Testing God - Post Fourteen

Jerry and I have formulated our own philosophy about owning and training racehorses over the 23 years we have been married. We have had horses of our own in training for most of those years, and while we have not (yet!) owned a Derby or Breeders’ Cup winner, Last Move bought our first farm (we thanked him by naming the farm after him) and Champagne Casey did her part by funding many improvements on our current farm.

The horses that we have owned that were not quite so productive were re-purposed before they got too deeply into our pockets.

Central to our core philosophy is the belief that horses are not machines. They think, they feel, they hurt, just like people do. We are blessed by the animals in our lives, and feel that if God saw fit to place them in our care, we need to be good stewards of that gift. If they are nurtured and tended to, they in turn tend to perform to the best of their abilities.

Which brings me to philosophy number two. Not all Thoroughbreds are cut out to be racehorses. Just because the daddy was a runner and the mama was a runner doesn’t necessarily mean that their baby will be a stone-cold runner, although it does increase the possibility of that happening.

Here’s a shocking revelation, though…some Thoroughbreds do not like racing. They are more cut out for jumping, dressage, or barrel racing. Some would rather hit the trail than perform in oval workspaces. Our years of “recycling racehorses” in the ReRun program substantiated this claim.

To put it in a human perspective, it wouldn’t matter if my father and mother were both phenomenal mathematicians. If you told me that because of this I would be expected to spend the rest of my life working problems for a living, well, just shoot me now!

Daily Notes: Committing to this blog has had at least one positive effect on me—I was such a cheerful giver this morning! No kidding. For once, I was really excited to put our check in the collection plate at church.

I was feeling pretty darn good, thinking that I was making some progress away from my usual tense attitude about money. I was feeling confident that because I am now keeping a tally sheet on everything that comes in, I am tithing what I am supposed to be tithing.

And then the devil did his thing. We came home to a busted pipe in the downstairs bathroom. The pipe burst somewhere under the floor, and there was a rooster tail of water spraying the entire room. Looks like another major reno is in our immediate future.

But I’m still cheerful, and I’m not going to let this setback set me back. I’m not, I’m not, I just refuse to. Does it count if I said that through gritted teeth?

Testing God - Post Thirteen

It might seem like all our time was taken up by The Unbelievable, but in fact Jerry was mostly occupied dealing with all the other horses. In addition to UB and J. Hamilton, there was Digging Deep (Digger) and Retirement Plus (who would name a horse something like that?) In addition, Lemhi Lightning and Itsaprettyday (both recovering from injuries) were both on our farm, along with Mr. Pegalow, a huge two-year-old who was already a retiree, there to be gelded and shipped south.

Joe had also made quite a long list of horses that he wanted us to take a look at in the September sale at Keeneland and the October sale at Fasig-Tipton. He had indicated that he wanted to purchase four yearlings, which would then come to our farm to be started under tack. The plan was to then bring them up in the spring of their two-year-old year to begin training in earnest at the track.

Our days of looking at horses at the sales started early and ended late. Because Jerry needed to be at the track during training hours, I would head to the sales to start looking, and Jerry would join me as soon as he could. We looked at so many horses our heads were spinning. When we found the ones who had both looks and pedigree that we liked, they were added to our “short list” (a misnomer if ever there was one!) that we discussed with Joe.

To make matters even more complicated, the budget we were given was making our job of finding well-put-together horses with a modicum of pedigree next to impossible.

Because we had formulated a game plan before we even started looking at yearlings, imagine our surprise when we purchased the fourth yearling (which was the mutually agreed-upon number) and Joe kept right on bidding. We thought it best to voice our concerns about upping the number of horses, and Joe quickly filled us in on his philosophy. He felt that racing is all a numbers game—the more horses you had in training, the better the likelihood of having a really good horse.

Sure, that makes sense, especially if funding is unlimited and you are buying well-bred horses that have great conformation. But the cost of keeping not-so-stellar horses in training is exactly the same as training exceptional horses. Both kinds eat and poop. And, horses being a perfect example of Murphy’s Law, if something can go wrong, it usually will.

