Monday, May 22, 2006
O Barbaro
Since most of America pays attention to horse racing between early May and early June, you probably know about Barbaro, the Kentucky Derby winner who broke his cannon bone, and his ankle in two places during the Preakness Stakes here in Maryland this weekend.
Our family felt a special connection to Barbaro, since we had the chance to meet him on April 14, during our Spring Break vacation in Kentucky. We were at Keeneland, perhaps the most beautiful racecourse in the country, touring the barns with a racing journalist, when we came upon a beautiful horse being washed down after his morning workout. We were told this horse, Barbaro, was a potential favorite for the Kentucky Derby. Since we don't know race horses, we took this at face value.
What won our hearts--especially my horse-riding daughter's heart--was the way Barbaro posed for pictures. He seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, and had the self-confident look of a winner.
Here's a shot my wife took that day. She took a lot of photos, and in all of them, Barbaro is looking directly at the camera, regardless of the angle.
So flash forward to the Derby. My daughter and I opened an on-line betting account and put some money on Barbaro. We cheered his stellar victory at Churchill Downs--his sixth straight, and interestingly, the sixth time the jockey didn't need to use the whip, but simply had to urge him on in the stretch. This was a horse who loved to win.
Now having become experts in racehorse flesh, we decided to do something we'd never done, which was to go to Pimlico for the Preakness to root for "our" horse. Pimlico is the opposite of Keeneland--a run-down, drab place, but certainly a lively one, with 118,000 mostly drunken spectators waiting through a sunny day for the big race. (If you've ever had a Black-Eyed Susan, Pimlico's answer to the Mint Julep, you'll know why so many people were drunk).
You know the story from there. Here's a shot of Barbaro (#6) just before his jockey, Edgar Prado, pulled him up (probably saving his life, at least for the moment, by reacting so quickly).
My daughter is a tough 11-year old. She's been around horses since she was five, and she knows how delicate they are. She was solemn at Pimlico, but not distraught--her only concern was that Barbaro's handlers get him to the hospital quickly. Barbaro was taken to Penn's large animal center--probably the best in the country, and a place my daughter aspires to, if she pursues her dream to be a veterinarian.
We've been following the news accounts since the race, and now know that Barbaro survived his surgery, and that his injuries were so bad that most other horses would have been put down on the spot. He's not out of the woods yet, but he stands a chance, and that's good.
I'm sure there will be much gnashing of teeth over the cruelty of horse racing--that the horses are overbred (true), often ill-treated after their 'usefulness' is over (also true, and my daughter is passionate about supporting thoroughbred rescue agencies), that it's only a business (very true, especially if you've ever smelled the combination of horse manure and cash that seems to waft over the bluegrass region of Lexington, Kentucky).
But as my daughter knows, horses love to run, and riders love to run them, danger and all. We hope that Barbaro will run again, as a stallion, in a lovely pasture, for the rest of his life.
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Our family felt a special connection to Barbaro, since we had the chance to meet him on April 14, during our Spring Break vacation in Kentucky. We were at Keeneland, perhaps the most beautiful racecourse in the country, touring the barns with a racing journalist, when we came upon a beautiful horse being washed down after his morning workout. We were told this horse, Barbaro, was a potential favorite for the Kentucky Derby. Since we don't know race horses, we took this at face value.
What won our hearts--especially my horse-riding daughter's heart--was the way Barbaro posed for pictures. He seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, and had the self-confident look of a winner.
Here's a shot my wife took that day. She took a lot of photos, and in all of them, Barbaro is looking directly at the camera, regardless of the angle.
So flash forward to the Derby. My daughter and I opened an on-line betting account and put some money on Barbaro. We cheered his stellar victory at Churchill Downs--his sixth straight, and interestingly, the sixth time the jockey didn't need to use the whip, but simply had to urge him on in the stretch. This was a horse who loved to win.
Now having become experts in racehorse flesh, we decided to do something we'd never done, which was to go to Pimlico for the Preakness to root for "our" horse. Pimlico is the opposite of Keeneland--a run-down, drab place, but certainly a lively one, with 118,000 mostly drunken spectators waiting through a sunny day for the big race. (If you've ever had a Black-Eyed Susan, Pimlico's answer to the Mint Julep, you'll know why so many people were drunk).
You know the story from there. Here's a shot of Barbaro (#6) just before his jockey, Edgar Prado, pulled him up (probably saving his life, at least for the moment, by reacting so quickly).
My daughter is a tough 11-year old. She's been around horses since she was five, and she knows how delicate they are. She was solemn at Pimlico, but not distraught--her only concern was that Barbaro's handlers get him to the hospital quickly. Barbaro was taken to Penn's large animal center--probably the best in the country, and a place my daughter aspires to, if she pursues her dream to be a veterinarian.
We've been following the news accounts since the race, and now know that Barbaro survived his surgery, and that his injuries were so bad that most other horses would have been put down on the spot. He's not out of the woods yet, but he stands a chance, and that's good.
I'm sure there will be much gnashing of teeth over the cruelty of horse racing--that the horses are overbred (true), often ill-treated after their 'usefulness' is over (also true, and my daughter is passionate about supporting thoroughbred rescue agencies), that it's only a business (very true, especially if you've ever smelled the combination of horse manure and cash that seems to waft over the bluegrass region of Lexington, Kentucky).
But as my daughter knows, horses love to run, and riders love to run them, danger and all. We hope that Barbaro will run again, as a stallion, in a lovely pasture, for the rest of his life.
