A Thoroughbred's Dream Read online

  A Thoroughbred’s Dream

  Also by the author

  ~ * ~

  Call Me Lydia

  Maple Dale

  Favored to Win

  Maple Dale Revisited

  The Frog, the Wizard, and the Shrew

  Ellie’s Crows

  Hannah’s Home

  Odds on Favorite

  With the release of Odds on Favorite which takes a hard look at the Thoroughbred racing industry, MaryAnn Myers has stepped out on a bold limb. "I love Thoroughbreds, I love the racetrack, but..." says Myers, "We need to examine the practices of old and re-evaluate the new standards. We need to always, and I mean always, put the horses' and jockeys' safety first. Racing is all about winning, yes, as with most competitive sports. But it is also about the integrity of the sport. Owners and trainers need to be held accountable for the Thoroughbreds they breed and own. These horses run their hearts out, because that's what they were bred to do and that is what they love. But they have no choice of where to go after they are no longer competitive. That is where the integrity of ownership comes in, everyone involved needs to make a commitment up front to the long respectful life of that Thoroughbred. It's as simple as that."

  MaryAnn Myers - Bestselling author of Favored to Win, Odds on Favorite, and Barn 14 - Meg’s Meadows of the Winning Odds Series, horse trainer, equestrian, and environmentalist, lives on an organic farm in Northeast Ohio along with her family, a bevy of dogs, three retired Thoroughbreds and a Morgan mare with an attitude. She writes about what she knows and loves - horses!

  "I just want to write, I just want to ride."

  MaryAnn Myers' novels are consistently on the Kindle Horse Racing Bestseller lists. Her characters are real-life people readers love! Every book is a story about love and triumph!

  Sunrise Horse Farm

  11872 Chillicothe Road

  Chesterland, Ohio 44026

  440-729-0930

  www.sunrisehorsefarm.com

  Copyright 2012 by MaryAnn Myers

  Cover design by Flair Graphic Arts & More

  All rights reserved. Printed and bound in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  First Edition

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  1. Fiction 2.Horses 3. Thoroughbreds 4.Horse Racing 5.Sports

  www.sunrisehorsefarm.com

  A Thoroughbred’s Dream

  Horse lovers rejoice! It is a rare treat to be able to experience the life and dreams of a Thoroughbred racehorse through that horse’s own viewpoint. From sunup to sundown, from the beginning to the end, suspend your disbelief and go along for the magical ride. Son of Royalty’s career is truly a dream come true.

  A Derby Dream

  Bandaro is heavily favored to win the prestigious Ohio Derby. He is Ohio bred and foaled, he is the hometown favorite. His local trainer is expecting his arrival. The Derby is just six weeks away. But what odds-makers don’t know, what even his trainer doesn’t know is that Bandaro is….

  Shipping Out in the Morning

  Recognizable in the motley crew of old Thoroughbred racetrackers, are the people you know and love. The trainer, the groom, the outrider, the jockey and the exercise boy. Whatever happened to them? You’ll find yourself smiling and nodding along as you listen to them talk about their careers at the racetrack, and you’ll hold your breath along with them when you know what they are about to face tomorrow.

  A Horseman’s Dream

  When well-known horsewoman Janie Pritchard finds herself at heaven’s door, will there be horses there to greet her; Thoroughbreds she knows and loves? Will she recognize them? Will they recognize her? Are they happy? Is there an end to the sadness, the mistreatment, the slaughter? Or is this all a dream?

  Ferdinand was a Thoroughbred racehorse who won the 1986 Kentucky Derby and 1987 Breeders’ Cup Classic. He was the 1987 Eclipse Award for Horse of the Year Winner. He was a champion. He entered stud in 1989 and was sold to a breeding farm in Japan in 1994.

  In 2002, when Ferdinand was no longer useful as a stud to his current owners, he was sent to slaughter. Ferdinand’s tragic death became the catalyst for the Ferdinand Fee donation dedicated to keeping old racehorses alive. Ferdinand’s legacy lives on….

  A Thoroughbred’s Dream

  Allow me to introduce myself. My name is “Son of Royalty” and once upon a time I was a racehorse. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re going to have to suspend your disbelief, because no one on earth could tell this story better than a Thoroughbred himself. I was born February 14th, 1990. I’m not a Kentucky blueblood, so to speak. But I have a little class on my dam’s side, which is probably where I got my attitude.

  The first two years of my life were as carefree as can be. I didn’t like being separated from my mother at four months of age, but there were a lot of other colts and fillies in the same situation. Weaning, what an awful word. I didn’t need to nurse anymore; I was fine eating grass and grain. What I missed most, was standing at her side, and not being afraid of anything whatsoever. If I got out of line, she was always there to correct me. She was nowhere around the day I was gelded. Sometimes I pretend that never happened.

