Confessions of a Hotwalker

Running to Form

2012-01-23T20:30:00.000-08:00

One of my favourite times of the day whilst working down south was walking over to the track kitchen after the morning work was done.

Friendly banter would always greet me from the resident cooks. I took a shine to one cook in particular and took to calling him, "Queens," as he hailed from that New York borough.

Occassionally, he would be so engaged with our conversation he would forget to put ham in my egg muffin. After one ham-less egg muffin, I kept on him in a friendly way until he pulled the meat and put it on the grill.

One day, I told Queens that the essences of who I am converge on the backside of a racetrack. He knew I was a flight attendant by trade and would fly down south to work at the track as my schedule permitted.

Queens said in response, "This is who you are, that is what you do."

Every once in awhile, someone holds up a mirror and gives you a completely accurate reflection of yourself.

As time goes on, I have realised what was originally Plan B has turned into Plan A.

I started working on the backside in the summer of 2010 because my airline was merging with a much larger airline. I could see the writing on the wall as my, at the time, decade of seniority was a drop in the bucket compared to the larger work group.

Since then, I have been in a horse race with this merger, watching it set the pace but knowing I'm a game filly and a deep closer.

I always believed I could get to the wire first.

I'm still not sure what the future looks like at my airline. It takes a long time for unionized work groups to coalesce under one contract.

I use the time to continue my education as I indulge my passion.

It's my deep desire to eventually work full-time for a trainer and follow the travelling show from track to track.

My current trainer really likes my work ethic. I'm pleased that he is pleased, as he sets the bar quite high. He's very kind, too, to his horses and his people. He was concerned when I spent the night in the feed room and said if that ever happened again I should call him and his wife for a ride. I appreciated his offer, but I doubt I could ever take him up on it. Quite honestly, I wouldn't have wanted him to see me in that condition, although he knows his people occassionally have fun and he doesn't mind, as long as the work gets done the next day.

Mi maestro's maestro (my teacher's teacher, his father), told me I should have knocked on his door that night I spent in the feed room and gotten a blanket and pillow from him. Also a nice offer, but I wouldn't want to bother him when he was sleeping.

Mi maestro felt so bad he left me, although he was in no condition to drive and got a ride home from our assistant, with whom he lives. I had to laugh, because mi maestro and I were both commiserating with each other as we sucked it up and got through the morning together. Mi maestro gave me a ride back to the place I was staying after our morning work was done and we both ended up sleeping in our respective abodes the rest of the day.

Mi maestro's one brother, who does not work for my trainer and with whom I was hanging out with that night, was supposed to return to the feed room with a pillow and blanket, but must have crashed once he reached his room. That was fine, because I could tell he was having a difficult time remaining a gentleman, which is a compliment to me, but he really needs to find a girl his own age.

I have reached the unfortunate conclusion I can no longer stay with my southern trainer from last year. It's turned into a stressful situation for me. I asked my assistant trainer about staying on track the next time I head south but it would seem the inn is full. I told the assistant I feel at this point I am imposing on the trainer with whom I have been staying, so unless I can make other arrangements, I won't be able to return. I know a few people I'll try and contact to see if I can work something out.

The last three days of my stay had me filling in as a hotwalker. My assistant told me I was to get a week's pay for my work. Quite momentous, as this was to be my first paycheck, although I had been slipped a hundred dollar bill by my first trainer when he was having quite the winning week. I took a picture of that $100. bill, as it was my very first pay as a hotwalker.

Since my return, two horses in the care of mi maestro and me have raced. One of them won by over three lengths and my thrill was legion. There is something uniquely special about watching your horse cross the wire a winner. You take pride in them and feel like you contributed to their success by taking good care of them in the barn.

I'm going to be calling our equine veternarian soon about shadowing him, as I know he's back to work in February. It's time to start learning the nuts and bolts of a horse from an expert.

The journey is so enjoyable. I couldn't be happier.

This is who I am.

When Smokey Sings

2012-01-19T16:21:00.000-08:00

"Debonair lullabies in melodies revealed."

I listen to music on my iPhone as I work in the barn.

Clipped onto my waistband, my iPhone rings true in the hours before the sun comes up.

Even after...

I'm back in the winter white, after having spent two weeks in the sunny south.

"In deep despair, on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel."

Whilst I was away, my cat of 16 years died...

Broken, I sought comfort in the barn.

Blazer understood.

He's on the other shedrow... He comforted me.

Thankful for that, as no person in my periphery had anything to say about my loss.

Here and now, I am going to suggest if someone has lost something or someone special in their lives, a simple, "I'm sorry," goes a long way.

Acknowledge someone's grief.

I had none of that in person on the day David died.

The older I get, the more I don't like people...

Sending a thanks to the horse racing Twitteratti who recognised my loss.

"The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real."

Something big happened for the trainer with whom I stay when down south. His 64-1 shot spurted on the stretch and came home a winner.

I had to get to the bottom of this...

Someone had to know that horse was ripe as an apple falling from a tree in golden-leafed Washington.

This horse had been receiving accupuncture treatments.

The Vet said she was going to call her parents to place a bet on this horse, as he had transformed under her care.

She said this to the Trainer, who called The Owner and said, "I think he's going to hit the board."

The Owner is a big gambler and into this horse for 50G's.
He was too busy at work to bet, the Trainer didn't bet, the Vet didn't bet.

The horse didn't care... He felt good.

In this scenario, the only one I feel bad for is The Owner.

"Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night
You know you're right just to hold her tight
He soothes it right - makes it outtasite
And everything's good in the world tonight."

I spent a night in the feed room when we all were feeling good and mi maestro (my teacher) couldn't find his keys.

It was a Saturday night.

Sometimes, you have to let loose...

But, to be honest, the feed room was cold.

Mi maestro's brother wanted to take me back to his room, but not to sleep.
Thanks, but I have no interest in a guy who is young enough to be my son.

Here I am, in last night's clothes, with hay around my legs to keep me warm, expecting our second-in-command assistant to show up and unlock the tack room so I could get yesterday's barn clothes and get to work.

Who unlocks the tack room?

The General...

I collected my clothes, suited up and got to work.

I felt like any expletive you would care to name, but the horses needed care.

I'm too old to do this on a regular basis, but, once in awhile, you have some fun and then suck it up and get the job done.

I came home with this in my leather jacket pocket...

Memories of a hard night and a day survived.

Carpe Diem

Seize the Day

Aprovechar el Dia

My Princess fractured her coffin bone and is now back at the farm to be a broodmare.

She was my favourite...

The trainer with whom I stay insists I should not kiss horses...

