Expectations

Expectation is a word that can ruin a lot between a horse and a person.

Don't go confusing expectation and hope either, the two are very different. Hope has a sort of positive with it that even when it goes wrong or just not as you would have liked, you can swallow back that lump of disappointment and move on. You might have lost a little sparkle but what's underneath is unchanged.

When expectation doesn't get met there's blame, anger. It is suddenly rooted in fault.

Maybe the horse is something you've only ever seen as a shiny penny and when it gets some mud on it's face you see it as a personal letdown. Why would my horse buck me off? When it might not have had anything to do with you in the first place. Maybe the horse just had a bad day.

And that's when good horses get ruined. I've seen it at events. Everyone has. The horse getting wailed on after the fact, long after the mistake was made. Rider fault or horse fault at that point doesn't seem to matter. There was expectation and when it wasn't met there was blame and anger.

Expectation isn't all bad, it has its place in the world. We should expect certain things like a horse that has a sound mind, a horse that respects people. Without some sort of expectations in our lives we'd likely all be doormats and have unfueled dreams.

The key is where to place your expectations and where to place your hopes.

Perhaps the best thing to do is try to be the person that sees it for what it is right when it is without the burden of what it has to give you in return. You do that, you manage to live that daily with a Thoroughbred, and they'll give you the very air in their lungs. Go into just one interaction with a horse without expectation and see for yourself.

Star and I the day she was foaled, a few months after we got her mother off a slaughter truck

 “People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”  Mother Teresa 

History Keeps Quietly Moving

My husband's aunt happens to be one of my most favorite people. When she invited us to Alabama for an early Thanksgiving lunch, I got barn chores done in record time so the kids could get loaded up and start asking, "Are we there yet?" and "What country are we in now?" an hour in on the trip.

Once we were there I met all sorts of extended family I'd never met before and got my hands on my brand-new sweet baby nephew. After awhile, a man said something about horses.

I probably looked like a dog who just caught sight of a squirrel.

The conversation turned back to stories and relatives I didn't know as I remembered mention at one point about Chris's aunt having a brother-in-law who traded mules, this must be him.

Once everyone started to split off and talk, I hunted him down and tried to act casual.

"What type horses do you have?"

"Tennessee Walkers."

Drat. I don't know much about them. I'd ridden a friend of mine's once on a trail ride and honestly I didn't fall in love with that particular horse. I knew the controversy around them though and I didn't know this man at all or his relationship with horses. So I asked him, "Do you keep yours flat shod?"

"No, most of mine are bare right now. I don't pad. Mine have been natural movers since my Grand-pappy started with them. I've got a horse who can move smooth as water and keep up with yours."

I liked him instantly. He had been in mules awhile, but Walkers and Spotted Saddle Horses (that he had to teach me the distinction between) are what he's always had. He talked about the steeplechases that ran every year by his farm. He mentioned a friend near St Simons also in horses, at this point I'm pretty sure I had stars in my eyes when I asked and he talked about his friends riding on the beach.

I wanted to ask how he felt about the controversial training techniques used in the saddle horses, without offending his breed. He quickly covered the topic himself though, agreeing that while he had some of the best horses there were, they would never be the top winning horses because you can't achieve that without changing them.

He gave me hope. There was no regret in his eyes whatsoever about his choice in his breed his whole life to not win but preserve them. He hadn't ridden a horse himself in awhile, not since his back surgery put rods by his spine. When he said, "I probably won't ever ride again now." I felt sad but he didn't look it, he was clearly comfortable enough with what he had done that more was no longer necessary.

We get so caught up in right now. Who is winning? What is winning? Who will be winning tomorrow? What's wrong with the sport?

That it's easy to forget that there are people out there, on their own farms, doing it the way it's been done for a hundred years. Telling me with pride stories of how the blood that runs in Tennessee Walkers came from the same horses used in the Civil War.

Not a few minutes earlier in a room of relatives he had lamented over there being a lack of people these days who could even sit a horse, with a tired expression on his face like he'd given up on the whole of it. Now lit up, showing me photos of his (they were gorgeous) horses, I could see him spark the same way I do.

If you begin to get tired of the current state of affairs in your particular breed or sport, remember there are people out there, good horse people, quietly continuing on the right road that's been laid for them by generations before them if you are willing to find them.

