” I began. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t take much of your time. I just have a quick question for you.”

“Fire when ready,” he said, which is code for ‘hurry it up.’

“I have a list of race-day medications that I’m looking at, and…” That was as far as I got before my friend jumped in.

“You want to know what they do?” Nate interrupted. “Read me the list…I’m curious to see what all these horses run on.”

My buddy is a little hyper, to say the least. And always, always in a hurry. But that’s likely because his talents are in such high demand. When he’s not working hands-on on a horse, he’s doing research and writing articles to be published in some equine medical journal, so I don’t blame him a bit for being a bit on-the-muscle.

“Oh, OK.” I said. I really hadn’t planned to mention what I thought were the run-of-the-mill drugs that I already knew about. But I started at the top of the list. “Bute, lasix, banamine, Vetalog,”

“Vetalog?” Nate virtually hollered. “VET-A-LOG??? They let horses race on that???”

“Well, I guess so. It's on this list.” I said, not quite sure what had him so fired up. “That’s bad?”

“I’ve studied that drug, Shon. I can’t really see where it would have any legitimate application on race day. Do you have any idea how powerful that drug is?”

“I guess I don’t…” I began, but Nate was on a roll.

“That drug is so powerful that it could literally tighten down a fresh bowed tendon to where a vet wouldn’t even be able to tell there was an injury! You’re not serious…horses are allowed to RACE on that??? Oh, hey, I’m getting an emergency page…can we talk about this later?” Nate asked.

“Of course, and thanks for your help!” I answered. Wow, I thought. Who knew? But I still needed my main question answered.

Daily Notes: According to Rich Toward God, the second reason that there might be a delay in the harvest is …

Learning—You may be obeying God and holding true to everything he has called you to. Keep it up, but also remember that sometimes, especially when it comes to the are of financial blessings, you may need to learn new skills before you will have more income. Could it be that your problem is a spending problem? Has credit card debt trapped you? Do you follow good principles of money management? Or do you need a raise badly enough to learn new skills that might open the door to a raise, a promotion, or even a new job? Don’t let yourself be trapped. Look for new opportunities and get ready. God will help you.

Oh my goodness…this one has me all over it. It is a running joke in our family that I am afflicted with career A-D-D. I have re-invented my work life numerous times over the years. In fact, I’m still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

I do love to learn new things, and I can definitely look back and see where God has used this to help us financially. It took a huge leap of faith to leave what at the time seemed very secure positions to start a Thoroughbred adoption program.

When it was time to move on from ReRun, I knew that I wanted to be self-employed. It was God that pushed me in the direction I eventually took. Working with animals was a no-brainer, but adding in the dog grooming was all God’s doing. I was so blessed that a friend of mine from high school has run a successful grooming business for years, and agreed to teach me.

Ronda’s kindness saved me thousands in tuition and a whole lotta time in schooling. She was tough and she was thorough, and with her help, I was able to bring in enough money to pay the bills while I got the pet and farm watch business up and running.

Over the past few years, with God’s help, I’ve learned to raise chickens, milk my dairy goats, store the milk and make cheese. I bake bread, store food for the winter and even make the kind of icing that you normally only get at the bakery.

On the agenda for this year is learning to sew and raising an heirloom garden to begin seed saving. This weekend, I’m registered for a beekeeping course, and Jerry and I are visiting with some dear old friends to learn about wine making. Instead of having a penchant for making money, perhaps some of us are better at saving it.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Testing God - Anatomy of a Breakdown


The Unbelievable’s first race for us was in November of 2006. It was just shy of two years earlier that I was awaiting arrival of the documents concerning the deadly spill at Turfway Park.

At this time, it had been awhile since Jerry had been actively training. That was heartbreaking to me, because that was what he loved to do. And he was so good at figuring out and caring for the horses. But things had changed so radically on the racetrack, and every day we were faced with the living, breathing proof of that downhill slide.

Jerry had begun to feel that if he refused to give the horses that he trained the drugs that so many seemed to be using, his clients were at a serious disadvantage. If his horses were racing steroid-free against horses that had the “benefit” of those drugs, even if it was to their detriment in the long run, he was competing on a very un-level playing field.

And, it was difficult to attract clients when your way of doing things (fixing problems and giving horses time to heal) was so much more expensive than the inject-and-run solution that other trainers were offering.

Obviously, it wasn’t all trainers that were throwing their horses under the bus. Two trainers—Buff Bradley and Paul McGee—could be counted on to send horses to ReRun that were good candidates for a second career. If the horses they sent had problems at all, they were problems that could be fixed, and there wasn’t any ‘wait and see’ while the drugs wore off.

Within a day the FedEx guy delivered a good sized box, and I began sorting through the paperwork to see exactly what it was the reporter was dealing with.

Contained in the packet were past performances for the horse that initially broke down, causing the deadly accident. Also included were pages of drug records on the race day medications that had been administered, as well as a video tape.

Race day medications are the drugs that horses are allowed to have in their systems when they race. In Kentucky, at the time of this spill, they included Bute and Lasix, as well as Banamine. These are all common medications that are still in use in racing today, but now there are “levels.” That simply means there is a limit to how much of the drug can be present in a horse’s system at race time. Back then, although many other states had levels in place, in Kentucky there were none.

There were other medications that were allowed as well—different types of bleeder medications, anabolic steroids, and the thing I came to see as the biggest problem of all—cortisone injections into joints. Let me clarify the above statement—when I said that steroids were “allowed,” it probably would be more accurate to say that they weren’t tested for, so they were used. A lot.

As it is for humans, some drugs are necessary and can be a good thing. The potential is always there for a good thing to go bad, and that was the path that the racing industry had taken.

Drugs absolutely have their place—to be used for treatment of an injury and to heal. Drugs should never, ever, EVER be used to cover up a problem, or to artificially enhance a horse’s performance. Misuse of drugs seemed to be rampant.

Let me go on record here as saying that in my opinion, race day medications are not the problem. I would imagine that it would be difficult to mask significant pain solely with the use of Bute or Banamine.

Why, you may ask, would it be good for a horse to feel pain? So that they stand a fighting chance to live through a race. If a horse can feel pain, they would have the chance to pull themselves up before suffering a catastrophic injury. If a horse is going “off” while warming up before a race, the jockey can feel it and try to have the animal scratched, potentially avoiding disaster.

Bute, in lesser amounts given just on race day would be like taking aspirin for muscle aches. In large amounts used day after day, its affect can be harmful—slowly eating away at the stomach until it is damaged beyond repair.

Judging by what we had seen and documented in horses entering the ReRun program, our industry had taken a flying leap over the ethical line.

Daily Notes: Sorry about the recent lack of posts…to be honest, some of this stuff is very hard for me to write about. It would be easier to not include what I am about to talk about over the next couple of days, but I will, for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that it plays an integral part in The Unbelievable’s story. And the second reason is that, if I gloss over the ugly bits, it seems that a whole lot of horses have suffered and died in vain.

In making my way through Rich Toward God, I have arrived at the part where Dr. Hood discusses the inevitable—You’ve been tithing faithfully but nothing is happening. You’ve been sowing, but the harvest seems to be delayed. Does this mean that God has failed? Or lied? What’s he waiting on?

I bet if you readers are being honest, that very thought has already crossed your minds. It certainly crossed mine! Because much like UB, I’m not a patient person. Ah—maybe that’s it! God is trying to teach me some patience! (Actually, I suppose that could be a reason!)

Over the next few posts, I’m going to look at Dr. Hood’s potential reasons for delay one at a time.