  Being taught to lead was no big deal. I balked a little, until I realized what was expected of me. If they tug, they want you to walk forward. That was simple enough. Another tug, they want you to stop. If someone hits you, you’ve done something wrong. Or they have, and don’t know how to take the blame for it themselves. Let me tell you right now, there is absolutely nothing worse than a person who won’t admit to his own mistakes, a horse either for that matter. I wasn’t all that easy to break to the saddle. I was totally confused over what was expected of me. More than once I was called “Bullheaded,” but then I finally got the hang of it. Some of my fondest memories of growing up on the farm were the mornings when I galloped with all the other two-year olds.

  I liked winning! I was bred to run, I was bred to win. I don’t know of any Thoroughbred alive that thinks any other way. I am amazed at how many times I would overhear a trainer or groom imply otherwise. It’s as if they actually think we pick and choose when we’re going to run our hardest. That’s simply not true. If a horse doesn’t run his best, it’s for reasons other than “just not feeling like it.” We’re living, breathing, feeling animals. And while I’m at it, let me bring up the subject of whipping a horse during a race. I mean isn’t that a bit barbaric? I remember this jockey once who was known for his long stick. I get heart palpitations just thinking about it. He took that whip to me once, and let me tell you, I didn’t run any faster. I wonder what would happen if whips were to be suddenly outlawed. Oh, I’m sure race times would suffer. But in the end, would that really be a bad thing? There would still be a winner, tickets to cash in….

  I’ve bowed three times in my life, same leg all three times. It’s my right front. I’ve heard it said many times that it’s an ugly bow. I guess there’s such a thing as a pretty one. The first time I bowed, was as a three year old. I really didn’t feel it happening. In fact, I won the race. I was so proud. I’d won all my lifetime conditions and it was my first race against older horses. I think I might have tried too hard. I was out in front by two lengths at the head of the stretch, and finished going away, as the saying goes. When it came time to get done-up after the race, I felt a little something in that tendon. I didn’t know what, but something. Then here came everybody, the vet, the trainer, the owner. This was not good.

  I could see it in their eyes. I could hear it in their voices. I could smell it on their skin. By that evening, I really didn’t care much about how they were feeling. I was in major pain. I was given some time off, blistered. Boy, that hurt. I came back and won two more races that year, and all seemed well. The second time I bowed, was as a four-year old. That one I felt during the race, and was eased. I was mad. I had “why me” written all over my face, I’m sure. When I heard it said I wasn’t going to get blistered, I all but jumped for joy. As it turned out, I might have opted for that over the surgical procedure I undertook the following morning. I had actually liked my vet up until that day.

  The nice part about being laid up after the surgery was I got to see my mom. I was shipped out to this farm I’d never seen before, and after a couple of weeks of stall rest, was allowed outside in one of the paddocks, and there she was. She looked so pretty, standing out on the grass, grazing. I whinnied to her, and she picked her head up - looking all around and whinnying back. “I’m over here,” I kept saying. “I’m over here.” And then she saw me. I can’t tell you how that made me feel. She came over to the fence and nickered, and I got to see her up close.

  “Son…” she said.

  I kept nodding my head. “Yep, it’s me.” I told her all about why I was there, and that I was starting to get a little concerned with this bowed tendon. “I love to run! I don’t want to quit. What’ll I do then? This bow is ugly!”

  My mom said even as a foal, I tended to be a bit dramatic. I had a good time at that farm. I saw her every day. And then it came time to go back to the track. I was excited. My groom kept telling the train
er that he should up and enter me in a race, that I was kicking the barn down. I felt good! But I also felt a little sad. I didn’t know when I’d see my mom again.

  “I’ll always be with you,” she told me, the morning I shipped out. “I’m in your blood.”

  That made me feel good, but I still felt anxious leaving her. I started acting up. “What are you going to do without me?” My groom said he’d never seen me not want to load in a trailer before. I heard my owner say something about maybe tranquilizing me. “Mom, are you going to be okay?”

  “I’m going to be fine,” she said. “You’re going to have a little brother soon. I’ll have my hands full. Win one for me, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  I won seven more races that year. I was unbeatable. The bow was holding; I was maturing. I even heard someone say it was a shame I’d been gelded, that I would’ve probably made a good sire. Damn right!

  Since I’d already had so much time off, my trainer decided to ship me to Florida to continue running when this meet ended. I didn’t really know him that well; he was my third or fourth trainer over the years. I was getting the best of care, so he must have been a nice guy. Occasionally, he’d stop and talk to me. I didn’t care. I liked my groom, Manny. He fed me peppermints.

  I came up a little sore my first race in Florida. And my Florida trainer, who I didn’t know from Adam, decided to play it safe, and laid me up for six weeks. I went to a big open barn and have never seen so many flies in my life, or lizards either for that matter. I didn’t know what a lizard was at first, someone had to tell me. They had this one that kept insisting on jumping on my back. I knew it was him, and yet every time he landed, I’d practically turn inside out. I started watching for him, and if I thought I saw him, I’d buck and squeal in my stall. Next thing I knew, I was back at the track.

  “He’s tearing the barn down. Enter him.”