Fighting Butterflies

The deciding factor in a good competition, where preparation and training are otherwise equal, isn't always raw talent. Instead, how the person competing holds together under pressure determines outcomes.

Driving my oldest son to his first scored archery tournament, I could tell he was nervous. His face was tense, he (like his mother) started rambling about random topics. I hoped to teach him something I learned over a lot of years of standing on start lines.

1) Get used to it.

That swirling bit of nerves that can overwhelm people the first time they enter a competition, isn't something you should aim to conquer. Don't waste your time trying to fight it down. It's there. Get used to the feeling, get friendly with it, and find your way to perform with it along side you.

2) Re-define it.

It's not nervousness. It's not fear. It's excitement. You are really excited and you are getting pumped up to perform. You are excited at the possibilities in front of you.

3) Watch what you say out loud.

Telling your friend that you probably won't do well for such and such reason isn't okay. That's giving yourself an excuse to fail. Saying out loud that you are scared or nervous doesn't help either. Say that you'll do your best.

4) Give yourself permission to fail.

There are so many times I intended to make it to the line that I couldn't for various reasons. That is the worst. Going and doing it and making a mistake is miles better than the ones who couldn't get there in the first place or were too scared to put it out there and try.

5) Expect to own it like you were born to it.

While it's okay to fail, imagine the success. How each step done perfectly right feels. See yourself with your butterfly stomach knowing exactly what to do and it coming so easily as if you were born to do it.

"Train like you've never won and show like you've never lost."

Horses

It began by watching the Morgan horses next door being let out after a North Carolina winter brought above average snow that kept them up for a week. I could see them from my upstairs bedroom window, through the 3 acres of woods that separated our property from the pasture. The glee they had tossing their manes and taking turns running for no reason other than joy, made me fall in love.

And I've been in love ever since.

I wrote stories about horses as soon as I was old enough to spell. I still have a few of them, written in messy pencil because my mind always moved faster than my hand could produce the words.

For someone who has a hard time keeping her feet on the ground in reality, horses ground me from running adrift in whatever thought or emotion that wants to run with me at that moment (even if most of my daydreams revolve around them anyway).

They even smell like earth.

Over time it became clear they were lifeblood. My reason. I know, as a mother that is pretty much blasphemy, but I mean my reason for me. Aside from every other person in the world and what they needed from me, horses ARE me.

Alone in the barn with no one's opinion to intrude, great dreams are hatched. Plans are made. Brown eyes look back at mine agreeing to whatever grandeur I can create as long as I promise to scratch their mane while I scheme. How lucky I am to know where I fit in God's world. Everything is perfect and right with them in the dust and dirt and nothing else makes a sound.

They dream too.

Each time I ride a horse out of my pasture and through the trees of the property that borders ours, they are interested in the novelty of it. Reveling in the lack of borders to hold them in. When my horse clears a tricky jump or course and I feel every bit of good I have rise all the way up, they toss their heads and feel it too. Especially the Thoroughbreds, they crave the individual we become together just as much as I do.

There's a song that is made in the silence of a ride before dawn and it's all mine tomorrow.

"Four things greater than all things are, women and horses and power and war" R Kipling

Courage

Fear : verb, to be afraid of someone or something as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

Courage : noun, the ability to do something that frightens one

I sat on Bandon's back as he weaved left to right at the arena rail watching the rider after us go through her course. As they came around a turn to a jump too fast and too close, the horse dodged and the rider flew over his shoulder and head first into the solid wood jump standard.

She was okay. Shaken badly, but could walk.

We were done with our courses for the day and I asked if I could go on back in and jump again, just once, as I felt the fear start to creep into me too.

If you talk to many riders over the age of 18, you'll begin to hear a common thread of lost nerves. I used to do... but now I just...

I'm guilty of that myself because I'll never jump cross country again. There is zero fun for me in that sport after my fall and I don't miss it at all. But if fear stands in the way of something you do love, something that makes you feel alive, how do you get rid of it?

Maybe the answer is, you don't. The fear is there and you use it to be smart, then go do it anyway.

On the way home from that show I thought back to a time when I could remember the invincible feeling of teendom. In those years I worked at Carnivore Preservation Trust in North Carolina under biologist Michael Bleyman.