Reason 1: Timing—You may be prepared and ready for a blessing, but God may still be preparing the situation for you. Or, he may be preparing someone else who is not yet ready. But don’t forget, you are part of the solution, too. So keep waiting until the Lord completes his work because the end result will always be much better.
Today back in the day pic shows me with my good friend Christine Gabriel. I believe this was taken at Monmouth Park in NJ where we were working on the notes team for the Haskell.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Testing God - Please Let's Just Get Through This Race!


The horse hopped right back on to the trailer, which now had all partitions tied back to leave just one large, open box. The rest of the trip to Turfway was quiet, and as soon as he was unloaded, UB was checked head to tail for any injuries. No one, and certainly not the vet, could fathom how this horse could completely upend himself and be flat on his back in such a tiny space in a trailer with absolutely no ill effects. Not even a scratch.

I arrived at the track a basket case, but determined to not let my nerves get the best of me. I somehow had to make sure that I gave UB no additional reasons to pull any more stunts. But I have to admit, my confidence was fading.

The horse was settled into a stall with his hay net, but nibbling hay was the furthest thing from his mind. The bright lights from the racetrack and the blare of the PA system had UB visibly agitated.

As race time drew closer, UB and I practiced going to our “happy place.” When the call came over the PA to get the horses ready for his race, I vowed to only let scenarios with a positive outcome roll through my mind on the walk over to the paddock.

Getting UB ready took a little longer than normal, as we had to put in his ear plugs and pull the netting over his ears before tying his tongue and putting on his bridle. The finishing touch was his dog collar nose band. Jerry had already run bandages on his legs for support and protection.

Even though someone else was hired to “run” him, (lead him over to where he would be saddled for the race) I had promised UB that I would always be right there with him. In this case, that meant a half mile walk each way in frigid temperatures. Yup, ya gotta love night racing at Turfway Park in the winter.

As the three of us neared the grandstand we had to pass directly in front of the starting gate, at that point standing empty on the track. The tractor used to pull the gate was idling loudly, and UB threw on the brakes. Eyes big, tail up and snorting with nostrils flaring the horse froze, staring at the ominous metal monster casting long shadows in the grandstand lights.

“UB, c’mon man.” I said in my head. “This gate is no different than the one you have no problem with in the mornings. I know you can do this!

As quickly as he stopped UB started again, dancing and prancing sideways past the gate and all the way to the paddock.

The saddling went off without a hitch, the call to the post was sounded and The Unbelievable and his rider were handed off to the pony person to be warmed up.

Thankfully, the distance on this race was a mile, so the start would be directly in front of the grandstand. That meant that (in theory) I would be able to position myself so that UB could see me at all times, right up until the break. A security guard thought differently, however, but he must have had bigger fish to fry, as he only hassled me briefly before heading back inside where it was warm. I circled back around, taking my place just as the line of horses reached the starting gate to begin loading. I searched out Joe’s white and teal polka-dotted silks on UB’s jockey.

As the pony person handed The Unbelievable off to the assistant starter, I noticed that it was indeed Jeremy that would be handling him in the gate. Jeremy quickly slipped his leather lead-up through the small loop in the dog collar noseband.

In one fluid motion, the horse was loaded and the rear doors slammed shut. Jeremy jumped up on the ledge in the stall, perching in cramped quarters and looking for any sign that UB was about to blow. As always, there was shouting and banging, but for UB the sounds were now significantly muffled.

As I was the only person nuts enough to be standing on the grandstand apron on the rail in the whipping wind and freezing cold, UB had no trouble finding me. We locked eyes briefly, and in my head I reiterated to him that he could do this.

I closed my eyes, and immediately the image of UB’s pastoral setting “happy place” popped in. I smiled, because I knew that the scene was coming from him. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, but it wasn’t nearly so terrifying and out-of-control as before.

Blessedly within moments the gates sprang open, and the race was off! I kept my eyes closed, feeling UB beginning to get his act together through the first turn. From where I was situated down on the rail, I lost sight of the field as they disappeared behind the tote board.

I remember screaming (in my head) “Now run, UB!” and he did. In retrospect, I should have waited until I could see where the horses were before giving such forceful instructions.

Jerry was watching the race on a television in the grandstand so that with the split screen view he could see what was happening throughout the race. As the horses rounded the turn and headed into the stretch, I ran to the finish line. I was thrilled to see The Unbelievable finish third!

As soon as the horses crossed the wire, I ran to meet Jerry heading toward where UB would be unsaddled.

“I don’t know what the heck got into him down the backside, but he took off like a rocket.” Jerry said, shaking his head. “That was way too early to make a run like that. There was no way he could sustain that all the way to the wire without getting tired.”

As the jockey pulled up and dismounted, Jerry questioned him about the bold move down the backside.

“I don’t know, boss. I didn’t ask him for nothin’ yet…he just took off!”

I didn’t say a word, and UB, though puffing and blowing and dead tired, looked pretty pleased that he got through the whole ordeal in relatively good order.

And me? I was so happy, you’d have thought we won!

I felt we’d made a tremendous amount of progress. UB picked up a check and I figured the owner would be thrilled. But if Joe was happy, he wasn’t sayin’.

Daily Notes: Some days when I pray, I ask God to show me something I need to see and randomly open my Bible. Today I landed on 1 Peter 3: 8-12:

Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing.

Whoever wants to embrace life
And see the day fill up with good,
Here’s what you do:
Say nothing evil or hurtful;
Snub evil and cultivate good;
Run after peace for all you’re worth.
God looks on all this with approval,
Listening and responding well to what he’s asked;
But he turns his back
On those who do evil things.

The Message

Personally, I probably do several of the things that God says not to each and every day. Usually several times a day. I especially struggle with the ‘being agreeable’ and ‘no sarcasm’ mandates.

But it is becoming plain to me that while I’m testing God, he’s doing a little testing of his own. This experiment isn’t ‘all about the Benjamins, baby.’ Because the blessings I’m receiving don’t all come in financial form, neither should my blessings to others be only monetary.

I’m trying to get it, Lord. Please be patient with me.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Testing God - Back To UB, Who Is Not A Patient Fellow

While we wait on the FedEx guy to bring those documents to my door, I think we’d better be getting back to UB and his first race for trainer Jerry Wylie.

Mark’s trailer was what is called a slant. For those non-horsey types out there, this means that the trailer is configured to haul 3 or 4 horses at a time, and the horses travel fairly closely confined, standing at an angle. (Hence the term ‘slant.’) In my humble opinion, someone who has never been around equines must have come up with this idea. At the very least, it was someone who has never dealt with Thoroughbreds. The first horse is loaded and tied to the wall of the trailer, and then a hinged partition swings over and latches, to hold that horse in place. Repeat the process with the 2nd, 3rd and 4th horses.

I’ve never been a fan of this type of trailer, simply because I worry (of course I do!!!) about what happens if one of the first horses loaded throws a fit.

In UB’s case, he was the only one in the trailer for this trip. UB hopped right on like he was happy to be going for a ride, and I was hopeful that this was a good sign. Locked and loaded with tack trunk stowed, Mark and Tammy and Jerry headed up the road, and I went to fetch Ian.

Ian and I were halfway to Turfway Park when my phone rang. It was Jerry, calling to let me know that they had arrived.

“Uneventful trip?” I queried.

“Um,” Jerry hedged. “Not really. But he seems to be OK.”

“Who seems to be OK?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I could feel myself starting to panic.

Now, in retrospect, it’s a funny story. Hilarious, even. But right then, not so much. And all I can say is it’s a very good thing that I was not traveling with the party of four in the truck and trailer.

The foursome had been on the highway approximately 10 miles when the whole truck and trailer started to sway back and forth. All three passengers in the truck knew immediately that something was amiss in the trailer. Thankfully, an exit was coming up and Mark wasted no time in pulling off. Just off the exit ramp was a Days Inn motel, and they quickly swung into the parking lot.

