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The stacks of papers covering the island in my kitchen produced conflicting emotions. I desperately wanted to see justice done for all the horses that had suffered and died because they were pushed beyond what their fragile bodies could take. But I also hated to provide one more nail in the coffin of a dying sport that I still, inexplicably, loved.
The sport of horse racing, even conducted under the best of conditions, is inherently dangerous. Breakdowns happen even under optimal conditions. Horses take bad steps and not all breakdowns are sinister—they’re just, well, accidents.
But knowing what I now knew, I was heartsick. And the really f*ed up part was that it was the animals who loved to compete—loved their jobs and ran for the sheer joy of running—that were at the greatest risk. Because they wanted to run, owners and trainers would take advantage of that and, as we say, 'run them into the ground.'
It would be like taking a Formula One race car, loosening all the lug nuts and sending it onto the track to compete. Sooner or later, at high speeds, wheels are going to fly off and a crash will take place. Can you really call that an accident?
I had the feeling that buried in this paper trail was a very convincing argument that a horse that never should have been on the track that cold night in February caused the death of its rider and serious injury to another.
For close to 10 years, ReRun as an organization had been doing all we could to convince the Thoroughbred industry that changes needed to be made. Response to our pleas was varied: We were told by some that there was no problem. We were told by others to keep our noses out of it. We were told by still others that, since we were a non-profit that needed funding from the Thoroughbred industry to survive, to speak of such things was ‘biting the hand that feeds us.’
Eying the video tape that came in the reporter’s shipment, I debated whether or not to watch it. I knew the carnage that it would contain; I had seen similar scenes played out on the TV screen many times over the years.
Finally, in the interest of giving the reporter the best ammo I could, I popped the tape into the VCR.
Daily Notes: I guess many of you thought I had indeed thrown in the towel since it’s been several days since I’ve posted anything. It has just been a wild and crazy week and with springtime close at hand, things may only get worse. But I have resolved to muddle through this commitment as best I can.
I am happy to report that I have remained on track with my tithing, so no worries there. And we (Jerry and I) have been able to accomplish some RAKs over the past week, which has lifted our winter-weary spirits quite a bit.
But the devil’s been busy, too, and since my attitude about money is becoming less of a problem, he’s had to become more imaginative to get under my skin.
Many of you know that we have a flock of free range chickens. Since there are lots more eggs than we can use, we sell the overflow to individuals and area restaurants.
Over the weekend as I was writing this blog, my husband was in the kitchen making French toast for breakfast. On the counter was an egg that had a funny look to it, and so was set aside from the eggs packaged for sale. Generally, if an egg is oddly shaped or too small, we use it ourselves or mix it in the dogs’ dinner. Waste not, want not, I always say!
Jerry had no sooner tapped the shell to break it open when I heard what sounded like a small explosion. Running toward the kitchen, I was stopped in my tracks by the most noxious odor I have ever smelled. Just so you get the idea, it smelled like a dirty diaper, vomit and a dead thing all rolled into one. To make matters worse, there stood Jerry, putrid green goo dripping from his hair, nose and hands and covering his shirt. If that wasn’t bad enough, the cupboards, kitchen window, curtains, stove and rack of wine glasses had also been splattered. The floor had its fair share as well.
I realize now that to call someone a ‘bad egg’ is indeed an insult of the worst kind. And on a day when I was already chasing my tail, I was forced to drop everything and clean my kitchen top to bottom.
The odor would gag a maggot, and even after I had cleaned everything with soapy water and bleach, the smell still lingered faintly. Jerry thought I had gone crazy—I sniffed absolutely everywhere but could not find where the persistent odor was hiding. Jerry said he couldn’t smell it anymore, as did one of our clients. Jerry has no sense of smell, and I was afraid the client was just being nice. I’m sure the devil was having a good chuckle.
And, back to Rich Toward God and reason number 3 that our “havest” may be delayed when we get serious about tithing.
Maturity—How prepared are you to manage a financial increase? For many people, expenses rise along with income so, if you’re not ready, you might be in the same situation again really soon. If you are not prepared, greed can reemerge as an adversary. The Lord may be allowing you to fell the financial pinch so that you will never forget the valuable lessons of having to get by on less.
Yup, I can certainly see the value in this lesson. And it seems that in today’s economy, the ‘new normal’ had people re-learning lessons that perhaps their parents, way back in the day tried to instill in them.