The 82 year old man thinks I should kiss him...

I have to manage this man's interest in me with my interest in horses whilst not trying to take advantage of him but not wanting to sleep wth him.

Expletive... Expletive, expletive, expletive.

I want a horseman my age; not young enough to be my son or old enough to be my father.

"Elegance in eloquence - for sale or rent or hire. Should I say - yes I match his best... Then I would be a liar."

Nothing can compare to mi maestro. Here he is in the paddock...

I appreciate him because he teaches me without expecting anything sexual from me.

You men have no idea how we women have to dodge you...

I'd rather be figuring out these graceful creatures en pointe.

My new fav is Manly. He doesn't like a hard brush and I have discovered he likes me stroking his forehead up into his forelock.

"When Smokey sings - I forget everything
As she's packing her things
Smashing the hell
With the heaven she brings
When Smokey sings..."

Another Opening, Another Show

2011-12-17T06:42:00.000-08:00

I've just returned from a sun-drenched week at our track in the south.

So eager, I began working with mi maestro (my teacher) the afternoon of my arrival, as we had entries that day. Of course, one of the first things I did was say hello to Pinky, who was looking well and remembered me. She was no longer under the care of mi maestro and was located on the other shedrow, but I was happy to see her and give her a peppermint kiss.

Mi maestro gave me a ride after the last race to the home of the trainer with whom I worked last meet at this track. This trainer was nice enough to let me stay with him, even though I was to be working for my current trainer.

It didn't take long to find the rhythm.

Up at 3:30, out of the house with my former trainer by 4:45, a stop at 7-11 for a large cup of blueberry flavoured coffee, at the track a few minutes after 5:00, a smoke as I walked over to my barn and the work would begin.

Mi maestro and I fell into our usual routine without any hesitation, but something was new to me this meet.

The General was here.

Perhaps it is the impending release of, "War Horse," that has me thinking in military terms, but not too long after we began working our trainer would appear and begin walking the shedrows like a General reviewing the troops.

Confident working with mi maestro, I wasn't nervous in my trainer's presence. I could tell he was evaluating me, as this was his first opportunity to see me work. At my track in the north, the assistant trainer was in charge, as our trainer was based at a track to the east. Here, I barely saw the assistant as he was working on the other shedrow.

We almost fill a barn at this track, occupying 46 out of 50 stalls. That has my trainer and his son (who also holds a trainer's license and gallops a few horses in the morning) walking the shedrows constantly, giving instructions and checking on things.

A day after my arrival, my assistant trainer did give me an instruction that came from above. I had been making my peppermint round and my trainer was walking the shedrow, stopping at various stalls while he was on the phone. I was spending time with the horse, but my trainer didn't like me within earshot of his conversation. Understandable, although I hadn't been listening in, the point was made and taken. In a very kind way, the assistant trainer told me, in so many words, I was to part like the Red Sea if my trainer was engaged in any conversation on the phone. I figured out, by extension, that also meant any conversation in the barn with the owners, his son and anyone else where it appeared to be a private matter.

So, depart I would to the other end of our section of shedrow, or walk to the other end of the barn when I was taking a smoke break.

That was the sum total of my correction for the week. I may at times have overcompensated, but I didn't want my trainer to think for a minute I was trying to listen in on his business. That is completely unnatural to me, anyway.

My trainer is always assessing everything and everyone in his barn. He is really on top of things and is quite successful. The respect he has earned is deserved. He treats his staff well and he takes very good care of his horses. There were times I said or did something that brought a small, brief smile to his face. That made me feel good, knowing he approved of me. One always longs to catch the approving glance of the master.

The middle of the week had me finding the track kitchen and another routine began. Once the horses were fed, I'd head over to the kitchen to get my toasted muffin sliced and filled with egg, cheese and ham. It felt wonderful to sit outside in the warm sun and listen to my music whilst eating, drinking Coke Zero, and smoking a few cigarettes before heading back to the barn.

I had a bit of time to spend with our farrier when he shod one of our horses. He has been doing the work for 17 years, so I figured he was a good resource for my questions regarding glue-on and synthetic shoes. He said glue-on shoes were used for thin hoof walls, for feet that wouldn't take nails. He wasn't overly excited about them and he thought synthetic shoes were a gimmick, believing that aluminum plates were able to accomplish the same goal without the cost involved.

It was so nice to be in the barn again, breathing the sweet smells and grooming our charges.

One of the horses in our corner of the barn happens to be the horse I comforted and who comforted me the day Lisa, my former assistant trainer, passed away. She had caught her halter on the gate and her face had needed stitches back in July. She was now left with a crescent scar over one eye on her pretty chestnut face. She's a lovely, sweet chestnut mare.

Another horse in our care was nicknamed Princess by mi maestro. It's very fitting, as she is a beautiful bay filly with a long, silky tail. I had never brushed such a soft tail before, which I mentioned to our assistant trainer. He told me she had just come in from the farm and they had put oil on her tail, which is more for show horses, not racehorses. Her tail won't be silky for long in our barn, but it sure was nice brushing her tail and grooming her.

I brought a human hairbrush with me for grooming. I enjoyed using it immensely, as it brought back that intimate, good girlfriend feeling as I brushed their tail and mane. I especially liked using it in Princess, with that silky tail of hers.

A gelding we groom is sway-backed with a female name, although I question whether I'm hearing mi maestro correctly. He speaks English with an accent and sometimes things get lost in translation.

One morning, we were saddling a horse who was headed to the track for a work, when our trainer said to use a certain piece of equipment. A bit of confusion ensued, as I knew the equipment as a "jo" or "go," as taught to me by mi maestro. The trainer's son said, "yoke," and it was then that I realised this particular piece of equipment was called a yoke, not a "jo" or "go." Recalling the story now has me chuckling, but at the time I was a bit nervous as I wanted to make a good impression.

After the morning break on the track, the jockeys arrive and the works begin. All the jockeys here have custom safety vests with their names emblazoned on the back along with other personal touches. It's a sight to see, watching them all head to the track. I'm glad they identify themselves on the back of their safety vests, because, quite honestly, I wouldn't know one jockey from another for the most part. Whenever I'm at the track, I'm paying attention to the horse, not the jockey, although I have the utmost respect for jockeys and think they are quite courageous for the work they do.

After the morning work was done, I would head over to the barn of my trainer from last year at this track and help him out with any work that needed to be done in the afternoon. It was a nice way to end the day and we would leave the track around 4:30 to head back to his home.

Live racing days had me staying until the last field crossed the wire and catching a ride back with either mi maestro or one of our exercise riders.