  I ran a second, and the next week, ran another second. I was feeling good. Too good, some might say. I got to playing on the walking machine the day before my next race, and got my left leg hung up somehow. Everyone started screaming, whoa, whoa. My groom was getting frantic. I couldn’t figure out how to get my leg down. I kept jumping in the air, thinking that if I could get higher than the walking machine, my leg just might magically come free. Someone turned the machine off. Someone grabbed my ear. I hate that. Someone else tried to get my leg free. I couldn’t have cared less at that point - I was more concerned about my ear. This person was twisting it like a pretzel. Yes, I know what a pretzel is, Manny used to feed me some of them, too.

  “All right, he’s free,” I heard someone say, and realized I was standing on all fours again. I’ll skip ahead a little here. Suffice to say, my bouncing around on three legs put too much pressure on the right front tendon. I aggravated the bow. For the next two days all I heard was talk of running, not running, entering, scratching, finished. I was in pain, but could still hear. I heard every word they said. I couldn’t believe they were thinking of retiring me. And to what? Who would want me with my ugly bow?

  “I’m a racehorse!!”

  “He’s nuts! He’s his own worst enemy!”

  So I was acting up a little. Big deal, wouldn’t you? I wasn’t even five years old yet! And they’re talking of retiring me.

  “Who’s going to want him, with that ‘ugly bow?’”

  Finally, somebody was making some sense. I stretched my neck to see if I could tell who said that. They were all in the tack room. It was my owner. He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look happy at all.

  “I’ll try and find him a home. Otherwise…?”

  “Otherwise what?” I wanted to know. I squealed and kicked the wall in my stall to get their attention.

  “If only he had a nicer temperament.”

  “What’s wrong with my temperament?”

  “Bad enough with that “ugly bow.”

  I banged my head into my feed tub, swearing if they said that one more time….

  “He’s not big enough for a hunter?”

  “What? I’m 15.3.”

  “He’s not that pretty either.”

  “Excuse me…?” That did it. I walked to the back of my stall. I didn’t want to hear another word.

  The following morning, I got a good suds bath from my groom. He was always nice to me, but was even nicer this morning for some reason. He cut my mane short, cut my bridle path. He even cut my tail, straight across. That really puzzled me. I liked my tail the way it was. He hugged me then. He hugged me for a good long minute. I didn’t know what to do, and just stood there. “I’ll miss you, old buddy,” he said, and walked out before I could say anything to him. No, horses can’t really talk. But I could have nuzzled him or something. He was my friend.

  “If I played my cards right,” I was told, by a perfect stranger loading me onto a van about a half hour later. “I could make a right nice cow pony.”

  “Cows?”

  “You seem pretty sensible.”

  “I ain’t no cow pony.”

  “With a little schooling….”

  “You can school me all you want. I told you, I ain’t no cow pony. I’m a racehorse. You hear me? A racehorse. I’ve won eighteen races in two years and made over $400,000 in my life. I don’t need to be able to read to know what my form says, I hear people talking.”

  “Settle down now. I said settle down or you and I are going to come to blows.”

  “Oh really?” Let me tell you, I’m not one to swear, but right about then I was tempted. Big time! I kicked the trailer instead.

  “All right, that did it!”

  I have never been loaded and unloaded so fast in my life.

  My groom was already stripping my stall in preparation for a new horse shipping in. He sighed. “Son,” he said, and didn’t say it like my mom. “What are we going to do with you?”

  “I want to run! I want to be a racehorse! I am a racehorse!! I’m a Thoroughbred!”

  “What’s he doing back here?” my trainer asked.

  “The guy didn’t want him. He changed his mind. He says he’s a rogue.”

  “A rogue? A rogue…? Read my lips,” I said, getting louder and louder. “I am a racehorse! A race-horse!”

  “See if Miller’s got an empty stall. Let’s give him a day or two to calm down.”

  A day or two did nothing for me. I wanted to run. I wanted to play. It was decided I was not to go back on the walking machine, for fear I’d end up hurting one of the other horses with my antics. Hand-walking me became a big chore. I couldn’t contain myself. I was feeling too good. Day six and here came the vet. Probably to tranquilize me, I thought. Bummer.

  My trainer and groom stood next to him, all three staring at my right front leg. Apparently it wasn’t looking all the more ugly at the moment. They speculated over whether or not the swelling after the walking machine incident was superficial. The bow was tight and pain free. I was not tempted in the least to even flinch when they examined it. I listened hard to what they were saying. They said I had spirit. They said I had class. They said I was a racehorse.

  I was back!

  My trainer entered me the following week after some light gallops, and I ran a third, beaten only by a length. I finished out the year with two more starts, a second and a win. I’d never felt better. My racing career continued. I had sixteen starts as a five-year-old, and hit the board every time. I ran nineteen times as a six-year-old, and had eight wins. The further I ran, the better I got. When I turned seven though I started to slow down. I’d gotten a respiratory infection that winter during lay-up, and it took a little out of me. My groom, Manny, was now my trainer, and he and I were pretty close. No one knew me better than him. I heard them talking in the tack room one morning about deciding what they were going to do with me. I thought this discussion might be about which race to enter me in, but apparently it went a little deeper.

  My life was on the line.