Jerry scrambled out one door and Tammy out the other before Mark even had the rig completely stopped. As Jerry passed the trailer window, he glanced in and nearly fainted—UB was completely upside down, with all four hooves in the air.

He had flipped completely over within the slanted partition, breaking his halter in the process. Tammy had a spare, but before they could re-halter UB, he had to be freed.

Trapped between the slants in the trailer, there was nothing to do but release the partition that held him and roll UB over. The slant was released, and UB rolled himself over and out into the Days Inn lot.

Re-haltered, UB got up, shook himself off and looked at his traveling companions like “What are you lookin’ at?”

Daily Notes: Back to Rich Toward God by Dr. Kregg Hood—Dr. Hood talks about 3 traps against trust. He talks about how having wealth without God is a waste. He says that when we don’t give, two bad things happen. First, we will miss many of the blessings that God wants us to have, enjoy, and use for his glory. Secondly, we take the risk of falling into three dangerous traps.

Trap 1: The “Do It Yourself” Spirit – Instead of relying on God, we think we can do it ourselves. Then we miss out on all the various ways that God uses as his “delivery system” to get blessings into our lives. Hood likens this to placing an order with, say, Amazon.com. You place the order, and the company contacts their warehouse to ship the order to you. Later, if you want to make another purchase, you don’t contact the warehouse directly, you go back to the source company. And it should be that way with us. We don’t put our confidence in the delivery system or the warehouse; we put our confidence in God who provides the resources.

Trap 2: Materialism – Materialism is addictive. If the accumulation of more and more stuff is the primary focus, there is no easy way to stop. Accumulation becomes the trap. Hood says our fast-paced, high-pressure, consumer oriented society can lead us away from generosity. Credit card debt and bankruptcy rates are soaring. If left unchecked, we will desire more than we need and more than what is good for us.

Trap 3: Fear – Dr. Hood says that over the years as he’s had the opportunity to preach, teach and write about stewardship, he’s found that the number one reason people don’t give is fear. Most Christians, he says, know that they should give and they want to give, but they’re worry is that if they give, they won’t be able to pay their bills.

This trap has me written all over it. I don’t struggle with number 1, as I have no problem asking for help. I don’t struggle with number 2, as the way I see it, more stuff just means more work for me—cleaning, repairing, etc. That, and being in debt would cause me to--you got it--worry!

But trap number 3, even though there is no rational reason for me to be fearful of this, deep down I still am.

I’ll end with the quote that began this chapter in Hood’s book:

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

Jim Elliott

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Testing God - I Knew There Was A Reason I Majored In Journalism

The poor reporter had caught me at a bad time, having just had another sad, sad case ship from a West Virginia track to Bethlehem Farm. To say the least, I spoke my mind about the industry that I once loved. The lack of concern at the upper echelons of racing about the cruelty that was allowed to go on now had me really pissed off.

All the years I worked on the “front side” of the racetrack, my job was to put a good spin on the sport—even when bad things happened. And I did love the sport, but there comes a time when those of us who have a voice need to speak up for those who don’t. Animals, like children, have to depend on others to protect them. So even thought I had been speaking up loudly inside the racing industry for years to no avail, I now aired some dirty laundry to the mainstream media.

The girl in front of the camera looked a bit taken aback, and I apologized for my tirade. I then did my best to give her the “feel good” piece that she came for that would benefit both non-profit programs.

Not a month later, I received a phone call from the same reporter, who had covered the Turfway spill for Star 64 in Cincinnati. She remembered my comments about the overuse of drugs and the unsoundness of some racehorses, and decided to do a little investigative reporting.

“I need to ask you a big favor,” the reporter on the phone said. “I’ve managed to get some documents about that breakdown under the Freedom of Information Act. Problem is, I’m not sure what I’m looking at—it’s like hieroglyphics! I was hoping you might help me.”

“Sure,” I told her, my own journalistic juices beginning to flow. “You can fax them through to me.”

“Well…I think I’ll have to FedEx them,” she said. “There’s like 500 pages.”

Oh, my…..

Daily Notes: I received a call from my friend who appeared in one of the “back in the day” pics I posted with this blog. She just wanted to let me know that although she has been working 12 hour shifts since the series of snowstorms started (she works for the city of Cincinnati) she was able to catch up on my blog yesterday. She also said she was proud of me and that she loved me, which reminded me that God’s blessings come in so many forms.

I am blessed to have wonderful relationships now with people from my past that had every right to kick me to the curb. I don’t know if I mentioned this or not, but as a teenager, I don’t think anyone would have described me as a high-quality individual. I’m sure I managed to alienate more than a few people.

Several years ago, I made up my mind to try to find as many of the people as I could that I had in some way wronged and apologize. To my amazement, many of these folks didn’t seem to remember any bad actions on my part. Or maybe they just said they didn’t to spare my feelings. In any event, I felt better after the apologies, and was thrilled when the door was again opened on friendships that had faltered. There are still a few people out there that I haven’t found, but I will keep searching.

I realize now how wonderful it is to have so many good relationships in my life. How could I ever be lonely when there are so many friends to call on when I’m having a down day?

I’ll end today with a quote from C.S. Lewis, author not only of the Narnia books, but also a little ditty called Mere Christianity. That book is one of my all time favorites, as it really makes you think.

Lewis, for those who don’t know, was an atheist who tried his best to shoot holes in Christianity. The more he tried to disprove the Bible and all the concepts in it, the more he embraced the teachings of Christ. So for those of you out there reading this that are skeptical, or have poo-poo’d (sp?) the idea of a real, living God, I say DO YOUR HOMEWORK, and then make your best argument.

Here’s the quote:

Aim at heaven and you’ll get earth thrown in.
Aim at earth and you’ll get neither.
C.S. Lewis

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Testing God - It's All About The Benjamins, Baby!



During my time as executive director of ReRun, we were asked by a Cincinnati television station to do an interview that featured both ReRun and Bethlehem Farm, a Christian program that runs the Center for Women in Racing. That program provides a place for women in our industry that need a place where they can recover from abuse—be it physical, mental or substance.

It was a perfect partner for ReRun, as Bethlehem Farm housed some of our horses awaiting adoptive homes. While they were there, the women in their program worked to assess and heal the horses, and as horses tend to do, they provided healing for the women as well.

During the course of the interview, my views about the state of the racing industry—or rather, the horrible state of some of the horses that were running, were made known.

Over the course of 10 years, Jerry and I had watched in horror as it seemed that it was “all about the Benjamins, baby,” and “anything goes” as far as the condition of horses that were racing. And although ReRun had grown to a national program at that point, operating coast to coast in 8 states from New York to Washington, we consistently saw the worst of the worst in Kentucky.

On our farm alone, we had numerous horses accepted into the program who were not adoption candidates at all. Several had had their joints injected with cortisone so many times that there was no cartilage left. When they walked, it sounded like the crunch of snow underfoot on a really cold day. Once all the drugs that they had received at the track had worn off, the pain was so severe that there was nothing to be done but euthanize.

Another horse had been fed such a steady diet of Bute just to be able to train every day that a few months after arriving at ReRun his stomach perforated and he dropped dead. The horse had already been adopted out, and his new owner was at first devastated and then horrified when she learned the truth of what had happened. You can imagine what she thought of the racing industry at that point.

Yet another horse arrived at our farm directly from a race, unable to put any weight on one front leg. His ankle looked like a softball stuffed in a sock. Our vet came out and did radiographs, and it was her opinion that he had probably gone into the starting gate the night before on an already fractured ankle. He just didn’t know it, as the pain was well masked.

A good looking gelding came to us seemingly in decent shape, but within a week had lost nearly all his coat—his body was completely hairless. His attending vet seemed to think he could be having withdrawals from repeated injections of anabolic steroids, which were shutting down his liver. I could go on, but you get the gist.