Ocelot eating my oh-so-cool Keds

I worked with tigers and frequently went in enclosures with them. Fine print : I do not recommend that to anyone and yes I've seen Fatal Attractions on Animal Planet. At the time it's what we did. We worked with them handling on a routine basis so that for minor needs they didn't have to be sedated.

Hanging out with a very young Shalimar

Michael brought me in my first enclosure and the tiger surprised us and made a move on me within minutes. I countered and everything went as smooth as could be from there on. I had absolutely no fear, I knew what to do, and it never once occurred to me that I should be scared.

Then one day, we had to go into a large enclosure (3 acres) to clean some shredded toys out. There were three tigers in there, Hall, Shalimar, and Isabella. I knew them all, I had worked with them all. I even bottle fed one when she was little. Hall was the biggest tiger in that enclosure and  he was also the sweetest.

Michael with Hall, Izzy, and Shalimar, pic taken by my Grandfather on a visit

One rule was that you never let yourself get too close to the fence. As we worked to get the toys out without turning our backs to any tiger, Hall approached me. I stood with a safe distance between me and the fence behind me. He kept his expression soft as he chuffled and walked over, I turned so that we were perpendicular like I had been taught. Hall stopped and stood for a second. Then he shifted his weight and I was pinned against the fence.

Real fear crept through me for the first time like poison, it was completely tangible in every possible way.

I could not move until he allowed me to. There wasn't any negotiating or way out. It was up to him. He looked back over his shoulder at me while his ribs held the push against my legs. I stayed silent, trying not to show him I was afraid, and he decided to walk on.

There were many tigers I went in with after that day, including Hall. But I knew then that I wasn't ever really the one in charge of the outcome, only that I could make the odds better.

This face means you need to get tall and start moving towards her to diffuse it

Experiences like that open your eyes to your own mortality and can shut you down. After many of those triggers over the years, some people begin to live in a little safe box out of what has accumulated. Fear becomes a series of stop signs instead of an ignition to push you on.

As Bandon and I came back in to jump again, I knew the risks. I knew what a bad fall could result in. I also knew that my horse would do everything in his power to take care of me and that I had taken every precaution to make the odds as in our favor as they could be.  It wasn't guaranteed to be okay but it was guaranteed to bring me the high that life is for.

Courage isn't what the teenagers out there hurling themselves over any obstacle have any more than bravery is what I had before the incident with Hall. Courage is knowing the fear and carrying on in spite of it.

"Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold" Helen Keller

Sage Advice

Recently my score in the game of "Farm Girl Life" has been elevated to ninja level. Not only did I manage to get a gray pony clean, standing in the mud pre-dawn on horse show day for my kids, I also found a lost grazing muzzle, in the dark, among the tall grass this morning.

The ponies are thrilled with the grass height, carefully getting long stalks into the grazing muzzle holes to slurp down like spaghetti noodles while the big boys are too busy playing in the cooler air to even notice.

While my farm skills might have scored well, my horsemanship was strained. Bandon and I had a week-long falling out that hit my heart the hardest. It's hard to say exactly what went wrong, the symptoms though were clear. He began to bolt.

It was mixed in with acceleration at all gaits in general. Leaning. Bracing. All the things you don't want. Once he bolted the first time, it became alarmingly regular about 20 minutes in on our rides.

We're on the right track to work through it now and I'm thankful for two good trainer horse friends that I can contact anytime and say, "I give up, I'm never riding again" who talk me back into sense. I made the mistake once of contacting my husband with this first and his enthusiasm to sell the farm and have a normal life was slightly unsettling. Trainer friends rock.

Horses are great at taking you to amazing levels then sometimes bringing you right back down. This can be a bitter pill to swallow when you find yourself sitting at the start. Again.

Through the turmoil of Bandon's fighting nature, the kids were getting excited about their show coming up.

Mikayla had already snuck off to a show with me for leadline once and ever since her brother and sister have been asking when their turn would come. Meanwhile, Sage has also become more experienced in her trot work, at times getting frustrated and wanting to give up, and I felt she was ready to show the level below trot to see the fruits of her labor.

Pegasus has not been off site with us before, his history on showing is not really known. Spotlight has been off site and is decent but can be a little bit of a handful. I decided to put her on Pegasus.