One of the highlights of my week was getting licensed at this track, which was a huge deal to me. I felt like I really belonged once I was official. I'll be carrying my license around with me as I travel for my day job, just so I can pull it out and look at it, feeling good knowing I'm one of those lucky people who can call herself a backsider.

All in all, it was a work-packed week filled with wonderfully long days of warm weather and barn smells. I kept busy at our barn, always finding something to do, which was noted by my trainer's son, who commented on my work ethic in a positive way.

The ultimate compliment came via my assistant trainer. My last day at the track, late in the morning, the assistant trainer walked by and commented to me, "good job." I hadn't seen the assistant trainer but for a few moments all week, so I knew that wasn't coming from him, but was coming from my trainer. That made me feel really good. There is an immense satisfaction in a job well done and pleasing your trainer. I am fortunate to be allowed to learn and work there and see much room for personal growth.

I'll be headed back to our track in the south next month, and memories of my week past and anticipation of my next visit will make the cold weather here unnoticable, as my thoughts will keep me warm.

I can smell the barns from here.

A Date with Rapid Redux

2011-11-22T07:15:00.000-08:00

I heard the breaking news on Twitter.

Rapid Redux was going for historic win number 20 at Mountaineer on Monday, 21 November.

Mountaineer is a reasonable drive away, so I quickly considered what it would cost me to attend and decided it was worth giving up my Thanksgiving and Black Friday to be there in person.

My schedule can flex, being one of those 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year jobs. I just needed to find someone who wanted to arrive home on Thanksgiving day at 6am and have Black Friday off by giving up their Monday before Thanksgiving off.

It took less than an hour to find such a person. No surprise there.

I was, however, very surprised when I arrived at Mountaineer right after the first race and discovered a practically empty grandstand. It was one of those moments you realise you live in a bit of a Twitter/Facebook cocoon, surrounding yourself with like-minded people to the point you forget the larger world is clueless.

Still, I had seen people from Australia to the United Kingdom talking online about Rapid Redux. Hence, it seemed strange Mountaineer couldn't rustle up enough bustle for such an historic event.

A casual conversation with one local had a bit of light dawning. He had just heard about Rapid Redux going for the record Monday afternoon and made sure he was there to see it. It makes one wonder how many people might have shown up if only they had known.

I had a tweetup with an old friend and a new one. The new friend works for an industry publication, the old friend is the lady who met me for Pinky's first race and took such marvelous pictures of my sweet filly. I shared her excitement at being credentialed media for the very first time. She deserved it, her pictures are quite good.

We sat around chatting in the simulcast area and my new friend pointed out Robert Cole, the owner of Rapid Redux. He wasn't busy so I walked over and introduced myself, told him I was there for Rapid Redux and wished him luck. He and his girlfriend appreciated the well wishes and I returned to our table. A bit later, Mr. Cole came up to our table and invited me to join them in the winner's circle.

Wow, I was honoured and thrilled.

Rapid Redux was in race 8, so my friends, old and new, peeled off before race 7 to attend to their duties whilst I attended to my appearance as I wanted to look nice for that win photo.

Before I went into the indoor paddock to watch Rapid Redux, I stopped at the windows to buy some souvenirs. Ten $2. win tickets, to be exact. I had big plans for those tickets. If Rapid Redux won, I was going to try and get jockey Deshawn Parker to sign them with the intention of gifting the win tickets to thoroughbred rescue/retirement/disabled jockey organisations for their fundraising memorabilia auctions.

My heart was simply responding to the heart of Rapid Redux.

I tucked those tickets away in a cardboard-lined envelope I had brought for the occassion and headed to the paddock. The paddock area was a hive of activity. Onlookers stand above the carousel paddock to view the horses. It's an interesting set-up. The bulk of people were gathered above stall seven, where owner Robert Cole and trainer David Wells were standing, waiting as Rapid Redux made his slow, counterclockwise rounds with his handler. Deshawn Parker appeared and a few minutes later the jockeys got a leg up and out to the track we all went, our hopes riding on the strong back of that hard knocking gelding right along with Deshawn.

A late scratch had what was once an eight horse field whittled down to four. Rapid Redux approached the gate, last to load, and cameras started flashing in the dark night. I could tell all the flash cameras were spooking the gelding and he began to give the assistant starters trouble. I hollered out, "It's the flashing! Stop! The flash cameras are getting to him!". People actually stopped using their flashes. No one there wanted to make things difficult for the gelding.

Out of the gate they went and 1:40 later, on a muddy, sealed track, Rapid Redux crossed the wire and into history.

We all cheered and the winner's circle filled up with people, waiting on the star of the show.

Pictures were taken, a trophy awarded by Mountaineer to Robert Cole was presented, and back to the grandstand we all drifted.

Although, I must tell you, I was close enough to Rapid Redux in the winner's circle to reach out and gently pet his nose for a moment. I touched greatness that night.

The connections were very busy with fans and friends alike back in the grandstand, signing programs and gracefully acknowledging congratulations.

I then had the idea to get my tickets signed by owner, trainer and jockey. Owner Robert Cole and trainer David Wells were very obliging when I told them what they were for, given that I was asking them for 10 autographs a piece. I worked my way down to the racing office to track down Deshawn Parker and someone there placed a call and had me wait outside the jockey's room.

Meeting Deshawn Parker was poignant, as we both had a connection to Lisa, my assistant trainer who passed away in July. We chatted about Lisa as he signed the win tickets. He's kind and a very reserved man. "Measured," would be an excellent way of describing him. We parted with the thought that we would meet again in Florida.

I've already contacted a handful of organisations about those tickets. The people I have heard back from seem very excited to have one for auction, which makes me feel wonderful.

It's all thanks to Rapid Redux and his champion-sized heart.

Now I need to get a copy of that win photo.

Gone

2011-11-09T22:50:00.000-08:00

My barn emptied out today. The caboose of horses and humans are migrating south to Florida in the annual ritual.

My last day was Saturday, the final day of our meet, which coincides with Breeder's Cup.

It was easier saying goodbye this year. I believe the reason for that is I have opportunities available to me after this meet that I did not have last year.

My trainer appeared in the barn the last day of our meet. I asked him when I found myself in Florida if I had permission to come to his barn and help. He said that was fine, which made me feel fantastic.

I also have a Twitter friend who has invited me to her breeding farm in Lexington. I'll work in her barn and she will put a roof over my head while I am there. It will also give me an opportunity to see how the breeding side of the industry works. I'm really looking forward to spending time in Kentucky, the heart of it all.

As I have mentioned before, our equine vet has agreed to allow me to shadow him over the winter. He takes quite a bit of well-deserved time off when our meet ends, so I will be working with him intermittently.