I was getting really tired of being on the end of the shank as horse after horse was put to sleep in our driveway. There is something radically wrong when your kids start to become used to walking around a body on the way to the car.

Daily Notes: Eugene H. Peterson, in his introduction to the book of Ecclesiastes in The Message, says this: "Ecclesiastes is an expose and rejection of every arrogant and ignorant expectation that we can live our lives by ourselves and on our own terms."

This book of the Bible is thought to have been written by King Solomon, a very wise individual. He wanted the young men of his time to be well aware that life revolved around God, not them. I really enjoy reading Solomon’s books of the Bible, because he’s about half goofy and slightly sarcastic, just like me.

For me, the chronic worrier, the following verse gives me much to reflect on. It’s Ecclesiastes 5: 18-20:

After looking at the way things are on this earth, here’s what I’ve decided is the best way to live: Take care of yourself, have a good time, and make the most of whatever job you have for as long as God gives you life. And that’s about it. That’s the human lot. Yes, we should make the most of what God gives, both the bounty and the capacity to enjoy it, accepting what’s given and delighting in the work. It’s God’s gift! God deals out joy in the present, the now. It’s useless to brood over how long we might live.

The Message


I don’t know about you, but for some reason, I always feel slightly guilty when I receive a blessing. Like I don’t deserve it, which of course I don’t. But maybe that’s the point—God blesses those all the more who openly acknowledge that:
A. They have been blessed by God and
B. They don’t deserve it but
C. They’re going to give thanks and proceed to enjoy the doo-dah out of it because
D. That makes God really happy and keeps the blessings coming. Especially if
E. You let the blessings flow through to others

You know, I think I can learn to do that!

Today's picture has nothing to do with horses, but I'm hoping it will help me kick the winter doldrums. And it sure was a blessing to be able to take this photo! Thanks, God!

Monday, February 15, 2010

Testing God - Meet Mark and Tammy

Mark and Tammy, UB’s ride to the race, had horses in training as well. Tammy is a trainer, and Mark an ex-jockey.

We first met the couple when they shipped in to the barn in which we were stabled at Victory Haven. They were like two peas in a pod—neither of them ever met a stranger. They both had bright smiles and big dimples. Their infectious laughs and down-hominess made it easy to get to know them and even easier to like them. And none of this belied the tragedy that ultimately brought them together.

Mark was currently sporting a pair of crutches, necessary to keep weight off his (yet again) severely broken leg. Mark’s competitive nature landed him in a barrel racing competition with his step-daughter Sara, but Mark’s horse lost its footing it fell, mangling Mark’s leg in the process.

As a jockey, Mark was honored with an Eclipse Award. This is the highest honor our sport bestows, and Mark was certainly deserving. His natural talent in the saddle landed him in the winner’s circle over 2,000 times over the course of his career. But within the past few years, he had hung up his tack for good.

Tammy had been married previously, and her first husband, Mike Rowland, was also a jockey. Mike was killed as the result of a horrific accident at Turfway Park in February of 2004. Three riders in all, including Mark—at that time a good friend of Mike—went down in the spill. Mark, too, was seriously injured.

The string of horses that Tammy trained was stabled at Turfway. Having finished up at the barn for the day, she had gone home to their studio apartment across the street to be with Sara, their daughter.

When the call came that there had been a bad spill involving Mike, Tammy was back at the track within minutes, just in time to speak to her husband for the last time while he was still conscious. Mike’s injuries were so severe that he was awaiting transport to a Cincinnati hospital instead of being taken to the hospital directly across the street from the racetrack.

None of this immediately crossed my mind upon first meeting Mark and Tammy, and we didn’t get the full story until much later. But falling squarely in the category of “the Lord works in mysterious ways,” once I did remember, it brought full circle for me an incident that had been haunting me for a few years.

Daily Notes: I am behind on postings as I was waiting to speak to Mark and Tammy to receive their OK to tell their stories. They are very powerful, and will unfold as this blog progresses.

On a personal note, blessings abounded this Valentine’s weekend as Jerry and I went to a marriage enrichment retreat that our church arranged.

Apparently my Facebook status, which simply said “Shon Wylie is going to enrich her marriage this weekend” concerned a few people. Oddly, more than one person called me to make sure we weren’t going through a rough patch.

Jerry has always been the overly competitive half of the equation, but as soon as one of our ministers offered a gift certificate to an area restaurant as the prize for the Newlywed Game, I was all over it. I volunteered, and we kicked major butt. Of course, we probably have an advantage since we are virtually never apart. And I’m ashamed to say that the only two questions we missed were my mess up, not Jerry’s.

But I must report a personal screw-up as well. I am also ashamed to say that my behavior yesterday most certainly didn’t make God smile. In fact, I’d say it made him cringe. I wasn’t very pleasant to a server at an event we attended, because she wasn’t very pleasant to me. And this after sitting through a sermon which stressed the importance of letting people see God through how we act, more than what we say. Because, after all, the first thing is much more difficult to do than the second.

I must try to correct this, so I will be sending a note to this woman with my apologies. Of course it may be awhile until she gets it, as the mailman will need sled dogs to get to us today!

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Testing God - Finding Our Happy Place


UB’s race at Turfway Park was a late race on a night racing card, which meant that it would be a long, long day.

We had contracted with a couple who had just gone into the horse shipping business to take UB to the races. Jerry would ride along with Mark and Tammy and the horse, while I was to drive up later after picking up our son from school. I really would rather have stayed with UB the whole way, but there was nothing we could do.

I explained to UB that I would get there as soon as I could. We talked about using some tricks to take his mind off what was going on around him in the starting gate during the loading process.

I told UB that when I wanted to take my mind off the takeoff on a plane, I closed my eyes and went to a “happy place.” In my happy place, I’m stretched out on a comfortable chair on a hot sandy beach where the blue-green water seems to go on forever. Oh, yeah…there’s a margarita involved as well.

I gave this mental image to UB, but he was confused. He had no idea what these images were. Duh—at this point in his life, he’d barely been out of Kentucky, and certainly nowhere near an ocean!

We amended his “happy place” vision to a beautiful, lush green pasture in the springtime, where he could run and roll to his heart’s delight. Oh, yeah…there’s a bag of carrots involved as well. Now there was something he could identify with!

I was nervous about the race, to be sure, but UB seemed to be doing quite well. And animal communication aside, he would have to have known something was up, as the routine is different on race day. I had decided it was probably better that I wasn’t traveling with the horse as I was a bit jittery.

UB at this point had become much more than just a horse that we trained—he was my friend. And the thought of him being scared to the point that he would hurt himself or others in the starting gate was almost more than I could bear. Yup, it was definitely better that I bring up the rear.

Daily Notes: A little ray of sunshine in yesterday’s mail—all checks and no bills! Woo hoo! I can’t remember the last time that happened! Nothing major, except a small death benefit check on my father that I wasn’t really expecting. I will tithe on all, even the $3 rebate check.

As luck would have it (or rather, as God would have it) our pastor is starting a new sermon series this month called Rich Toward God. To this end, everyone present in church last Sunday was given a copy of the book of the same name by Dr. Kregg Hood. The book is based on Luke 12 and Jesus’ parable of the rich fool.

Our assignment was to read at least the first chapter by February 21st. I am much further along than that, and finding that this book fits perfectly with what is going on in this blog. Just one more case of the Lord working in mysterious ways, I’d say. Here’s the parable: Luke 12: 15-21

Speaking to the people, he went on, “Take care! Protect yourself against the least bit of greed. Life is not defined by what you have, even when you have a lot.”

Then he told them this story: “The farm of a certain rich man produced a terrific crop. He talked to himself: ‘What can I do? My barn isn’t big enough for this harvest.’ The he said, ‘Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones. Then I’ll gather in all my grain and goods, and I’ll say to myself, Self, you’ve done well! You’ve got it made and can now retire. Take it easy and have the time of your life!’