The show was a lot of fun and Tristan earned a ribbon in leadline on Spotlight...

while Brianna had her turn on Pegasus. It was a different leadline than we had done before, the kids being asked to post at the walk and the judge asking them a few questions. I was proud of the kids and proud of my hubby who was attached to the notoriously bitey, Spotlight.

Sage was in next and I couldn't believe the emotions coming up in me. I wanted so much for her! I also wanted her to earn it and make her own path. I try not to talk too much about the kids and their riding because really those are their stories and not mine, but Sage ended up teaching me something that's worth sharing.

Sage went in behind another horse and Pegasus was okay but not great. He was not interested in stopping though his rider kept at it.

In the next class, Sage and Pegasus were the only entry. He was not having any of that. He would not move off onto the rail from the gate. She fought him as he turned left, right, backed, sideways, Sage kept at it. She spoke to him so quietly I couldn't hear what she was saying and I was pretty close by.

I thought any minute she's going to start to cry or give up. He yanked the reins out of her hands. She picked them back up and kept working.

The judge flagged me and said it was okay if I went in and didn't help her, but just was another body in the ring so Pegasus wasn't alone. I walked a good distance away from the team as Sage worked out her pony and rode as the judge called commands.

At the end the judge congratulated her on a nice ride, a cute pony, and a great leg. Sage didn't say a word, sweat pouring down her little face, her hands shaking from her show nerves.

Out we went and I thought of all the things I should say. I wanted to congratulate her on her tenacity. I wanted to apologize that at her first solo ridden show she had such a challenging pony. I wanted to build her confidence up but not take away anything from her own sense of accomplishment. I wanted to tell her that I hope she never ever gives up and I'm sorry it didn't go quite as planned.

Before I had a chance to decide which words to form, she asked me if she could hang her ribbons over her bed and she was beaming.

That. That is what I learned from my little girl and what I'll take back to my next ride.

Fourth of Misery, I Tried

The Fourth of July is a tough holiday for me. As an adult it was always the holiday I spent at my Mom's house and I miss her terribly every year. Also as an animal owner, it is usually nothing but stress.

This year I was determined to change my attitude for my family's sake. The weather was absolutely gorgeous in our area as the hurricane came through far to our east, no humidity hung in the air and blue skies were overhead. A breeze came through every few minutes asking if you might be more comfortable in a jacket.

I tacked up two healthy (grumpy and lazy) ponies for the kids to ride, neither having been sore a day since we started a new routine for them. The little kids begged to be led at the trot, bouncing around joyfully in the saddle. My youngest daughter listened as I explained how to hold the reins and rode solo for just a moment on Pegasus. My oldest two came down to the arena for a longer ride, complicated slightly by the arena grass grown tall enough for bad ponies to snatch a mouthful every few strides.

Even after all the pony riding was done the July air was full of breezes, I looked at Czech and he seemed sad. I'd noticed his low mood for the past week. He had been foot sore getting used to going barefoot, the treatments I was doing to toughen his soles worked as he ran with the other horses in the pasture, still each night going out he seemed not like himself. Czech pins ears and snakes his head when you walk by his stall, always has since he's been here, now when I walked by he just looked at me with loose ears and a blank stare. Another peculiar change, he was letting me freely hug him in his stall without any attempts to eat my clothing or whack me in the back with his nose. Something wasn't right.

I checked his feet again, pushing for signs of sore spots and found nothing. He hadn't been ridden in about 6 weeks, maybe he'd like a little ride. Bareback pad on, I took him down to the arena. Once up on his back, not at all gracefully I might add, I let my barn clogs fall off and hung my bare feet down.

Czech came alive.

He and I went all over the property and down the road. The sun was shining on us. The cool breeze went through my toes as my calf brushed against his sleek warm sides. We began to talk to each other.

Hunter, my oldest son, had asked me earlier in the arena if the horses understood all the words we said to them. My answer was, "Conventional science says, 'no', but what if they are wrong?" I thought about this as I talked to him.

Czech was missing work. Polar opposite of grumpy ponies that morning, Thoroughbreds generally love having a job and having purpose. Something I can relate to on a personal level. I think he was also worried that he was no longer wanted by me since he was not being used. We resolved all of those insecurities.

Back in his stall, he snaked his head as I went by, looking sheepish when I turned around to face him (as usual) and later that day he yanked my shirt a few good times while I picked his stall. He needed that as much as I did.