It all sounds promising to me...

Life is what you make it.

I was suprised I settled so quickly my last week in the barn, given I had just come off a layoff and mi maestro (my teacher) left a day after my return. I worked with mi maestro's maestro (my teacher's teacher, his father) and near the end of the week, he complimented me by saying I was a good worker. Coming from a Latino, that is high praise, indeed.

I spent the majority of my time in the barn being the only person whose native language was English. I also spent the majority of my time on the backside surrounded by men.

I have a few thoughts regarding both conditions.

The backside wouldn't function without Latinos. They are kind, hardworking, family oriented people.

Mi maestro has to leave his wife and two little children when work takes him south for the winter. He would like to find a job on a farm where he could be home every night with his family, but that isn't easy to find in the area in which they live.

Another man with whom I worked in the barn has a wife and three little children in Mexico. He rarely sees them as the job keeps him busy up north in the summer and down south in the winter. He's a good man and a good groom.

I am saddened these families cannot be together. No doubt similiar stories are multiplied ad infinitum on every backside of every track in America.

I do believe we should be doing more to make this situation right.

Men on the Backside, part deux...

Over a year after one of our top trainers inappropriately slapped my bottom so hard I thought he was sending me to the moon, he said goodbye before Breeder's Cup Classic by visiting my trackside table and kissing my hand.

Make no mistake, this trainer is no more a respecter of women this year than last.

I have, however, continued to be a lady, so his advances, whilst tempered this year, were still to no avail.

This is the real key to being a woman working on the backside: act like a lady and you will be treated like a lady.

I see some women treating the backside as a smorgasbord of men to sample. I cringe for them, realising men have little respect or regard for women who fall into bed with any man who comes along. Once a woman has that reputation on the backside, it's all over for her. She will always be viewed as a $5K claimer, because she tagged herself as such.

I've had many men on the backside take their best shot with me this year. I politely rebuffed them all. In turn, I received their respect and admiration.

She's a lady.

I'm holding out for a hero. A knight on a thoroughbred horse. I'll know him when I see him, coming over the horizon to rescue this damsel.

To finish a story, I spoke of a horseman in my last post.

Let me put it this way...

If a horse in your barn doesn't fire after a year, it's time to move that horse out of your barn in an ethical and humane way, so you can feel good about the horse and good about yourself.

One last thought to end the meet...

Pinky doesn't have such a ridiculous name after all.

It took some time before I was trusted with her real name.

As a matter of fact, this lady has a lot in common with that lady

Going, Going...

2011-11-03T17:35:00.000-07:00

It's going to be an emotional week. I said goodbye to mi maestro, our assistant trainer and two vans full of horses. I didn't realise our trainer was leaving until he was gone.

There is a real sense it's all ending. You can feel it in the thinning ranks at our track; you can feel it in the morning bite before the sun comes up.

I am finding myself quite productive. After I'm done grooming horses, I roll bandages and end my morning by walking hots.

I haven't been rolling bandages this meet until I started working for mi maestro's maestro (my teacher's teacher). Mi maestro always rolled his own bandages. His father, however, thought it was a good task for me; so yesterday I was able to show initiative and start rolling bandages after I had groomed.

Tears came when I rolled that first bandage and thought, "This one's for you, Lisa." Lisa was my assistant trainer from last year who died in July. She is also the person who taught me how to roll a bandage. It was such a fitting tribute I decided right then and there to roll my first bandage of the day, any day I find myself rolling bandages, and dedicate it to Lisa.

A few days ago, our female hotwalker told me a horse had stepped on her foot. At first, I thought she meant someone else, as her English and my Spanish are equally lacking. Later on, we talked again and I realised she meant herself, so I asked to see her foot. Two toes were swollen with angry red forget-me-nots. She wears athletic shoes. I suggesed, through a translator, that she should consider work boots. She didn't seem to be too interested in that idea and I think I understand why. Ariat work boots cost $110. That's a lot of money to a hotwalker.

But it got me thinking about the business aspect of being a trainer.

I wonder how many workman compensation claims are made for crushed feet and toes. I also wonder what type of footwear the crushed feet and toes were wearing. I know workman's comp is expensive for horsemen. I don't have any answers, just questions.

I asked our vet if he could give me some homework for November, as he takes the rest of the month off. I told him I have a Merck Vet Manual and asked him for a little list of top ailments so I can get to studying for my time shadowing him.

I had a Romeo and Juliet balcony scene today at the track. Our paddock sits below the grandstand and one can stand outside and look down into the paddock. It was fairly intense, as this horseman and I have been flirting and skirting around each other for about a year. I drive past his barn to go to the track and he knew I was there. I was in the grandstand, talking to the bartender who was retiring, when all of a sudden this horseman appeared in the paddock much earlier than he needed to be for his race. As a matter of fact, he was the only person in the paddock, standing square in the middle of it. I saw he was there, could tell he was looking for me and flew out the door. We then proceeded to stare at each other for quite some time. I'm not sure it means anything, but it was pretty interesting. I previously told this horseman he has until Breeder's Cup Classic to decide what he wants to do. Once that field crosses the wire, his time is up. Do, or do not. There is no try.

Every day I show up at the barn a few more people and horses are gone. But I still have Pinky and Papa is entered tomorrow. I just picked up Papa's win photo. He has a pride of place, next to Pinky's win photo.

Time is growing very short...

In more ways than one.

Coming Off a Layoff

2011-11-01T14:40:00.001-07:00

It's so good to be back, working in the barn again.

An injury had me farmed out for the month of October. All the horses in the barn are saying they didn't do it. They are being truthful. They also wished me a speedy recovery when I visited them a few times with peppermints.

It felt invigorating to be up at 4:30AM yesterday, but there was a price to be paid for my absence. I thought I had dressed warmly, but it wasn't nearly enough for the very chilly barn morning. I corrected that today by adding layers and a pair of gloves, too.

Since I've been gone, the track to our east, out of which my trainer mainly operated, had ended it's meet, so everyone, human and horse, had found their way to our track.

There was a hello, goodbye moment yesterday when mi maestro (my teacher) informed me that it would be his last day, as he was headed down south with our assistant trainer to start setting up stalls at our winter track. I became a little anxious with the news, as any filly would be when her routine is disrupted. I asked mi maestro with whom I would work this last week of the meet and he introduced me to his father. There is something poignant to all this: mi maestro's father taught mi maestro how to be a groom. That would make him mi maestro's maestro.