“Just then God showed up and said, ‘Fool! Tonight you die. And your barnful of goods—who gets it?’

“That’s what happens when you fill your barn with Self and not with God.”
The Message

I think that God would love to see us with plenty, so long as our attitude is one of gratitude and we don’t lose sight of the fact that is was he that provided the blessing.

I got to thinking this morning that my lack of worry since I’ve started this experiment is, for me, mind-boggling. Worry about money had so consumed my life that I really could not imagine a life without it. In fact, I keep expecting the worry to be lying in wait for me, right around the corner.

But it is almost as if once I committed to following God’s instructions to the letter, it took all of the responsibility off of me and put it on God. Which to my feeble mind seems somehow not right, but given my almost instant sense of relief, it must be what God wanted from me.

The other thing that has absolutely amazed me is how easily the words are coming to tell the story of The Unbelievable and all the relationships that were formed because of him. I’ve wanted all along to be able to tell it, as I believe that it honors God. It shows that God that was right there by my side all along, long before I ever acknowledged that fact. I believe that the story will show God working in so many lives and on so many levels.

God never wavered, even when I did. He heard every prayer, even though I may not have even known I was praying. While I was screaming in the driveway, God heard a cry for help and went into action. He answered my prayers time and again, though you’ll come to see that even though my prayers were answered, it was virtually never in the way I asked. Sometimes the answer to my prayer was “no,” but always God did what was for my greatest good, because God is good.

Another "back in the day" pic...it must be the 80s, check out my hair!

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Testing God - UB Gets the Green Light


The Unbelievable had pitched a royal fit the first morning he was made to wear his earplugs to the racetrack. Jerry insisted that he needed to get used to them before he had to wear them for a race, whereas UB felt it was ridiculous to wear them in a situation where he was perfectly comfortable without them.

Jerry won the debate, but UB didn’t go down without a fight. UB, his rider hanging on, ducked and dived and spun his way in and out of the barn several times before finally making it onto the racetrack.

Jerry made UB wear the earplugs and Jeremy, the starter, insisted he wear the dog-chain noseband for a final schooling session in the starting gate, where he stood nicely, even though I could tell he was fuming. Jeremy gave the green light, and Jerry entered UB in a race.

The overnight came out, and sure enough, The Unbelievable had made it into the body of the race. I suppose many trainers would have felt less pressure going into this race rather than more, as no one (except us) really expected UB to behave any better than he had in the past.

I was afraid I had made what might turn out to be a huge mistake—I told Joe about the animal communication techniques that I had been using with UB. From the git-go, Joe never struck me as one to lend any credence to anything like that. In fact, I was virtually positive that he would question my Christianity because of it. As it turned out, he didn’t say much at all, which is always a little disconcerting to me. I just figured that if he thought I was an idiot before, he was now certain of it.

The reason I feared that it may have been a mistake to mention my chats with UB is because many people tend to think that just because you can “talk” to animals, you can control the outcome of a situation. Um, no. It doesn’t work like that.

If I talk to a group of human runners before the start of a race, they will be able to tell me things like “I feel good today,” or “I didn’t get much sleep last night, I hope it doesn’t affect my race,” or “I took a bad step and twisted my ankle a bit.” But they can’t say with certainty that they will win the race, because they can’t know what all will transpire during the running of it. Why would it be any different with animals?

I was explaining all this to Joe, hoping I wasn’t babbling. It’s communication, it’s not magic. And since 4-leggeds can’t use words to tell us things, the communication thing is extremely helpful when dealing with physical or emotional problems.

I told Joe that I thought I understood what was prompting UB’s behavior in the starting gate, but I wasn’t sure that he’d be able to work through it. I promised that we were doing the best we could to help him. And now it was time to see if we were on the right track.

Daily Notes: There really isn’t much to note today, as this is the 3rd day that I haven’t really left the house. Due to snow and ice, not my hermit-like tendencies. Let me rephrase that—I haven’t left our property, but I have left the house as the horses, chickens and goats still need sustenance.

I made a promise to myself that I would do something each day toward a RAK, no matter how seemingly insignificant, even if I’m stuck here in the throes of winter. Clean out closets to find clothes to donate, write notes to people in my life to let them know what they mean to me, or send a ready-to-bake batch of yeast rolls home with a friend whose wife’s health is not good right now. Anything, no matter how tiny, just to keep from slipping backward.

If any of you out there in cyberspace have RAKs to tell of (no matter how small!) it would sure lend encouragement. I hope maybe someone will feel encouraged to post it here!

Today's pic is of Jerry and I shortly after we were married. We had a string of horses stabled at Turfway Park that winter, and I put the camera on a bale of straw and set the timer.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Testing God - More Bad News


I’m sure it seemed to Joe that all news from his new trainer was bad news. With Hamilton’s dismal race record and now refusal to train, we told Joe that we wouldn’t keep him in training any longer.

Of Joe’s other race-ready horses in training with us, Digger had shown no inclination to find his way to the winner’s circle over the winter, and the grass season was many training bills away. The hope that racing on the turf and covering more ground would actually turn Digger into a winner was a longshot at best.

The first filly Joe sent us, Retirement Plus, had problems of her own. A wiry little thing, she came to us labeled a “head case.” She had gotten to the point where she couldn’t be galloped in the morning—she bolted and ran off with her exercise riders—so the first trainer washed his hands of this one, too.

Not only did Retirement Plus (if there is a nickname for that name, I never figured it out!) exhibit erratic behavior on the track, but in the stall she looked like a ping pong ball on crack.

Luckily, with some turnout time in the round pen and paddock, the filly began to calm down a bit in the stall. But on the racetrack, we had to employ a new strategy. Her exercise rider would take her the wrong way around the track, and it seemed to confuse her enough that she forgot about running off. This particular rider was generally “riding under the influence.” Common sense would tell you that it’s a bad idea to put someone that’s a little loopy on a horse that’s a lot loopy, but it seemed his mellowness mellowed the filly out a bit.

Retirement Plus ran a few times for us, generally making a run from behind and stopping mid-pack. Jerry, exasperated, wondered out loud if burying herself among all the other horses somehow made her feel more secure.

In addition to all the newly purchased yearlings on the farm, we had three more fillies of Joe’s from the other trainer. The first, Lemhi Lightning, came to us for training but Jerry found a tiny bit of heat and filling in a knee right off the bat. More bad news for Joe—xrays showed an area that, if she continued to train, would eventually chip off.

The vet gave two options—inject the knee and go ahead and run the filly, or turn her out and give it time to heal. Option number one was not an option for us, so to the farm she went.

In retrospect, I suppose most other trainers would have left it to the owner to decide what to do. In our first meeting with Joe, Jerry told him that he absolutely would not, under any circumstance, run a horse that he knew had a problem, so I guess Jerry figured that the decision was already made.

The other two fillies were on the injured list as well. The weird thing about them is that no one had a clue what was the matter. The vets that had looked at them for the other trainer were baffled, so the general consensus was to turn them out and let time do its thing.

Soon after came Value Driver, Joe’s colt that had recently had a chip surgically removed and needed rehab before returning to training. Our farm was quickly becoming a lay-up facility, and I was having flashbacks to our ReRun days.

The financial pressure on Joe was mounting, and his theory on racehorse ownership was being sorely tested. But there were still some bright spots, as Joe had three fillies with the other trainer that seemed fairly promising.

As for our rag-tag stable, the heat was increasingly being turned up by Joe to produce results with The Unbelievable—at one time (according to the other trainer) his most promising horse.