It was going to be a good day. The kids enjoyed the pool, the food I made turned out awesome, Chris mowed the arena and jump lines for me to ride the next morning, and the only dog I own now was not afraid of noises and could be left crated if needed. We were going out to our small town's celebration.

I left the horses fed, watered, and in clean stalls with fans on high making lots of white noise along with a radio. People in our area had been playing with firecrackers late that afternoon and the boys didn't seem to react to the noise. I was free to enjoy!

And I did. My kids chased fireflies and played with sparklers, then we all sat piled on each other to watch a really great firework display.

Back home we got the kids squared away and I went out to check-in on the boys. They were doing fine. I didn't look like they had even paced during the chaos going on outside. I had read two papers the week prior to the Fourth on "How To Handle Your Horses This Holiday". Each totally contradicting the other. One said to put horses out in a safe area so they could run without hitting things. The other said to keep your horses up to keep them from running into things outside in a panic. Typical horsemanship, it was really anybodies guess on the best thing to do.

It was now after eleven and it seemed like my neighborhood was settling down except for one party that kept aiming their high powered ones straight across the street (away from their property, towards mine). The risk of barn fire seemed higher than the risk of the boys going crazy, I put them out.

Then it really started.

People make it hard to not hate people. It was getting close to midnight as some were just starting. The fireworks used were very high powered ones, almost professional level. Houses that bordered the pasture, one directly across the street, were shooting them off so they went over my pasture.

The horses were okay with the noise at that point, however once they saw a few pop, within a very close distance of them, they lost it.

There was nothing I could do. Going in the pasture to get them and put them up was way too dangerous. All I could do was watch. Back and forth between the brink of tears that the horses were in a situation I couldn't protect them from and rage that we had full displays on all sides just starting in the very late night hours by people who did not care, it was awful. A little lost Chihuahua clung to my foot shivering as we watched.

In the celebration of Independence, I was wishing desperately for more laws and control.

If there were only high powered shows at set times in set areas, everyone could enjoy them and make plans to be safe. Instead children are in the street yards from my fence shooting these things. They were smart enough to aim them away from their own house, just no regard for anyone else's property.

Once it was over, as best I could see in the dark, the horses were okay. This morning it was a different story. Three are very tired but okay, everyone has dried sweat caked in their coat, but Bandon also has a huge gash running down his rib cage. It is borderline serious enough for sutures.

I cleaned the blood from his coat, tearful that I hadn't just left them all up for the night and angry that people who live by a horse farm don't care.

I won't get to ride my freshly mowed arena today on this beautiful morning. Plans I had made a week ago for precious time to ride on my Bandon boy are cancelled.

He will be okay of course and I know there are horses out there this morning, the day after, who will not be okay again. I'm not sure even the breeze between my bare toes riding on Czech and kids chasing fireflies is enough joy to salvage this holiday for me, praying there aren't more tonight.

Update : Of course there were more. Much more. A huge display went on just to the side of our house until nearly midnight on night two. In the photo you can see how large the fireworks are in relation to the full grown trees at the base of it, this is taken from my barn looking across the pasture. I left the boys up until everyone was done and over, exhausted and d.o.n.e. with this whole problem. If it goes to night three, I'm going to be pulling my hair out. Bandon has a lot of swelling I hope to see improved tomorrow.

Kentucky, Be Still My Heart

My first trip to Kentucky began before dawn. Neither of us knew that the Mustang we had loaned to us had cutouts under the side mirrors. When Chris unlocked the car, in the early morning dark, the side lights came on shining the Mustang pony logo down on the ground below. It was a fitting start!

The Kentucky Horse Park is a mini Disneyland for horse lovers. After coming through front gate, I said "wow" about ten times before reaching the visitor's center. At the end of that first day, checking in to our horse art filled hotel room, my face was literally sore from grinning so much. Horses are absolutely everywhere on the beautiful grounds, with statues that will take your breath away. Tidbits of history posted everywhere stirring up the little girl in me that poured over every horse book (non-fiction or otherwise) I could get my hands on.

I thought the Horses of the World show might be a bit cheesy for someone watching who "knew horses" but it wasn't. Arabians cantering around in full costume are hardly dull. Seeing breeds in person I had never seen before, like the Icelandic and the Lusitano, the Gypsy Vanner and the Marwari, put in flesh what I had only ever seen in pictures.