But, Joe felt that if you threw enough horses into the mix, one horse would prove to be a talented enough individual to support all the others. That, in my humble opinion, is a lot of weight for one horse to carry.

Daily Notes: We received today Kentucky's version of a major snowstorm—in our case, it would seem we’ve gotten about 4 inches of snow. Since I’ve been holed up inside in front of the fire today, I have gotten a few days worth of blogs written. That way, I can just add my daily notes and post them. It’s my hope that by being a little ahead, I won’t miss a day when things get crazy. A.k.a. Springtime.

We have been watching Joyce Meyer’s show Enjoying Everyday Life on TV. I really enjoy her messages, as she seems like she speaks from a very real perspective. Plus she’s a hoot. And I got to wondering—is it wrong to watch Joyce while enjoying a nice glass of shiraz? No, I decided it might be wrong if I was enjoying a couple bottles of shiraz, but I should be fine with a glass. Everything in moderation—that’s my motto. LOL

Anyway, in the show we just watched, she talked about how real Christians must endure God’s pruning. That’s so true…if things never got tough for us, if we never had to trust God and rely on him, we would never grow! If we endure the pain of being pruned, much like plants, we will come back healthier, stronger, and better than before. I found the following in John 15: 1-8:

“I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn’t bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more.

You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.

“Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me.

“I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples.”
The Message

I have learned this lesson over and over through the years, and especially with The Unbelievable. But in my human-ness, I seem to at times fall back on my old ways. But thankfully, God never fails to get out his pruning shears and get my attention again.

Testing God - Post Twelve

Earlier on, I mentioned that Jerry left Claiborne to resume his training career after a brief hiatus. He had never had a huge stable of horses; in fact the most at one time was about 15, and that was going back 22 years to the time he took over his father’s training stable just after we were married.

In more recent years, he would train a couple horses for an owner or two, generally while training a horse or two of our own. Let me just say for the record that Jerry is the best horseman I have ever known. He truly does have a way with horses. And oddly, I knew this the moment I laid eyes on him nearly 24 years ago, when I met him while interviewing his father for a magazine article I was writing.

I have a photograph of this exact moment, as I was shooting the pics to go with the article. There he was, my future husband, “doing up” a filly in poultice. Sporting a mop of curly hair and those gorgeous blue eyes! I remember thinking how I’d like to go out with this guy, and how having that thought was probably entirely unprofessional.

As it turned out, Jerry’s dad, Bob, had the same idea. He told me (only half jokingly) that he wouldn’t give me an interview unless I agreed to go out with his son. Well, what could I do? I needed the info for my article. I found out later that Bob paid for the date, leaving me to wonder if Jerry really wanted to go out with me, or just couldn’t pass up a free meal. Sorry…digressing again. J

So when Jerry met Joe at Claiborne while giving a tour of the stallion complex, they began talking about racing and Jerry mentioned that he was considering going back to training. The fact that both men were Christians was also discussed. The two exchanged business cards, and Jerry really didn’t give the encounter much further thought.

Jerry turned in his resignation at Claiborne, after much prayer and serious thought. And then a strange thing happened. Or should I say—a God thing happened. Jerry got a call from Joe asking if he had given any more thought to resuming his training career. Jerry said he had already left Claiborne in anticipation of doing just that.

Joe explained that he was making a trainer change, and would be coming to town soon. He wanted to meet with Jerry to talk about sending some horses his way.

Jerry arranged to meet Joe in Lexington, and as usual, I tagged along. I’m not sure if Joe anticipated getting a package deal of both Jerry and me, but we are a team. I’m sure that there have been many times that my husband wished I was more of a silent partner, but that’s just not how I roll.

Daily Notes: Major blessing to be reported! God has indeed answered my prayers and was watching over my husband. I mentioned a few posts back that Jerry had done his time in the starting gate, and indeed he still works on the gate five mornings at week at a training center in Lexington. He was schooling a horse that was there to break (a timed workout from the gate to simulate a race.) The horse was fractious, and rushed forward, hitting the front doors. The doors didn’t give, and the frightened horse reared up, flipping over backwards against the back doors. Jerry was pulled off the 6” ledge where the starters perch, and he and the exercise rider were both trapped between the flailing wedged horse and the back doors. Jerry, the exercise rider and the horse were all extricated from the gate, unharmed except for scratches.