The sport of horse racing, even conducted under the best of conditions, is inherently dangerous. Breakdowns happen even under optimal conditions. Horses take bad steps and not all breakdowns are sinister—they’re just, well, accidents.
But knowing what I now knew, I was heartsick. And the really f*ed up part was that it was the animals who loved to compete—loved their jobs and ran for the sheer joy of running—that were at the greatest risk. Because they wanted to run, owners and trainers would take advantage of that and, as we say, 'run them into the ground.'
It would be like taking a Formula One race car, loosening all the lug nuts and sending it onto the track to compete. Sooner or later, at high speeds, wheels are going to fly off and a crash will take place. Can you really call that an accident?
I had the feeling that buried in this paper trail was a very convincing argument that a horse that never should have been on the track that cold night in February caused the death of its rider and serious injury to another.
For close to 10 years, ReRun as an organization had been doing all we could to convince the Thoroughbred industry that changes needed to be made. Response to our pleas was varied: We were told by some that there was no problem. We were told by others to keep our noses out of it. We were told by still others that, since we were a non-profit that needed funding from the Thoroughbred industry to survive, to speak of such things was ‘biting the hand that feeds us.’
Eying the video tape that came in the reporter’s shipment, I debated whether or not to watch it. I knew the carnage that it would contain; I had seen similar scenes played out on the TV screen many times over the years.
Finally, in the interest of giving the reporter the best ammo I could, I popped the tape into the VCR.
Daily Notes: I guess many of you thought I had indeed thrown in the towel since it’s been several days since I’ve posted anything. It has just been a wild and crazy week and with springtime close at hand, things may only get worse. But I have resolved to muddle through this commitment as best I can.
I am happy to report that I have remained on track with my tithing, so no worries there. And we (Jerry and I) have been able to accomplish some RAKs over the past week, which has lifted our winter-weary spirits quite a bit.
But the devil’s been busy, too, and since my attitude about money is becoming less of a problem, he’s had to become more imaginative to get under my skin.
Many of you know that we have a flock of free range chickens. Since there are lots more eggs than we can use, we sell the overflow to individuals and area restaurants.
Over the weekend as I was writing this blog, my husband was in the kitchen making French toast for breakfast. On the counter was an egg that had a funny look to it, and so was set aside from the eggs packaged for sale. Generally, if an egg is oddly shaped or too small, we use it ourselves or mix it in the dogs’ dinner. Waste not, want not, I always say!
Jerry had no sooner tapped the shell to break it open when I heard what sounded like a small explosion. Running toward the kitchen, I was stopped in my tracks by the most noxious odor I have ever smelled. Just so you get the idea, it smelled like a dirty diaper, vomit and a dead thing all rolled into one. To make matters worse, there stood Jerry, putrid green goo dripping from his hair, nose and hands and covering his shirt. If that wasn’t bad enough, the cupboards, kitchen window, curtains, stove and rack of wine glasses had also been splattered. The floor had its fair share as well.
I realize now that to call someone a ‘bad egg’ is indeed an insult of the worst kind. And on a day when I was already chasing my tail, I was forced to drop everything and clean my kitchen top to bottom.
The odor would gag a maggot, and even after I had cleaned everything with soapy water and bleach, the smell still lingered faintly. Jerry thought I had gone crazy—I sniffed absolutely everywhere but could not find where the persistent odor was hiding. Jerry said he couldn’t smell it anymore, as did one of our clients. Jerry has no sense of smell, and I was afraid the client was just being nice. I’m sure the devil was having a good chuckle.
And, back to Rich Toward God and reason number 3 that our “havest” may be delayed when we get serious about tithing.
Maturity—How prepared are you to manage a financial increase? For many people, expenses rise along with income so, if you’re not ready, you might be in the same situation again really soon. If you are not prepared, greed can reemerge as an adversary. The Lord may be allowing you to fell the financial pinch so that you will never forget the valuable lessons of having to get by on less.
Yup, I can certainly see the value in this lesson. And it seems that in today’s economy, the ‘new normal’ had people re-learning lessons that perhaps their parents, way back in the day tried to instill in them.
Another back in the day pic--this one may have been taken by our good friend John Engelhardt at River Downs. This is Champagne Casey (bred by John E.) who won many races for us and in fact helped to buy the farm where we now live. She's an old curmudgeon-y lady now, bossing everyone else around the field.
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