Many TBs end up in unpleasant situations, particularly after they leave their racing lives. I work voluntarily with both individuals and organizations whenever I can be of assistance to find their horses better, safer places to land after their racing days are over. In honor of my first beloved old Standardbred mare Bess, I focus a lot of my attention and support in a voluntary coordination role for the Ontario Standardbred Adoption Society. I assist with fundraising, shows, site inspections, demos, and anything else a volunteer can do, as well as maintain a list of volunteers and round them up for all the aforementioned tasks. Sufficed to say, I care deeply about the futures of our horses coming off the tracks, regardless of the breed, since part of my household income comes from their efforts.
That said, not every owner/trainer/breeder/etc is as interested in the end. To that point is the story of Anna. About two years ago I was introduced to Anna, the proud new purchase made by a triumvirate of people in the same barn my horses were in. My husband and I looked at the scrawny liver chestnut mare with the crooked blaze who had never won a race. Then we looked at each other with skepticism and said nothing. What can one say when there’s nothing encouraging come to mind?
Fast forward to this year, and the now 6 year old maiden (never won a race) is in the hands of just one of the original three. And he is the textbook definition of a Scrooge when it comes to care and treatment of his horses. Cheapest small amounts of feed and hay, pinching bales from neighbors and adding nothing with energy to the low end meals they did get, and sending them out week after week to be “also rans”. By September she’s hitting vet scratches from being so worn out (improper care, sanitary conditions affecting her hooves, running too much and generally in poor muscle condition) that the trainer seems to have finally given up. He actually stops taking her even for walks around the barn or grazing, she just lives in her stall and swings over to the one next to it on the days he resets her water and scoops out a fork or two of manure. He’s stopped buying any bedding by mid October and continues to rake the sides of the stall down into the center to create this bowl-like prison for her and his other horses. The one mare disappears, also a 6 yr old maiden, but that one he’s more attached to as I believe he bred her and she’s now in foal so she’s “special”, creating that next generation of lackluster racers. The 3 yr old colt he has, who might show promise in more capable hands, also is winless. He put that horse on the ground himself, out of another of his mares he can’t bother to keep well.
And he stops feeding Anna. At first she got a flake a day, and then she got nothing. My husband and I started haying her at nights, after he left. I hate this owner-trainer with a passion. His stalls and mine are side by side but I won’t say a word. Even then, I pass word that I have a home lined up for little Anna, just let him know. Then I try offering cash, no response. I guess the feelings are mutual. We don’t get a good look at her because she’s in a dark stall with dark ground (no bedding) and we’re trying to be clandestine. But we hay her and try to keep her vitals alright. Then the last Saturday of the month comes, and a box barely big enough to qualify as a trailer comes. They nail it together right there, the license plate jumping around on its bail string hanger. Then they butt rope and whip and spend half an hour getting Anna into this death box. I’m pretty sure I know where they are going. There is one low end auction at the end of the month half an hour down the road. He’s going to squeeze every penny out of her thin frame he can by letting her go to the meat dealers.
My consciousness cannot bear this. I get the bail money from my husband, rush home to grab my still-hitched truck and trailer, phone a friend for assistance and another for a place to for her to go once I get her, and off I go to the auction. We wait through all the old tack and new crappy tack to get to hip number 11 and get her out of there. She’s standing in a pen she can’t turn around in, and for the first time in daylight I can see just how ribby she is. I am furious. I pat her on the nose and leave to hide in the shadows near the sales ring so the owner doesn’t see me. A starting bid of $200 comes from the auction house. That’s my competition, the meat man. The auctioneer is fishing $250 from the crowd of disinterested people. I cut the air with my hand and my bid of $225 is added to the fray. The auction owner is in the ring, looks in the crowd to see who’s actually putting a “real” bid in on the mare. We lock eyes, and he acknowledges that its a private buyer and politely drops out of the bidding. The auctioneer fishes along for a few more beats but its obvious that the last raise in price came from me.
Anna’s mine. “Guaranteed sound papers at home 5 year old chestnut mare, will make a great youth’s horse”. Yeah, we won’t get into the age being wrong or the papers that will never come. At least the suitability is right, she should make a nice lady’s or youth’s horse once she’s feeling good again. I rush to my truck to get a lead and a couple of cc’s of tranquillizer. We’re going to load on my trailer with as little drama as possible. First, no lip chain on her nerves. She’s had enough of that. Second, no yank-whip-push. I opened the trailer wide, coaxing quietly and gently. Then I thought a moment, shook the full hay net of sweet clover hay and her ears went forward before she about ran me over to get into the trailer. Ah yes, the motivation of a starved horse. Getting her to back out of the hay box was harder then getting her into it!
So Anna stayed with me a week, and her story circled Facebook and other websites. People that knew of her were appalled. Not sure if it will ever change anything substantial, but it changed her life. After a week she’d put on some weight and was already perking up, but ever so grateful for her new lease on life. The trailer that took her home was smaller then mine, and a step up, and she overcame both obstacles with ease and poise, again going where the hay was with her ears forward.
Anna continues to thrive in her new home, the darling of many already. I’m told interest in her is building up with her gentle nature and interest in people. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be fed and have a healthy place to lay down, clean water to drink and hands that care on her.
The deep, dirty "bowl" stall Anna lived in at the racetrack
Anna outside the auction house. She about dragged my friend to the grass
This was a racehorse living at the track
Anna head on. Those are not ripples in flabby flesh. Those are her ribs under one of those rabbit soft thin winter coats malnurished horses get
Number 11, given her name and her life back
In my pasture, where you can't walk without her seeking you out
Cute face, huh?
Leading the pack to come in for dinner
Anna in her new home, where she likely will stay based on the interest in her. Omm nom nom hay!
Ribs are filling in already, less then a month later
Someone is a very thankful little girl. Another Thoroughbred Chestnut mare ready to embark on a path away from the track. Best wishes, little Anna!
Tonight's Be's lesson night. She and I had a fabulous lesson last week with all speeds and lots of fun, and the second half she spent popping a little jump like a pro with my instructor's daughter. She made my heart swell. If I keep coming home on cloud 9 like that, my husband is going to be very jealous ;)
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