Still, the change after the layoff had me a bit out of my element today. My usual task of scrubbing water and feed buckets was already done by the time I arrived in the barn. I always try to fill in time by finding work that needs to be done, but that becomes awkward when you don't want to step on any toes with your initiative. I don't know that I will find a rhythm with mi maestro's maestro, as time is extremely short, but I'll keep looking for it as that is what comes natural to me.

Mi maestro's maestro did have me doing a lot of grooming today, which I enjoyed immensely. Being in the stall with a horse, brushing them and cleaning their feet is still pure joy to me. I've said this before, but the personal nature of grooming brings an emotional attachment between human and horse. I just heard today that War Admiral died of a heart attack soon after his longtime groom died. That story had tears rolling down my cheeks, as I completely understood and totally related.

Pinky won her first race while I was gone. I was so sad I couldn't be there for her, but I did get a copy of her win photo which now sits proudly where I can see it everyday. I got my wish, she stayed with me until the end of the meet. She also brought my first tears yesterday as I was doing my peppermint round. I am going to miss that filly so much, my heart is already starting to break. I'm just glad I can be in the barn through the end of the week so I can give her a proper goodbye, hugs, tears, and all.

I was on track, however, when my beloved Papa crossed the wire a winner last week. I was so thrilled, it was like he was my own. When the horses were in the paddock, I got to chatting with a few ladies, one of which was her first time at the track. I told them a little bit about Papa, how big he was and what a handful he could be, and how I dearly loved him. Well, on my way to the winner's circle, I ran into the ladies and the one who was a first-timer was all excited and told me she had bet on Papa. I couldn't have been more pleased or proud. Hope that lady comes back and visits us sometime. An addendum to this story: In the paddock, the first-timer said she never came to the track because she thought we would be hitting the horses. I told her I have never hit a horse.

My breath was taken away today when I came upon a young gelding in our care and observed steam rising from his body as the sun streamed into his stall. I stood there and marveled, although, when I reflected later, I wondered if perhaps he should have been blanketed. Very few horses were blanketed yesterday or today in our barn, so I'll be asking that question shortly.

He was an astounding sight to behold. Unfortunately, I could not capture him in all his majesty on my iPhone camera, but I did my best.

El Caballo Noble (The Noble Horse)

Oh, how they make my heart beat fast, get me all choked up and bring tears to my eyes.

A Tale of Two Horses

2011-09-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

Pinky was in her very first race this week.

I was so thrilled I was able to attend. I gussied up and invited a friend to meet me there in the new old-fashioned way called a tweetup. She was eager to join me and share the joy of Pinky's debutante ball. Thanks to my friend, I am able to show you Pinky's introduction to the horse racing world.

She sure looks pretty!

Pinky knew I was there. We stood right outside the paddock and every time she passed by I would call out, "Pinky!" with the same high-voiced intonation I used back the barn when she was in my care. She, in turn, looked at me with every counterclockwise round she made with her groom. I don't know anyone who works for my trainer at this track, so the groom, after a few rounds of this "Pinky!" business must have thought I was plum crazy. I didn't care. That was my Pinky and I wanted her to know I was with her every step of the way.

She saddled well as her groom gently stroked her face. I liked seeing that a lot. I could tell Pinky's groom had picked up on her gentle nature and knew how to handle her. At that moment, I knew Pinky was being treated well in her new barn. That made me completely happy.

My trainer gave the jockey a leg up and Pinky headed out to the track. Here she is, looking like a pro with her pony.

I placed my bet on her and we then found a spot to watch the race near the finish line. I pulled out my binoculars to nervously await her loading into the gate.

Two-year-olds can be less than fun for assistant starters at the gate. More seriously, it can be downright dangerous for them. I was worried about my Pinky. I had seen and heard about her shenanigans whilst schooling at the gate and this was a completely new experience for her. Was she going to load? Was she going to flip and scratch?

Nervous mama watched her approach.

She pulled back a bit before loading, but once she had a some momentum, she loaded in the gate and stood quietly without further issue.

Big sigh of relief here. As far as I was concerned, this was her biggest issue.

The gates sprung and so did Pinky.

She stalked the pace with sharp fractions. She ended up three wide on the turn, which didn't help her, and faded to second last, coming in over 14 lengths off the lead.

That's fine with me. It was a respectable first time out. Here she is, about to cross the wire.

I hovered around my trainer whilst the jockey was debriefing him, although, to be honest, I pulled back a bit as I didn't want to listen without getting permission from my trainer first.

After the jockey walked away, I asked my trainer what he thought of Pinky's race. He was not surprised and upbeat about her future.

Music to my ears.

Pinky was first time Lasix, which segues nicely into the story about horse number two.

Who, uncannily enough, was also post position five this week.

Here he is with mi miestro (my teacher/groom). This picture I took whilst sitting in the paddock.

This horse is new to our corner of the barn. He is a sweet three-year-old gelding who previously raced at a prestigious track north of our border but had now found himself at my track in a $2.5K maiden claiming race.

Mi maestro called him a donkey, but all I could see was his possibilities off track.

This horse is not geared towards racing. Why not give him a task he can do well and in which he can find satisfaction, knowing he is doing a good job?

I think this is one of the differences between men and women.

Men dismiss that which doesn't meet their expectations. Women strive to find a proper place where talent can meet realistic expectations.

I digress...

This horse is also on Lasix.

Given the explosion of news lately about race-day medications, I found myself questioning our vet as he administered Lasix to our sweet three-year-old gelding.

Many years ago, I was preparing for a medical career. Anatomy and Physiology taught me about something called the potassium sodium pump, which is vital to heart function. Further education taught me diuretics (read Lasix) deplete potassium, which could potentially trigger cardiac arrest.

I knew this about humans, but did this apply to horses, too?

I asked our vet about potassium depletion regarding Lasix. He confirmed that Lasix does indeed cause a depletion of potassium and to counteract this negative effect a "good trainer" administers electrolytes.

My vet then left the barn, but I kept thinking...

I found myself wondering if there was a study correlating Lasix and cardiac arrest in thoroughbreds. I went to Rood & Riddle (via Twitter) to find out.

I received a tweet from R&R saying I asked a good question and the surgeons on staff would be asked.

I have to be honest... I was so pleased R&R said I asked a good question. It made me feel like a good student.

But, shouldn't we all be students in this matter.

I am nobody in no place, but I am a bit astounded that in all this talk about race-day medications, we aren't hearing from the veternarians who would know what is best for the horse.

And isn't that what really counts here?

Why aren't we asking for scientific evidence as an industry, instead of jumping on the bandwagon of the latest trend, just because it sounds good?

Well, what the heck do I know...

I'm just a groom in training.

