Posts
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.
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
No comments:
Post a Comment