More good news—the annual tobacco buyout payment came through, so there is more money to be tithed this week. And...I hear peeping coming from inside the eggs in the incubator in our upstairs bathroom, which means chick-lets are on the way! I think it's so cool that you can hear peeps before they even hatch!

Testing God - Post Eleven

“OK, I have a couple ideas,” I told Jerry. “And please let me finish before you roll your eyes.”

Because we knew UB’s main problem was the noise associated with the race-time starting gate, it seemed that muffling the sound would help his nerves. My mind flashed to another famous racehorse that had a problem with noise—Gate Dancer. The solution for this horse had been to run with a set of horsey “ear muffs.” I figured we could do the same thing for UB, by stuffing his ears with cotton and covering them with mesh ear covers designed to keep flies away in the summer.

Jerry and I began making the rounds of tack stores all over Lexington looking for the ear nets. We were striking out store by store, until we got to the tack store that services the Red Mile, a Standardbred track.

According to the lady behind the counter, many trotters and pacers are bothered by noise—so many that a product has been designed to deal with the problem. A set of ear plugs on a long, long string allowed drivers to keep their horses in relative silence for the first part of the race, and then yank the string mid-stretch, popping the ear plugs free. That’s when the cheers and hoots and hollers from the stands would frighten their steeds home. Or so the theory went.

Jerry and I gave each other a “wtf?” look. But since the ear plugs were designed to fit down in the ear canal, I figured we could lose the long strings and proceed with our plan.

A bit more problematic was what to do about the nose chain, which Jeremy the starter was insisting be used.

We had a dropped nose band that several of our horses went to the track in, and as I was looking at it, I had an idea. We went to PetsMart and found a dog collar—the choker type—that looked big enough to fit around a horse’s nose, but not so big that there was too much slack. Then we took the both pieces to the tack shop and explained that we wanted the chain suspended loosely by small leather straps just below the noseband. The leatherworker worked his magic, and UB’s new “head gear” ensemble was born. If there was an equine short bus, UB would be on it!

Daily Notes: I don’t know what I expected when I started this project, but I know that I didn’t expect that nothing would happen. I realize that I’m less than two weeks into it, and it’s a bit impatient of me to expect that something grand would have happened by now. But a little part of me is worried, and a little voice in my head keeps saying “What if it never does? What if, at the end of it all, you just look like an idiot?”

Ah, well. I’ve looked like an idiot before, and no doubt I will again. And again.

But now, my BIG dilemma must be dealt with.

The dilemma is this…to accurately convey my story, I have to introduce into the cast of characters the owner that up until now I’ve only mentioned, in passing, as “the owner.”

To do this may open up a whole Christian can of worms. But if there is anyone out there reading along that thinks that they can paint us all (Christians, that is) with the same broad brush, I may just shoot a big hole in that theory. I have prayed that God will help me to truthfully and accurately paint the picture of what happened, because in the end, this story isn’t as much about the humans and the equines, but rather what God accomplished through the whole messed up mess of us.

Testing God - Post Ten

As it turns out, Jeremy, the starter, knew The Unbelievable pretty well. He had previously handled him in the starting gate for a race, and knew well the crap that our horse was capable of pulling.

“How long have you had this horse, Jerry?”

“Not long, a couple weeks,” Jerry responded.

“Well, here’s the deal,” continued Jeremy. “We can school him, but he won’t do a thing wrong in the morning.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to handle him in the gate,” Jerry said, and I nearly fainted.

For UB’s part, just as he told me that he would, he behaved as a perfect gentleman. He walked right into the starting gate, and stood calmly as the back doors were shut. Jerry and Sam stroked his neck, while UB looked around, thoroughly bored.

UB had previously indicated that it was the noise, commotion and all the bodies crammed into the gate that bothered him, but I was having a hard time trusting my animal communication skills with the welfare of so many at stake. My heart was racing, right up until Jeremy opened the back doors, and UB backed out.