On to the Hall of Champions, the best part of the day, to meet some racing greats. I told Chris it would be the equivalent of him taking a trip to Auburn and while he was there, meeting Bo Jackson. It's truly awesome.

Funny Cide was the first to catch my eye.

Funny Cide (much like California Chrome) won both the Derby (the first gelding to win since 1929) and the Preakness in 2003, he then finished the Belmont that year in third place on a deep mud track.

Next we met Cigar and Da Hoss. These horses couldn't have been more opposite. Da Hoss fought injury after injury, some that most consider career ending, to come back and win the Breeder's Cup Mile - twice. The most memorable in 1998 when he hadn't been raced in two years due to injuries and came back to win. The announcer couldn't believe it as he said the quotable, "this is the greatest comeback since Lazarus!". Da Hoss won over 1.9 million in his career even with his long recovery breaks.

On the other extreme is Cigar. The horse that stayed sound through some of racings most grueling to win 16 consecutive races and was called by many not just a horse of the year, but horse of the decade. His winning races read off like checklist of the best races there are. He won the Dubai World Cup. For those that don't know, Dubai is the best of the best in the entire world, put together on one track for a five million dollar purse. Cigar won over 9.9 million in his career. Unfortunately once he began a breeding program he proved sterile and his fertility insurance policy was cashed in by his owners, the insurance company then gave him to the horse park. He is something to behold in person, a radiant boy in every way.

We spent a little time watching the national Arabian show going on in the show arena, then off to the International Museum of the Horse. I have to say that after being used to Thoroughbred heads, the faces of Egyptian Arabians in halter classes looked a little strange to us, the vendors were beautiful though!

Inside the museum, our tour concluded at the trophy cases, an entire wall of Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Trophies. Horse of the Years. Eclipse Awards. The last triple crown winner, Affirmed, had his trophy from each race and the triple crown itself in a case in the middle of it all.

Around the corner was a case just for Secretariat including Ron's boots and a lock of Big Red's mane.

Dreams loaded on to the backs of horses whose name etching was worn from years passing, bearing the weight of greatness. It was a fresh reminder of just what was at stake for Chrome running the Belmont the next day, the difficulty of it, and the awe of just having come this far.

We ended our day reliving the glory that was Man O War. Beaten only once by a horse named Upset, he is generally agreed to be in the top two racehorses of all time. He would have been a triple crown winner himself had Mr Riddle not been a bit odd, deciding not to run the Derby.

Man O War is known for more than just racing, he had a great heart and died shortly after the groom, who loved him dearly, had passed. The stride markers on the pavement leading to his memorial impressed Chris, he was certainly a supernatural horse.

The next day we pointed the car to Louisville, first stop; the training track that Bandon's last racing owners were stabled at.

I was as eager to meet Jack Frost and Wendy Milligan of Flying Frost stables in person as I was to see behind the scenes of track life. Sitting here now I can't even find the words to tell you what arrival there was like. You know in movies when older men tell stories about the first time they went to a baseball game and saw the field in color instead of on a black and white small screen... the sounds, sights, and smells that brought it all alive and in full vision? That was my experience. Like walking into a room and someone suddenly turns on a loud stereo. Boom. It was in front of me.

Horses rule here. Horses have right of way. It is 100% human responsibility at all times to get out of the way of horses at all times, horses aren't led around anything or asked to stop for sake of a pedestrian. Chris and I to learned which side to get to as horses being hotwalked came around corners counter clockwise through the shed row every few minutes.

The horses were delightful. Gorgeous faces poked at us for apple cookies. Soft natured horses wanted to be touched and known.

While others were such hard workers, on the muscle and more aggressive, they didn't want to be distracted from watching the track.

I was surprised by the overall feel of it. Of course the horses were immaculate, manes tidy and cleaner than most horses heading into a show ring but what surprised me was that the horses were such babies! So much youth in their eyes and the way they moved. I knew that racehorses were young, but most horses in barns and at shows you see in any large number together are in their teens. It's very uncommon to see so many horses, all of them very young, in one place. Their youth put a playfulness in the air of an otherwise hardworking place.

The exercise riders shared stories with us. My favorite listened while I mentioned how in awe I was of Funny Cide the day before, then proceeded to tell us what a **censored** jerk he was back when he was riding him. The reason he was the first gelding to win in so many years was that he was impossible as a colt. As a gelding, he wasn't a hell of a lot better apparently.

