Your Identification Please

Aside from the fact that I just happened to mostly ride Thoroughbreds as a younger person, there's a deeper current in my attraction to these magnificent animals. Something in them resonates within me, perhaps more so even than with other types of horses. This does not detract from my relationships with any of the other breeds - I take each individual as I find them, and horses are definitely individuals, perhaps the most authentic ones one could ever hope to meet.

No, it's something in the eyes. When I look into the eyes of a Thoroughbred a little voice inside me says 'I know you'. I'm not sure who's voice this is, but it isn't mine. Or at least it's not the one that I'm used to hearing.

My favourite song of the past few months is "Run,Run,Run" by Joel Plaskett. I take the liberty of reprinting some lyrics here...

Run,run,run, you must
'Cause if you walk, you rust
You get crushed from a diamond into dirt road dust.

I've had a lot of time in the car to wear a groove in this track and ponder its meaning in my life, in the car, going to try to serve the horses and save my soul.It might even be as dramatic as it sounds, were it not for the fact that I'm a practical philosopher not a wild mystic. It's hard to be either wild nor mystic in an old Honda Civic, stuck in horrendous traffic.

We run, it's what we do. Women especially. I'm from the 'Free to be You and Me' generation, one of the first crops of little people fertilized by the Womens Liberation movement. While I don't think my Mom considered herself a Feminist (any more than she did a Christian), I do know that she was the product of a traditional relationship that was happy and successful based on its high degree of mutual respect and a willingness of the two partners to share the labour however that presented itself. That might have been nontraditional now that I think about it.

By the time I was in grade school it was obvious that women could do just about anything they wanted. Not only could, but should. Oh, but balance this with your womanly duties, dear. And we still have womanly duties. First of these being to do whatever you are doing well. Or maybe that's just me...

Anyway, I'm in the world of business for a good portion of my day. I'm also in a man's world to a very large extent. Every Thursday morning at 6am I walk into the Mens Locker Room, though I am supposed to be there. From the talk around me to the pressure of getting my job done (it's not a store, it's an auction and therefore a competition), there's not much relief. On Thursdays especially, I run.

So, I do my job. I even love my job in some ways. It's downright sporty a lot of the time and I do try to play to the top of my game as often as possible- in everything I do, which I am pretty sure is as much me as anything societal.

Off Track

When a horse comes off the track they generally need a come-down period. Not only from their amplified life but from all the little luxuries afforded them in return for their daily grind. It's not an exaggeration to state that racehorses usually live like the pro athletes they are, nor is it a stretch to say that they work incredibly hard to earn their comforts.

These horses have foot-deep shavings in their stalls, endlessly stuffed hay nets, gourmet food (with all the finest supplements), on demand vet attention and a groom to rub them and fuss over them and make sure they are as finely tuned as possible. Indiscretions in manners, social protocols and the like are often overlooked in these animals- as long as they run well they live like the elite they are (or are trying to be). This is much the same as it would be in human athletes really. Think of Iverson in the NBA or the utterly repugnant Michael Vick, who still has a career despite his involvement in criminal activity that could hardly be passed off as an indiscretion. Bad manners are often overlooked in good athletes.

What a strange thing it must be for those high toned runners to come back to a place where "normal horses" dwell. It must seem, at least to some, like a bit of a letdown. Bedding is adequate and clean, but hardly plush. Food is nutritionally correct and appropriate to the level of activity for each horse, but I'm sure the rations seem incredibly skimpy comparatively. Gone are the drugs and the supplements and the rubdowns along with the workouts that make these things necessities and not luxuries. Nobody has a personal groom back at the "normal horse" barn, and you'd better mind your manners too.

Of course, the successful stallions retire from the track to try their luck at breeding, as do the best fillies and mares (the better deal certainly goes to the studs here, I think). Life is not quite as posh perhaps, but if you do your job in the reproduction department and are easy to work around then you're a success as breeding stock goes.

Good owners and breeders also give a special place to their big time babies who can't reproduce. I have, for instance, seen the divine Lord Nelson at home and can tell you that he is every bit a racehorse even in his retirement. This is a reward he richly deserves and one can hardly imagine him trucking around Pony Clubbers for their D levels, even in the far-distant future. It is as a great delight to see Lord Nelson being Lord Nelson in the paddock at home as it was to watch him run (31 starts, 15-9-3,600K in earnings,in case you were curious).

So what would happen if I came off the track, with a so-so record, so-so earnings and no potential as a broodmare? My training is decent, my manners passable and I'm sound-ish in mind and body. But I'm no show horse and I'm certainly a bit mare-ish. I won't give up my cushy bed or ample feed willingly either so finding me a placement in the "real world" could prove challenging. The one thing I do have going for me is the fact that I love to work. That has to be worth something...