Seasons Change

2011-09-08T08:12:00.000-07:00

It's official. A new season has begun.

The days have grown shorter, which has our track opening later for morning workouts.

We have all begun to layer our clothing, to shed or redress as we adjust to the changing weather.

All the fans have been put into an empty stall. We have quite a few empty stalls these days. My trainer sold a number of horses recently and plans on shipping in his horses from another track.

The subtle message is there...

It will be a meaner and leaner group who make the trek to Florida after all the leaves have left our trees.

Pinky has left me for greener pastures... or should I say tapeta pastures. She shipped out while I was away. The good news is she has talent to compete at a better track. Mi maestro (my teacher/groom) says she's a stakes caliber horse. I talked to the assistant today about her and he promised to let me know when she would be in her first race. The other bit of good news is this track is within driving distance and I will move heaven and earth to be there for her. Mi maestro says she will ship back to us eventually, so I can anticipate her return to me, too.

We have another baby in our care. A very sweet chestnut filly. I have already bonded with her. I seem to have a knack for two-year-olds. I do believe it's the
mothering/nurturing thing that has them responding to me.

In Pinky's stall is another grey filly. This one is very sweet, too. I am familiar with her, as she was under the care of another groom in different section of the barn. Wow, do greys ever get dirty. All horses will roll in their stall, but greys wear their stall. Are they ever a sight in the morning. I brush them the best I can before they are saddled, but there is some dirt that just can't be brushed away.

In a few short months, this meet will be over and I will once again be waving goodbye to all the horses and people who have touched my life, helped me learn, helped me grow.

I'm already thinking ahead to my winter "semester." When the time is right, I am going to ask our preeminent equine veterinarian if I can assist him on my days off from my job. He always has students trailing him, so I think he might allow me to travel along to further my education in equine anatomy/physiology, ailments and diseases, medications and rehabilitation, and whatever else might come up. He knows I have a few brains in my head, so I think the odds are in my favour in getting into his class.

Trying not to miss a beat here...

Time Passages

2011-08-19T22:10:00.000-07:00

Time continues to walk around and around, although, in the barn, time moves in a counterclockwise direction.

It's amazing how quickly the mornings disappear...

Mi maestro (my teacher/groom) and I work together seamlessly. He mucks the stalls and I clean the feed/water buckets and fill. I brush the horse while he bandages. We saddle horses together, except for Nike, the first horse I tacked all by myself. He leaves her completely to me. This is a good thing, because I am still not proficient with the bit and bridle and Nike is so patient with me.

Nike is my nickname for her. I had to come up with a good nickname, because she was a major first for me. I thought long and hard about it, because her track name is a mouthful and impossible to use in the barn. So, since she has "wings" in her track name and Nike is "winged victory" in Greek mythology, plus my favourite work of art is Nike of Samothrace, Nike she became to me.

I have made progress with the giant gelding of whom I spoke previously. I'm currently grooming him and I hold him for mi maestro while he gets tacked. I have settled on calling him Papa, which works with his track name. I have begun to suspect the past few days that Papa actually likes me. I'm pleased and a bit surprised because he doesn't seem to like anyone. Maybe he likes me because of the peppermints I give him. Maybe he likes my gentle touch. Maybe he can feel my heart. For whatever reason, Papa has grown to occassionally like my attention. He lets me kiss him good morning and also allows me to give him a peppermint kiss. Make no mistake, he will still pin his ears back and get aggressive, attempting to bite, but I see it coming and dodge him. Sometimes, the old man just doesn't want to be bothered. So, if it's unnecessary to bother him when he doesn't want to be bothered, I leave him alone.

Which brings me to the whole concept of barn safety. Safety really is a priority in the barn. As anyone who has worked around horses knows, they can be dangerous creatures. You have to be aware of your safety, everyone else's safety, and the safety of the horses. You try to minimize risk as much as possible, although, inevitably, you have those vulnerable moments. I still get a knot in my stomach when I am leaving a stall and a horse turns his/her hind end towards me. I always leave the stall like a subject leaving the Queen. I never turn my back on them. I've become very comfortable working in the stall, but I don't want to get so comfortable I become complacent. Some horses would never hurt you on purpose, but they could still hurt you. I always try to remember that...

Pinky now has a tattoo and is on the work tab. The day is soon approaching when she will be entered in her first race. I am quite nervous about it and hope I'll able to be there for her. She surprised me this week by actually sticking her head out of her stall in the morning to say hello to me. She is usually wired and in her corner until the morning barn bustle is over. Perhaps she is maturing... Her excercise rider told me she will break fast from the gate. I'm hoping she actually gets into the gate and stays in the gate so she can break fast from the gate. She still has her issues, and she is still as sweet as a summer peach. She will always be my Pinky and wherever she goes, I'll follow her career.

I am gaining confidence with every morning I complete in the barn.

It just takes time, and time does indeed go around and around...

Counterclockwise.

A Red Letter Day

2011-08-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

I completely tacked a horse alone for the first time today.

Mi maestro (my teacher/groom) sprung it on me this morning. He casually told me to tack the sweet mare, reviewed a few things at the stall gate and then walked away and left me alone.

I was nervous, and although it wasn't very hot outside, it was very hot inside that stall as I was sweating rivulets.

Alright, maybe it wasn't that hot in the stall. Maybe it was just me.

Mi maestro knew just what he was doing, as this mare is very easy going when it comes to inserting her Dexter ring bit. She just opens up her mouth. I had a bit of a problem with the bridle, but she stood there patiently while I figured it out.

The exercise rider came back from the track with all the tack still on the mare, so I must have done OK. Actually, mi maestro and the exercise rider were very encouraging and shared my euphoria with my accomplishment.

I thanked mi maestro profusely and when the travelling diner came by our barn, I bought him breakfast to show my appreciation.

I am also now learning how to put on bandages and have started applying Fura Septin (nitrofurazone) on leg wounds after I am done grooming.

I'm working my "day" job tonight after working in the barn this morning. I thought I would take an afternoon nap, but I am still riding high over tacking my first horse and not a bit tired.

It's really awesome what is happening to me...

I'm starting to turn into a groom.

Pinky's Postulate

2011-08-02T17:16:00.000-07:00

"Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you."

Pinky is playing a huge role in my summer on the backside.

Pinky is a two-year-old filly with whom I have grown close in the barn.

I worry over her like a mother. Every morning I see her standing in the back of the stall, with her nose almost pressed to the wall, and I get concerned.

She's digging to China again. Not as bad as when she was in the corner stall, watching horses go back and forth to the track in the mornings, but she now likes digging a hole in her favourite right angle where she stares at nothing and doesn't respond to my voice.