They told me the story of Bandon coming to them, having been raced off a trailer his early years, so messed up that no one could get near him. They told me how no vet would go in his stall. That they would have him contained in every way possible and he would still be striking out.

Once they fixed his painful teeth, gave him some time and patience, he quickly became Wendy's favorite, his fleece crowned racing bridle hanging up next to her while she was talking.

I asked a million and one questions that Jack and Wendy patiently answered for me. One of them was how they got the horses to urinate when drug screenings were done. As a cadence of whistles broke out from the grooms all through the stables, Jack grinned and pointed. They whistle each time they urinate in the beginning and very soon, they will all go on whistle command.

Another thing I learned was how often horses were claimed. I knew that owners often entered claiming races to ease up the competition on a horse. Being bettered is hard on a horse's mentality, these races could be a buffer after a horse had broke their maiden. I had no idea though, that the horses actually being claimed (purchased before the claiming race by a new owner) happened frequently. I had been given the impression that it was few and far between, it isn't at all. Horses are claimed daily, a lot of owners acquiring their horses in this way.

Exercise riders up, we headed to the clocker's stand for the morning's timed runs.

Watching the horses run was surreal following a day all about the past greats. The smell of horses, the thunder their feet made, and the youth in them made you feel like anything was possible.

One horse in particular caught my eye, of course a gray, I might just have to keep tabs on this guy and how his racing career goes. Maybe when he's done...

I watched the skill of the exercise riders navigating their charges who were inexperienced. One horse reared to a point of almost losing his balance straight up, at his peak height the rider bailed, landing from easily 12 feet up in the air, still holding the reins. He climbed back aboard and sent the young horse forward again with an unflappable calm that is common in professionals around these horses.

From the training track we went over to Churchill Downs backside. With our connections there we were able to get an Owner/Trainer Pass and travel anywhere we wanted to. First stop was Red Dog Racing. This is the trainer who sent us Lake Pleasant a year and a half ago. After the tragedy that was his short time here, I've always felt unresolved and I hoped that I could remedy some of that today. Sam, the person who cared for Lake and talked at length with me on the phone before he was sent to me, was there and was as nice as a person could be. He warmly welcomed me to see their horses, including the recent La Troienne Stakes winner, On Fire Baby.

After touring more of the backside, Chris and I went on to the main gate to get ready for a day of live racing.

Our pass let us in the paddock with the horses being saddled to race. We walked behind the horses heading out to the track to the rail to watch the race itself.

Sheer joy and awe at being so near these athletes heading out, we stood back quietly and out of the way to watch each horse with a sea of people looking in on us in the paddock. It was hard to believe Czech and Bandon lived this, raced here, saw the masses of eyes on them and heard the din noise from this perspective.

Other owners stood around with their backs to the horses. Talking and laughing, drinks in hand, not noticing anything around them. It made me a little angry to see that the people capable of owning such horses as those entered in the Early Times Mint Julep (won that day by Honey Hues, a long shot) didn't seem to even really care about the horses in front of them. I'm not saying they aren't compassionate towards their own horse or anything, just that while I couldn't take my eyes off the horses as they got ready to race, a few feet in front of me, to them it wasn't anything all that important.

I bet a few races, totally unsuccessfully. New to betting, I wagered the horses who had a sire I liked, not a strategy I'd recommend as Chris laughed asking if I was actually covering up the odds when I picked or if I just didn't notice them as 'my horse' trailed yet another race.

I did not bet the Belmont though, not willing to push my losing streak onto Chrome's back. We watched on the big screen along with a few hundred others in the stands, as Chrome came around the turn and just didn't have any gas. It would be later on at the hotel that we heard what the owner had said, the hoof injury speculations, and the questioning of the Triple Crown Process.

Briefly, here are my thoughts. Standing in that room of trophies, it was clear just how rare an accomplishment winning these great races was. The Derby is once a year. Preakness, one winner a year. Belmont, the same. It is rare just to win one of those races. Of the tens of thousands of Thoroughbreds born each year, ONE wins each race. Many hopes were dashed for small issues over the years. Native Dancer, for instance, had a very controversial bump from another horse in the Derby then won the other two. No triple crown. I could write a whole book on these stories. In fact, I have a (quite thick) book on it, "To The Swift, Classic Triple Crown Horses And Their Race For Glory" of the winners and the near winners. The crown has only been accomplished eleven times in almost one hundred years. There were twenty-two 'near misses'. It is exceptional and (in my opinion) changing anything about it now makes those future winners not in the same class as those super horses of the past. I feel it should be earned the same way it has always been.