Daily Notes: If I’m being honest, (and I really am trying to be) I’ve had a bad few days as far as being a better-than-I normally-am kind of person. I haven’t done anything horrible (rob a bank, trip a little old lady or smack a kid) but I had the perfect opportunity to do a good thing for someone, and I didn’t. And of course, I had the perfect excuse—it would have made us late for Jerry’s sort of emergency dental appointment. But not that late.

So there we were in the grocery, and this fellow came in right behind us. He was pushing a cart, but seemed to be using it more to hold himself up than for groceries. He caught my gaze and held it a little longer than usual, but I looked away and continued grabbing the few items that we had come in for. I did look at him long enough to notice that he was a little, well, disheveled.

I reached in the dairy case to get sour cream, and when I turned around, there he was again. Again, our eyes met and again I looked away.

We were unloading our cart at the register, and when I looked back, he was directly behind me in line. He was again looking at me, but not in a stalker kind of way—it was more in a “my presence here is no accident” sort of way. We paid for our groceries, and moved to the area for bagging.

I heard the cashier ask him if he needed help to his car, and he answered that no, he didn’t have a car—he had walked to the grocery, despite his emphysema, to get a few needed items before the forecast snowstorm hit.

As he pushed his cart (which I noticed included a sack of potatoes) past us, he again caught my eye. I just knew we should offer him a ride home. Jerry was with me, so I wouldn’t have needed to worry about safety, but I just watched him walk out the automatic door and head for the cart corral.

We finished bagging our stuff and headed for the door. As we approached the corral, I heard the mystery man conversing with another fellow who was just heading into the store. The second man asked where the first man was headed, and he pointed to some apartments not far from the store. He explained that because he was hauling groceries, he would have to take the long way around. The man heading into the store said that he wouldn’t be long, and that he would be happy to give the mystery man a lift home.

“Whew,” I thought. “No need to feel guilty now.” But yet I did. You no doubt know the saying about “entertaining angels unawares.” It reminded me of a show a few years back called Joan of Arcadia. The premise was that God was tooling around down here, and would randomly show up to challenge Joan. She never knew how God would appear—male or female, old or young, rich or poor, but it was never what you would expect.

It’s almost like God was giving me a pop quiz to test just how far I’ve come in my nearly month-long journey, and guess what? I failed.

And that’s why I’ve skipped a couple days posting—because failure is hard for me to admit. But I promised to tell the bad with the good, so I’m pressing on. But it’s a big goose egg for the RAKs, and that’s a shame.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Testing God - The Hamster Makes a Statement




Hamilton had run a couple times at Turfway Park, if you want to call what he did “running.” Actually, he just galloped along behind the rest of the field, prompting some pretty terse comments from the jockey.

Now a 3-year-old who had been in training with the other trainer since he was started as a yearling, Ham was what we call “sour.” He didn’t want to be a racehorse, and to him, it seemed like no one was hearing him when he expressed that sentiment.

We were listening, and we did everything we could to help him out. We gave him some time off on the farm to freshen him up, in hopes that that might change his attitude. It didn’t, but our pleas on Ham’s behalf to the owner seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Since finances seemed to be at the crux of nearly every conversation we had with Joe, we explained that getting a horse off the books that had no interest in racing would be good for the bottom line.

Whether Joe wanted this particular horse to be successful on the track because he was named after Joe’s young son, or whether Joe thought Jerry and I were complete idiots I never figured out, but Ham’s final statement prompted decisive action on our part.

Hamilton, alternately known as Ham, J. Ham and The Hamster, had yet another name. It was bestowed upon him by Jeanne, a friend of ours who came to work for us on the farm. She called him The Princess because of his many dislikes—cold temperatures, hot temperatures, rain, snow, sleet, mud, flies, the dark—you name it. Ham was into comfort, and didn’t care who knew it!

For several mornings, Ham had balked at the doorway of the barn when it was time to train. He would rear up, spin in circles and dance a jig before firmly planting his feet and refusing to move. Eventually, when he was coerced to the track it was obvious to all that he wasn’t happy about it.

Ham would stop and start numerous times on the track, which is a safety issue for all the other horses and riders out there training. On this particular morning, Ham had had enough. He propped and dropped Sam, who hit the ground hard. Most loose horses will take a couple laps around the track at top speed, but Ham headed straight down the exit ramp (he conveniently placed Sam on the ground right in front of it) and trotted back to our barn, where he found the door shut. He stood right there in the cold rain, glaring, until someone opened the door and led him back to his stall.

Sam, relatively unscathed (remember, he’s only 20!) was pissed off. I could see him from my vantage point, kicking dirt clods and no doubt cussing up a storm while he looked for his stick and began the long walk back to the barn.

Daily Notes: I picked up my copy of The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren this morning while having my coffee, and randomly opened it up. On the page where I landed, Mr. Warren is introducing a concept that is near and dear to my heart. I struggled for years with this concept, because I am the type of person that will drive myself nuts until I figure something out.

Mr. Warren states, “You were made by God and for God, and until you understand that, life will never make sense.” (Emphasis mine.)

He is so right, and I have had many debates with my hot-tempered son as he was growing up about why life doesn’t make sense. Or, more specifically, why life “isn’t fair.”

Mr. Warren continues, “It is only in God that we discover our origin, our identity, our meaning, our purpose, our significance and our destiny. Every other path leads to a dead end.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?” I can hear skeptics out there saying. Well, I don’t know why, but I know that this is correct. I know this because if you follow God’s promptings for your life, it works. Just like I know electricity works, even though I certainly can’t tell you how or why.

I’m living this out right now with something far stronger than my willpower pushing me on.

For the past two days, I’ve really had the desire to chuck it in on my experiment here. And for the past two days, I’ve not been allowed to quit.
Oh, today's pic is from waaaaaaay back. Jerry's such a cute 'lil cowpoke!

Friday, February 5, 2010

Testing God - Post Eighteen


The sales were over and all 11 of Joe’s yearlings were delivered to our farm. Jerry and I have always agreed that the best thing for sales yearlings that have gone through what must be for them a mind-blowing experience is to be “let down” afterward on the farm.

Most yearlings arrive post-sales a bit wild-eyed and jittery, so our Rx is to turn them out for 30 days and leave them alone except to give them feed, hay and water. We jokingly say they need to learn how to be horses again—run around, kick up their heels and roll in the mud. In other words, rid themselves of all that Show Sheen and hoof polish.

The plan was to give the youngsters a few months to relax and grow, and then begin the breaking process in February.

Back at the track, while The Unbelievable was getting accustomed to training in his “head gear,” the other horses were being entered in suitable races at Turfway Park in Kentucky and Hoosier Park in Indiana. Both tracks operate during the winter, and both have an abundance of lower level claiming races, which was where this group of horses seemed destined to run.

The only thing UB took more seriously than his training regimen was my rehabilitation. Each day, I had to tie him to the back wall of the stall to curry and brush him and pick his feet before putting on the saddle and bridle when it was his turn to go to the track.

I am cold-natured, and the winter months almost kill me when I have to be out in the weather. But even though it was unseasonably cold, for the first week or so after being told by UB that I was his caretaker, I would stand outside his stall, sweating bullets, clutching my grooming implements and willing myself to duck under the webbing and catch him.

For his part, as soon as UB would see me start to dip under the crossbar, he would turn his butt to me and lift a hind foot, jabbing it slowly and menacingly in my general direction.

“We don’t have all day, Shon,” Jerry yelled down the shedrow. “Do you need help?”

“No, thank you, I don’t.” I shot back, glaring at UB.
Note: I am so sorry, but this post did indeed get "lost in translation" somewhere yesterday--I thought it posted, but I must have hit the wrong button and saved it as a draft. Anyhoo, the pic today is a way back photo of Jerry. At 6'3", we jokingly call him the "extra size rider." LOL

Testing God - Post Nineteen


UB came to us already gelded; it was the previous trainer’s last-ditch effort to calm him down and make him manageable. He had a reputation as a bad biter, and showing his teeth while making his ears disappear was indeed a favorite pastime of his. He loved to rush his webbing, scaring the bejeebers out of anyone who inadvertently walked too close.