Please... Come back to me, Pinky....

I'm already nervous for Pinky's first race.

Is she going to spook in the gate and be a late scratch?

I visited her at the gate this morning while she was schooling. She managed fairly well, although she spooked backing out of the gate.

This child just needs time, patience, and, dare I say it, a woman's touch.

I watched male assistant starters cracking her on the butt today. I know this child. That doesn't resonate with her.

She loves a soft touch. A kind touch. A motherly touch. She gets into place every time for me.

Pinky would never hurt me on purpose, but I know she could still hurt me.

Pinky stepped on my foot last week.

It wasn't her fault. I was hotwalking her and mi maestro (my teacher/groom) told me to put her back in her stall. The problem was I had already walked her past her stall, so had to double back.

Pinky just followed my lead and promptly stepped on me.

Dang... That hurt...

I'm going to plug Ariat paddock boots here (this is not a paid advert), because they saved my foot. Painful, but zero damage after my Pinky walked on it.

She even spooked when I freaked with her foot firmly planted on my foot.

So glad I wasn't in my transition Nikes between my pair of cute riding boots and this pair of barn boots. No doubt I would be singing the same tune I sang last year when I lost my baby toenail.

Enough background noise...

Here's Pinky's Postulate.

I am determined I can break Pinky's newly acquired bad habit of biting me without ever raising a hand to her.

Yes, Pinky is biting now. She doesn't do it with aggression. She doesn't mean to hurt, but biting does hurt.

I am trying to break her from biting by sounding and feeling stern.

"No, Pinky! No! That hurts!"

She puts her head right down on my side when I scold her. She doesn't like scolding.

She is such a sensitive filly.

Will it work?

Honestly, I have no idea. But Pinky is a blank slate as a two-year-old and her bad habit started with me.

I'll let you know how it works out.

One way, or the other.

Heatwave

2011-07-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

It was so hot our track cancelled today's card.

The weather is affecting everyone in the barn, human and horse.

We try to keep horses cool and healthy with plenty of fans. Each stall has it's own fan and very large fans are at end of the shedrows. We also have the ability to shut out the hot sun with retracting aluminum window shades, which really helps to control the temperature.

It's still hot though, and I'm suspecting the heat makes horses cranky, just like humans.

Pinky bit me today. I'm not sure if it was due to heat or a bad trait the two-year-old filly is developing. I was actually surprised when she did it, as she has always been very mild mannered with me. She would lip me sweetly, but never bite me. Until, that is, today, when she chunked my leg as I was spending time with her during my peppermint round. It wasn't vicious, as I reflect, it was actually playful, but still painful. I'm going to need to be more careful around her mouth in the future and see if I can work on correcting the behaviour if it continues with me. I'll still love her, though, even if I do have to start dodging her bite.

I have a few stories about Pinky this week.

I remembered this one after Lisa, my former assistant trainer, passed away. When I first started visiting Lisa, I told her about Pinky and showed her a picture of the pretty grey filly. About a week later, Lisa told me she had dreamed about Pinky. I was hotwalking Pinky the moment Lisa died on 13 July and Pinky is in stall 13.

Please mind, I don't have a superstitious bone in my body. It was just uncanny.

My other Pinky story has to do with my new work boots. Last year, after losing my baby toenail to a chestnut in my Nikes, my niece gifted me with a pair of cute boots. They were really riding boots but served me well in the barn up until recently. Yesterday, I went to one of our well-regarded tack stores and bought a new pair of boots. Barn boots this time, waterproof, and also suitable for my riding lessons. I was completely excited to wear my new boots to the barn this morning and was wondering which stall I would step in first in my new boots. As fate would have it, the stall just happened to belong to Pinky.

This filly and I seem to have a real connection.

I got bitten a second time today. GG (Giant Gelding) saw his opportunity and took it when I was handling him as mi maestro (my teacher/groom) was tacking him. GG could have gotten me a lot worse than he did, although his bite, unlike Pinky's, was intended to hurt me. A lip shank calmed him right down. I have really warmed to using a lip shank to control difficult horses, but as a groom, you are usually in the stall alone with the horse, which removes this effective tool from your box.

But there are some really wonderful tools in that box for other, much more pleasant things.

My favourite grooming tools right now are the brushes and pick.

The best part of my day is when I go into the stall and brush the coat, mane, tail and clean the feet of a horse.

It's so personal.

I probably take too much time brushing a horse. I love watching their coat come to a gleaming shine. I also thoroughly enjoy using a human hair brush for their mane and tail. Brushing their tail with a hair brush gives me the feeling I am brushing the hair of my good girlfriend while we relax together.

Quite honestly, I never did that with a good girlfriend, but that's exactly how it feels to me.

Today, my jaw dropped as I learned something quite necessary but also unusual.

I was waiting for the horses to finish their sweet feed and do my peppermint round when I saw activity in the wash rack.

I queried the familiar face from another place and the cheery reply was, "It's weenie washing day!"

Um, excuse me?

A friend later told me it's also called, "sheath cleaning," which sounds much more refined and clinical.

But, make no mistake, if you don't know what it means, be prepared as I try to explain this with some decorum.

The sheath cleaner stands in the wash rack and first inserts the hose nozzle into the pouch that houses the male equipment. He then suds up his bare hand and inserts it into the pouch and completely cleans it. Suffice it to say some horses are dirtier than others and some remain retracted and others drop during the procedure. He then rinses.

I was astounded watching him work. The horses didn't seem to be bothered at all with the procedure and the sheath cleaner told me in all the years he had been executing this task he was kicked badly only once. Considering what he is doing, I'd say that's pretty remarkable. Mind, he is a sheath cleaner to both stallion and gelding alike and he stands on the right side of the horse as he works. He told me this task is performed every few months to keep a horse from getting any blockage that would make it difficult for him to urinate and also keep him from getting any infections.

A remarkable day for me, just another day for everyone else in the barn.

Makes me wonder what other surprises are in store.

Goodbye

2011-07-13T20:14:00.000-07:00

I clutched the cooling body of my former assistant trainer today as I sobbed.

My iPhone rang as I was hotwalking Pinky this morning. I didn't check to see who was calling. Pinky can be tough to handle. She almost did another hotwalker in this week as she spooked and slid on her side. The hotwalker fell with her and was fortunate enough not to fall underneath her.

Although, to be honest, I never touch my iPhone when hotwalking. I got cured of that last year, as I checked a text whilst passing my former trainer when walking an easy hot. His face visibly angered; I put my iPhone back in it's holder so fast and never, ever ever, did that again.