The next morning we headed back out to the Horse Park to begin touring farms. We loaded up with our guide who, to my glee, began a round of racing trivia questions aimed at the group we were with. I was that irritating kid in class yelling out each answer as fast as I could in the best test I could have been given until we arrived at Hurricane Hill to love on some yearling fillies.

Next up, Calumet. If you know anything about horse racing, you know Calumet. Though over the years it has changed hands, its history still stands. The monuments for their three triple crown winners stand in the burial garden with all the Derby winners on one side of the path, and their dams (mothers) of Derby winners buried on the other side.

We paused for a long time at Alydar's tombstone. Alydar is most famous for being the only horse to finish second in all three triple crown races. Affirmed won the Derby over him by a length, the Preakness by a head, and the Belmont by a nose. He was extraordinary in the breeding shed. He sired Easy Goer, Alysheba, and Strike the Gold among many notable others.

Alydar's ending is almost as famous as his life. He lived in the stallion barn of Calumet across the aisle from the only horse to better him (Affirmed).

He was found in the stall in 1990 with a shattered leg. It was later revealed that the son-in-law of the Calumet farm inheritance, let the farm get to a point of financial ruin and shattered the horse's leg to collect the insurance money. He went to prison. Alydar's stall was never used again in the famous barn that housed three Triple Crown winners (Whirlaway, Citation, Affirmed).

The heaviness of the loss of standing in the place Alydar was so cruelly crippled was lifted moments later running into a Point Given on his way out to paddock.The groom said I could come over and touch him and I tried not to let my hand shake in my excitement. The stallion was covered in brilliance.

Point Given won 01 Preakness, Travers Stakes, and Belmont and is an American Hall of Fame Champion. He earned 3.9 million and only finished out of the money one time, coming in 5th in the Derby. He began at stud at Three Chimneys for $125k a breeding and has since been syndicated for $10k a breeding.

Calumet was equal parts awe inspiring and sad in the highest of highs in horse racing coupled in a place with lowest of lows in their relationship with the people who are entrusted them.

Arriving to the babies at Katierich Farms, we had come full circle in Thoroughbred history back to where to babies and hopes of tomorrow are beginning. Storm Cat was the predominant blood in this field of beauties.

Before calling it a night, Chris and I headed over to Keeneland on the recommendation of our guide (who loved the fact that we had a Fappiano grandson - Czech - at home, that was one of his favorite horses). Many of my friends had previously recommended Keeneland and though there is no live racing in June there (no two KY tracks can have live racing at the same time) we could walk around the grounds. Bandon raced here. In fact, Bandon began his career here being sold at Keeneland's September yearling sale for 200k,

The most beautiful track I have ever seen for sure.

The last day we made it over to the New Vocations Kentucky facility to see the newest wave of adoptable OTTBs. Getting ready for the Back on Track documentary filming that morning, Melissa still made time for us and we heard more stories of Bandon's journey to get to us.

From the babies of Katierich, the youngsters out on the training track, Churchill downs stakes race, the breeding shed, the graveyards, and the memorials, it was clear how important New Vocations truly is. After four years on the track, the 15 plus more years a racehorse has left in their life is so questionable. Good owners like those at Red Dog Racing and Flying Frost make all the difference coming together with good organizations like New Vocations to make sure these horses who give their all are given our all in return. The good owners make my racing passion feel great.

Going to Kentucky for me was equal to finding a pool of something you love and getting to dive in, swimming around in it until you were so completely saturated there was no higher level of happy to reach.

Special thanks to my husband for agreeing to Kentucky for our belated honeymoon trip.

Also thanks to Kristin for taking care of my kids and giving them a great weekend too.

And lastly, thanks to Wendy and Jack for sharing their work day with me, making my track experience unique and memorable, and giving my Bandon boy his chance.

Coming home to my horses, Bandon and Czech smothered me and followed me all through the pasture, there is truly nothing like the heart of a Thoroughbred.