Even though UB himself had told me in no uncertain terms that he would not hurt me, his body language sent a different message. As I worked to get him groomed and tacked, he would alternately snap his teeth at me, wing a hind hoof toward me, or try to trap me up against the wall with his body.

Pride went a long way toward keeping me from calling to Jerry for help unless I absolutely could not get something done by myself. I still had snippets of our driveway standoff rolling around in my head.

As the days went by and UB’s antics continued, I had a revelation. He wasn’t trying to hurt me—the teeth never touched skin, the hoof never connected, and he never actually crushed me against the wall. What he was doing was a fine job of desensitizing me. My flinchy-ness was slowly disappearing.

Where this was most noticeable was with the other horses. In taking care of Hamilton and Digger, I found myself humming as I curried and brushed and picked their feet. And then one day I found myself in a fully seated position in the stall, bandaging Hamilton’s legs. I was totally relaxed, thoroughly enjoying my task, and I hadn’t even given a thought as to whether there was a clear path to the door.

Good work, Ubster!

I became obvious that other people weren’t so sure about The Unbelievable, because he did tend to instill fear in those who weren’t part of his inner circle. But it seemed to me that with the combined efforts of me, Jerry and Sam, UB was becoming a much happier horse. I guess it helps to be understood. :)

As far as racing was concerned, it was hard to get too excited about the other horses. Hamilton just wasn’t into it. It wasn’t a soundness issue, although had he put any effort into his races, he wouldn’t have stayed sound long with his pigeon-toed stance.

As for Digger, he was a big, heavily muscled horse with huge, saucer-like feet. He, like Hamilton, had never shown much talent to the previous trainer, which was why they were in the first batch of horses to be sent our way.

Winter racing didn’t offer the type of races that might possibly move Digger up--turf races. Very long turf races.

Old habits die hard, and I looked at both horses as if I was still running ReRun. Digger might like a second career in Western Pleasure, but Hamilton, well, he’d need a job where looks didn’t matter It didn’t take long for Ham to finally decided that he had had quite enough of this racing business. The morning came when he let us know this in no uncertain terms—and poor Sam got the worst of it.

Daily Notes: I don’t know why I am having such a hard time with this section today. Perhaps it is that my SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) affliction is getting the best of me. I’ve been a bit sullen the past couple of days, but there is a blessing to report.

Amish Joe, our neighbor (denoted as such so as not to confuse the reader, since Owner Joe has been mentioned frequently) stopped by to take a look at our downstairs bathroom reno project. He came at Jerry’s request to give us a quote on the reconstruction.

This neighbor has been working hard to finish construction of his own house on the farm across the street. He desperately needs to move his growing family (the count, I believe, currently stands at 5 kids under the age of 7) from the one-room building that has housed them for a couple years into the “big house” that is nearing completion.

The work these guys do is phenomenal. And they always seem to go above and beyond. So we were a bit shocked at the hourly quote Joe gave us to rebuild our bathroom—it was way too low!

It was partial payback, he explained, for our helping them out when they “have a need.” Use of our phone and electric for charging their power tools, picking up milk for them when I do my grocery shopping, dropping off their loan payment at the bank when I’m headed that way—it really never crossed my mind that any of those things was that much help to them, but apparently they made the Amish life much easier!

We feel very, very blessed to have them for neighbors—so much so I’m considering asking if they would consider making us “honorary Amish.” With an addendum that says we can keep our cars, electric and indoor bathroom.

The photo I’ve included today is one from back in my high school days. I will apologize now to my good friend Teresa, who I will no doubt hear from as soon as she sees the pic. This was taken our senior year in high school at Diamond Oaks Career Development Campus (a nice way to say vocational school!) In case you didn’t guess, we were in the Horsemanship class. I will also apologize to my daughter for my fashion statement, as she would sooner die than appear in public looking like this.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Testing God - Post Seventeen


Although my body was at the sales, my mind was back at the track with The Unbelievable. I was really looking forward to the sales being over.

As the remaining horses on Joe’s list came through the pavilion, I dutifully bid up to the amount that Joe had given, and on each horse I only managed to get in a bid or two before the competition left me in the dust. I really would rather have been heading home to get out of my wet clothes and put my feet up, but when I flipped to the listing of the last horse on Joe’s list (the last page in the book) I couldn’t help but smile.

It was a filly by Devil His Due. That sire was a very sound racehorse, and seemed to throw sound offspring. And if she looked anything like her daddy, she was probably big and lanky and dark, which is my favorite kind of racehorse! We had looked at so many horses, I honestly couldn’t remember her, but Jerry and I had kept her on our list.

As her hip number drew closer, I walked from the warmth of the seating area in the sales pavilion to the walking ring out back to have a final look at the filly.

There was quite a commotion in the ring, as people scurried to get out of the way of a fractious horse. The crowd scattered in all directions as the filly I was looking for took aim with both back feet on anything that moved.

I watched the filly (indeed big and lanky and as black as they come) dragging her handler this way and that, and then I recognized the lady on the end of the shank. She was an old acquaintance from the track, who was a good friend of Jerry’s now-deceased dad.

“Looks like she’s a handful,” I said, and thought that that was probably the understatement of the year.

“She’s really a nice filly,” Julie responded. “We bred her and raised her on our farm—I have pretty high hopes for her.”

I went back inside to bid when she came through the ring, figuring that I probably wouldn’t get this one, either.

Perhaps it was that the majority of buyers had already left, or that the antics of this filly had scared off some, but when the hammer dropped, I was the winning bidder. And, I had spent $3000 less than the maximum amount Joe allotted me. I grinned as I signed the purchase sheet—surely this would make our clearance-bin-shopping owner ecstatic!

Then I remembered the filly’s crazed kicking, and thought to myself, “UB, you’d better redouble your efforts to get me back to where I once was!”

Daily Notes: This section may be a little longer than usual today, but God’s led me to some good stuff. First, from Deuteronomy 10: 12-14:

What do you think God expects from you? Just this: Live in his presence in holy reverence, follow the road he sets out for you, love him, serve God, your God, with everything you have in you, obey the commandments and regulations of God that I’m commanding you today—live a good life.

Look around you: Everything you see is God’s—the heavens above and beyond, the Earth and everything on it.
The Message

Then, to The Miracle of Tithing, in which Mark Victor Hansen says:

What are the Universal Laws, and how do they work with tithing? Since the beginning of time, certain universal “truths” were set in motion that provide a constant, uniform and orderly method to the way the world works. These laws work in and around us, no matter what we do or how we think. They are:

The Law of Energy Becoming Reality—Energy moves into physical form. What you give out in energy (your tithe) materializes in physical results.

The Law of Vibration/Attraction—Everything in the universe vibrates, nothing rests. Your thoughts and subsequent actions are vibrations that you send off into the universe which, in turn, attract like-minded energy and vibration to you.

The Law of Relativity—Nothing is good or bad until it’s compared to something. For instance, some people may have greater abundance and prosperity than you and, likewise, you have more than another person.

The Law of Polarity—Everything has an opposite. If something bad happens in your life, there has to be something good about it. It’s how you look at the situation that makes it good or bad. Remember this as you begin to tithe, no matter what your situation.

The Law of Rhythm—The tide comes in, the tide goes out. When you’re on a down swing, know that the tide will be changing—it’s a law. “And this too shall pass.”

The Law of Gestation—Every “seed” has a gestation period. Manifestation into form or physical results is guaranteed to occur when the time is right. If you don’t experience immediate changes in your life because of tithing, remember this law.