“See what I mean? Nothing.” Jeremy said. “Bring him back a couple more times to school, and then he’s off the list. You can enter him.”

Jeremy was concerned about his future race-day antics, and rightly so. He would be the one that had to handle him for the race. He indicated that in the past, he had loaded UB with a chain run over the horse’s nose so that he could “keep his attention.” Problem was, it was difficult to get the chain off the horse once he was in tight quarters in the gate. At that point, every second counted.

My fear was that the added stress of a chain over his nose was further pushing UB’s panic buttons. As I walked back toward the barn, I put on my thinking cap. We were going to have to get creative.

Daily Notes: Very little time today…impending big snow storm necessitated a trip to the big city (Lexington) to lay in some supplies for the 2-leggeds and the 4-leggeds, just in case it actually materializes. I did get to see my daughter, Brit, briefly at the grocery. She was working on some RAKs of her own, purchasing some jars of peanut butter for the Peanut Butter for Haiti Project. A quick stop by church to drop off the peanut butter, and then I stopped by my friend’s house for one RAK of my own. No one was home, but thank goodness she left a key under her mat! J

Now I’m off to visit my friend, Judith, who is in much need of prayers right now. Judith, and her husband Brian just moved here from California. Judith’s health is very bad, and the parade of specialists that she has been seeing for the past two years have not been able to figure it out.

Testing God - Post Nine

Actually, UB had somewhat eased my mind when he told me that it wasn’t the starting gate per se that upset him—just all the noise and commotion at the gate at race time. And at the training center where we were stabled, the starting gate is generally pretty quiet. There is never more than a horse or two at a time there in the morning.

When a horse acts badly in or around the starting gate (refusing to load, being fractious in the gate, or flipping—the most dangerous stunt) they are placed on what is called the Starter’s List. Not a good place to be, as it means that you are not permitted to race your horse until his name has been cleared. What this generally entails is some “schooling sessions” in the morning, with someone in attendance that has the authority to deem the bad lad or lassie “cured.”

My husband, who over the years had done nearly every job there is to do around the racetrack, has done his time on the starting gate. Next to being a jockey, working as an assistant starter is the most dangerous job on the racetrack. Responsible for insuring fair and equitable starts to each race, the assistant starters must load each horse, and remain in the gate with the fractious ones. The goal is to try to keep the “bad acters” from breaking through or climbing under the front door, or flipping backwards over the back door or worse, getting down under the gate and injuring the horses on either side with frantic thrashing. In a starting gate packed with as much as 15,000 pounds of nervous horseflesh, the potential for carnage is high.

As UB approached the starting gate, Jerry spoke to the starter, a fellow with whom he had a nodding acquaintance.

“We’re here to school,” Jerry began. “This horse is on the list.”

“Name?” queried the starter.

“The Unbelievable,” answered Jerry.

Jerry’s answer was met with a tightening of the starter’s jaw and a frown.

“I know him,” was all he said.

Daily Notes: As I was sitting here wondering if I should be worried at the slowness of my business, I looked down and realized that I have indeed received a blessing! For the first time in I don’t know how long, my hands are not cracked open and sore. My hands being in bad shape makes it rather hard to groom dogs, which is part of my business. Because I am allergic to virtually any substance that my hands come into contact with, I suffer year-round, but because the condition gets worse with cold weather and dry heated air, I’m much worse in the winter. I don’t think my hands will ever be “pretty” again, but this turn of events is refreshing, indeed! I don’t know how long it will last, but thanks, God!

Normally I reference a Bible passage in this section, but today I’m going to tell of a racing industry incident that came to me last night via Facebook in The Paulick Report. I mention it here because you will see this subject come into play later on in the story being told in this blog.

I have been involved in racing since high school, and with horses in general pretty much since I could walk. I owe horses a debt of gratitude that I don’t think I can ever repay, although I am trying. And I have come to realize that horses are the instrument that God has chosen to lead me through life, and to watch over me. My angels, if you will.

It was this indebtedness that was the driving force behind the creation of ReRun, Inc., and behind this organization fighting for a better way for racehorses for over 13 years now. It has only been in the past few years that it seemed that the racing industry as a whole was finally “getting it,” and my husband and I felt comfortable enough to turn ReRun over to a group of fresher, more energetic and very capable people while we got back to our first love…racing.

Anyway, to make a long story short, a controversy has erupted at Penn National Racecourse in Pennsylvania. Saturday evening, the jockeys refused to ride in any races in which horses owned by Michael Gill were entered. The vote was taken among the jockeys after the 5th race, in which Laughing Moon (a Gill-owned horse) broke down just past the wire, causing another horse to go down as well. It was the second breakdown of a horse owned by Gill at this track in three nights, which prompted another Penn National horseman to say, “Gill’s horses are breaking down at a rate that’s just not normal.”

In fact, according to The Paulick Report, in just over three months, 14 other horses owned by Gill have either broken down, were pulled up, returned lame, or eased at Penn National. This is nothing new for this man—his antics go back many years and at many different tracks.

I think our industry needs to do double-time on “getting it.”

My apologies for the length of this posting today, but I promise—this will tie in soon! And if you are interested in ReRun, you will find the info at www.rerun.org.

Testing God - Post Eight

Whatever had happened, it looked like UB got the worst of it. I questioned Diego, the rider, who decided that now would be a good time to pretend he didn’t understand me. And that he didn’t speak English. That was it…nobody mistreats our horses-physcially or mentally! For the purposes of this blog, let’s just say Diego was asked to leave. And not very nicely, I’m afraid.

It was shortly prior to this that I had encountered Sam. I had watched this kid around the barn each day. His father, also a trainer, is a really nice guy. Always friendly, with something pleasant to say. But his son didn’t seem at all like that. Whether he was on foot or on horseback, he seemed arrogant and angry. And the stuff that came out of his mouth—oy vey! He really didn’t have anything nice to say, or so it seemed. Why did I feel drawn to this kid? And then it hit me—he was just like me, back in the day!

Even with that realization, he still ticked me off. And then one day, Sam was striding down the shedrow towards me, the fringe on his chaps making that swish-swishing sound, and just about the time he got to me, he spit. Or spat. Whatever—it landed extremely close to my feet. I felt the color drain out of my face. I felt my eye start to twitch. When this happens at home, my kids know to tuck and roll. Sam strode on.

I never could get from UB exactly what had transpired with Diego on the way home from the track, but in any event we needed a new exercise rider for him. UB suggested Sam, so I suggested Sam to Jerry. Sam was approached and agreed to gallop some horses for us, and so a new alliance was formed.

As it turned out, Sam was actually a lot like his dad. It seemed that life had been treating him rather roughly of late (as tends to be the perception when you’ve just turned 20) but I found he actually smiled and laughed a whole lot more than he scowled and spit.

With Sam in the irons, UB seemed to relax and enjoy his morning workouts. But no matter how well his training sessions went, there was one hurdle we had to face—the starting gate.

Problem was, I was really growing to like Sam—potty mouth and all—so with visions of higher workman’s comp premiums and a bruised and battered Sam dancing in my head, off to the gate we went.

Daily Notes: Still wondering why God is being silent on the tithe money. But I will be patient, because in the past when God does give me instructions, they are very plain, as you will see if you keep following this blog.

The sermon series at church right now is titled “Unstoppable.” Our pastor, Dave, talked about how God doesn’t call the qualified, he qualifies the called. Examples given were—from the Old Testament—Moses (not a good public speaker,) Jacob (a liar) David (had an affair and then murdered his lover’s husband) and from the New Testament—Peter (quite impetuous and prone to running off at the mouth,) and Paul, who was really a horrible person prior to his encounter with God, and even after that encounter continued to have a short fuse.

If you have never read the Bible for fun, I encourage you to get a copy of The Message, as it makes for a very easy read. None of those pesky “thees” and “thous,” just the language of today.

There are times when I can just picture Jesus turning to the camera and giving one of those looks that Jim on the sit-com The Office is always giving. You know, Jesus looking at Peter, rolling his eyes and saying “Really, Peter? You’re really doing that?”

And not just at Peter—I think Jesus did a lot of eye rolling while walking around amongst us down here.