And lastly, what Mr. Hansen considers to be the most important universal law for tithing:

The Law of Cause and Effect—What you send into the Universe comes back to you. There is no such thing as chance. Everything happens according to Law and nothing ever escapes the Law. When you give back 10% of your income, you will set this divine Law into motion—the question is, will you be ready to receive?

My son, Ian, whom I love dearly, nearly drove me ‘round the bend over the past few years. He's a believer in karma, and I told him that I believed in karma, too, since God invented it. I believe that karma is just another word for The Law of Cause and Effect. Or, even more simply put, what goes around comes around.
Oh, about the photo (an old one) that I posted with the blog today: Remember when I said the starting gate was dangerous? Nobody ever expects this to happen, but it did! That's Jerry in front of the starting gate at Turfway Park the night the wheels popped off of it just after the start of a race. Sheesh...it's always somethin'!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Testing God - Post Sixteen

To give the reader some perspective, the price range on Thoroughbred yearlings covers a vast expanse. The least one will spend on one is $1000.00, as most sales companies have now instituted a “minimum bid” designed to thwart the attempts of “killer buyers” to purchase unwanted horses for slaughter for human consumption.

The maximum has been upwards of $10 million. Back at the height of craziness in the 1980’s a yearling brought a record $13 million. I was actually privileged to be at Keeneland to witness that event—a college student working the sales to earn tuition money.

I remember watching, in stunned silence like most everyone else present, that colt being led away after the hammer dropped. I wondered to myself what in the world would ever make anyone pay that much money for a horse. I mean, hadn’t they heard about Murphy’s Law as it relates to equines? And, in actuality, that investment ended up being a bit of a flop.

As an aside, the guy that I had been dating for awhile was standing beside me as this little bit of history unfolded.

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” he wanted to know. And I made a mental note to cross him off my list of possible soul mates.

And, as illustrated by the story above, spending huge sums certainly doesn’t guarantee a champion. In fact, it seems to us that many, many good racehorses have been purchased in the $50,000 - $150,000 price range. In rare instances, a horse like Seattle Slew, bought for a mere $17,000, constitutes the bargain of the century. He won the Triple Crown and went on to be a major success as a stallion, too.

It was another bargain of the century that Joe was after, and the most he spent on any one horse, after the hammer fell on all eleven of Joe’s yearlings, was $12,000. I was not in the pavilion as that particular filly sold, but Jerry told me that he elbowed Joe several times to keep bidding, and in fact had considered jumping in if Joe stopped to get her for us.

To be honest, the last horse Joe purchased was actually purchased by me, as Joe had to get on the road south to tend to his business interests there. He left me with a list of the remaining horses that had passed our inspection that he was interested in acquiring. The amount he was willing to spend on each horse was clearly marked.

It was the last day of the Fasig-Tipton sale, and it was raw, windy and cold. I looked at the last horse on the list, who was also the very last horse in the sale.

“Perfect,” I sighed. “I’ll guess I’ll be here til the bitter end.”


Daily Notes: I mentioned a couple days ago about the water spout episode in our downstairs bathroom. My thought at the time was “well, it could be worse,” and as it turns out, I was correct. Turns out a small leak a couple years ago did much more damage that we realized before we discovered and fixed it. The result necessitates a total gut of that room, sub--flooring and all.

Gotta love old houses—this one (part of it, anyway) was built in 1816 by a colonel in the Revolutionary War. In addition, one of our paddocks contains a sacrificial burial mound of the Adena Indians who lived on our land about 2000 years ago. I think it is interesting that while Jesus was walking around over there, virgins were being sacrificed over here.

We have so much weird stuff happen here, that we frequently joke about the “paranormal activity.” But I’m not blaming my current house problems on haints. Perhaps this is a test. Since God is being so silent about the larger sum of tithe money I’ve set aside (and yes, I am still praying about it!) mayhaps the devil is trying to tempt me.

I spent a little time today in the Mark Victor Hansen book “The Miracle of Tithing.” One of the questions he received was as follows: “I believe the entire universe is God’s “church.” Can I tithe to a non-profit organization or foundation?”

Mr. Hansen’s response was, “Insofar as God is omnipresent throughout the universe, and insofar that he commanded us to be good stewards of the creation he’s provided for us, it’s better to give to non-profit organizations and foundations than not to give at all. Giving is giving. Jesus said, “Give and it will be given unto you.” Jesus did not say where to give.”

Our church has many good ministries, but one of my favorites is called Room in the Inn. We are part of a national program that churches can opt to join. Our church provides a meal, showers and a place to sleep for area homeless men one night a week. This ministry operates November through March each year, and my husband commits a night a month to stay overnight, drive the van to pick up the men, etc. We have both been so blessed to meet these guys and become a little part of their lives. Their stories, each different, can be quite eye-opening, and a blessing in themselves. Sometimes I direct our church tithe checks to benefit this ministry. I’m not sure why this ministry calls to us, unless it is that we feel so at home among these guys—maybe because it reminds us of racetrack life!

Oh, that reminds me—it’s almost time to introduce you all to Louie!

Monday, February 1, 2010

Testing God - Post Fifteen


So there we were at the sales, with Joe’s number of purchases, and my concerns, growing. Initially, we had been concerned about the huge expense that Joe would have getting these horses through the breaking process and the long length of time before they were ready to make their first start—the point at which there was at least the possibility of a return on his investment.

I remember coming in to the sales pavilion from my latest foray to the sales barns working my way down our list of possibles. I took a seat beside Joe, and I must have had a look on my face that expressed angst. Joe assured me that “he could afford it,” and since this was not his first foray into the racing business, I had no reason to think he didn’t know what he was getting into.

In truth, my concern was more about how Jerry and I would deal with so many horses to break on our farm. It would take much more in the way of employees than we had planned on, and good employees were hard to find. Not to mention, workman’s comp premiums would be large.

My concern grew when I met up with Jerry later, who handed me a release slip on a colt that immediately rang a bell.

“I thought we nixed this colt,” I said to my husband.

“We did.” He countered. “But apparently Joe decided to buy him anyway.”

We looked back at the colt’s page in our sales books-- by this point well worn and thoroughly marked—and compared notes. While this colt was indeed a big, fairly good looking individual by a currently fashionable sire, we had scratched him off our list. Jerry and I both looked at him, and both agreed that while we couldn’t put our finger on it, there was something just a little “off” about this colt’s movement. Something, though we couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, just wasn’t right, and these thoughts had been relayed to Joe.

It dawned on me then that perhaps our new owner didn’t have the greatest confidence in our abilities.

Daily Notes: As I began this blog, I promised to be honest in my failings. I have a BIG failure to admit, made more difficult because I have inadvertently drug my daughter down, too. Yesterday, we—Brit and I—had the opportunity to do a RAK, turn the other cheek and model Christian behavior, all in the same fell swoop. We didn’t do it. And I am feeling very, very small right now because not only did I miss this opportunity, I’m afraid I set a really bad example of pettiness for my daughter.

How human am I? I totally missed this yesterday, but God saw it all. He actually woke me up very early this morning (our one morning of the week set aside to sleep in) with this thought front and center in my mind. So I got up to make a note of it and post this blog before the devil could convince me that what I did wasn’t so bad.

I was also led to the following scripture in James 3: 13:

Do you want to be counted wise, to build a reputation for wisdom? Here’s what you do: Live well, live wisely, live humbly. It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts.

The Message

Yup, that’s right. I can yada, yada, yada, blog, blog, blog all day, but if I can’t walk the walk, it makes talking the talk all the more hypocritical.
Oh, I found this pic of The Unbelievable in a workout at Victory Haven, with Sam in the irons. I couldn't resist posting it!