So, after Pinky was back in her stall, safe and sound, I checked my phone and saw it was my bell-ringer for Lisa, my former assistant. The message said she was critical.

I called her back and was told Lisa had passed on.

If I ever get to name a filly, I'll name her after Lisa. She deserves a feisty filly named in her honour. Lisa taught me the difference between hay and straw. She showed me how to roll a bandage. She encouraged me and never belittled me for my lack of knowledge. She was right there if I had too much horse on my inexperienced hands.

Godspeed, Lisa...

I will always remember you.

My sadness had me looking for someone to nurture when I made my peppermint round.

I found a horse on the other side of the barn who is scuffed up so bad he has stitches and white quarter moon slashes around the eyes of his chestnut face. I have no clue how he got that way... I'm not there everyday and I am trying to learn the horses in my corner of a very big barn.

But, I felt his pain and had compassion for him. He nestled me, like a child unto his mother. This boy was putting his head right down into my thighs, wanting comfort. So I gave him comfort, and in this way, I was comforted.

I'll be asking in the morning what happened to him. He's not on my side of the barn, but we have a bond now. Oh, holy heck, now I am emotionally involved.

Beware getting emotionally involved with a horse.

They come and go so fast.

You say goodbye, and I say hello. Hello, hello. I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.

I'm not there day after day. I don't know who is going or who is coming.

One day, we have a sweet filly in one of our stalls who likes me singing to her whilst hotwalking her.

The next time I come back, she's gone, and there is a difficult colt (now gelding) in her place.

I find out he's our stakes horse who showed in the Ohio Derby.

He got the ultimate equipment change this weekend.

Did it settle him down? Hard for me to tell, as he just showed in my corner of the barn.

However, I was sweet-talking him today and he was relaxed whilst the groom was tacking him. Prior to his gelding, I watched the colt act up something awful whilst the groom tried to tack him, minus my presence in the stall.

So, maybe one point for sweetness. Maybe...

I've been talking to a lot of the people in the industry. Peeps who know a lot more than I do about horses...

I have hope that I can control thoroughbreds without ever raising a hand to them.

It worked with the stakes horse. He calmed right down and gave the groom tacking him no problem whatsover whilst I was there...

That is, until the blinkers arrived... He got kind of crazy at that point.

Still trying to figure this out, but feel I'm on the right track.

So pleased Pinky and GG (the giant gelding) are still in my corner of the barn.

If I show up one day after working my other job and find them forever gone, I'm going to cry and cry...

Maybe that's just a woman's way...

Or a woman's lot.

But, guaranteed, I'll pull myself up by my boots and keep going...

Because that's what you do...

Get on with it.

The Challenge

2011-06-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

I have set a goal for myself.

By the end of the meet, I want to be able to handle the mammoth chestnut gelding who is in our corner of the barn.

He is approximately 17 hands of big-boned trouble.

He got ahold of a hotwalker's head and had to be pried off of her. Her mistake was standing in front of his stall with her back to him. It was his way of letting the barn know he was back after a respite on the farm.

I spoke of him before. He will kick and bite anything within range if he's so inclined, and he's so inclined often enough to give any sane person pause before approaching him.

He's my challenge.

I'm drawn to him as I was drawn to the most difficult horse in the barn I was in last year. I didn't master handling the horse, as I was still in my salad days, but I do believe I can master handling the gelding.

Although, just to make sure I wasn't overreaching, I asked mi maestro (my teacher) today if it was a reasonable goal to set for myself.

He said it was, which put a smile on my face.

Truth be told, this giant gelding with an Italian name had me getting up out of bed last night long after I should have been asleep, just to study his past performances and pedigree.

He's currently a $5K claimer who likes a dirt mile. He's earned his keep with $137,524 in lifetime earnings at seven years old. He's had 64 starts, 13 wins, 12 places, and 9 shows. I ran his pedigree past a bloodstock advisor friend whose knowledge I respect, and he suggested the gelding might like 12f on turf. My past performances only go back two years, so all I see is 4 lifetime starts on turf with 1 show. My trainer is successful on dirt and turf, so I will ask him what influenced his decision to keep the gelding on dirt. I'm sure I'll learn something with that question.

My friend also satisfied my curiosity by telling me his size came from Fred Astaire and Proud Birdie, both in his dam line.

Today, I was cleaning the giant gelding's stall while he was out at the track, trying to get a little closer to him by learning something about his stall behaviour.

I also watched mi maestro closely while he was tacking him. The gelding started to give him trouble when he was putting on his bridle, so he gave him a firm tap on the nose.

This is where another friend suggested I am going to have my most difficult lesson: discipline.

I have yet to smack a horse. I have cats. You don't ever smack a cat. I'd rather not smack a horse. I don't smack anything in my life.

It's a conundrum.

I'd much rather be gentle, but I also realise horses are herd animals with alpha behaviour encoded in their DNA.

I'm going to figure this out with the gelding.

First, the soft, sweet approach. Very sweet, as I stood in front of his stall, gently calling his name in an Italian accent with peppermints at the ready. He let me softly stroke his nose while his ears were off to the side. I bribed him with not one, but two peppermints. I even tried a third, but he had enough and at that point showed disinterest in the peppermint and me while his attention turned to hay.

So far so good.

At some point, however, I am most probably going to have to stand up (as I look up) to this gelding and show him who is boss.

This is going to be really interesting...

The Backside Blues

2011-06-20T17:37:00.000-07:00

My track routine includes a visit to the nursing home/rehab center after I have bestowed my last peppermint and given my last kiss.

It's the assistant I worked with last year.

She's the woman who taught me the difference between hay and straw.

Her liver has toasted it's last toast. Her kidneys have checked out, too.

I'm not certain she is going to live, but if she does, the track is off limits, if she wants to survive.

That's a hard sell to someone who has spent all of their 43 years on the backside.

I met her parents when she was getting tapped. Six litres of fluid was removed from her abdomen that day.

She perked up after she was relieved of that weight. I saw her fight come back.

I've also watched track people come into her room and talk about how much fun they have had drinking together.

She's up against a lot.

I'm not sure she has the strength to turn her back on the only thing she has ever known.

She has an interest in horticulture, so I bought her a book from Borders about plants. I'm trying to help her, but I also realise that she cannot be helped unless she wants to help herself.

Her parents love her, but I'm not sure she is ready to accept their help. Honestly, I think she should go back down south with her parents when she is well. If she gets well...

She could have been so much more.

I'm not sure what went wrong, when it went wrong, or where it went wrong; but it ended up in a very wrong place.

Hopefully, she lives to smart mouth another day.

But never again at the track...

Not if she wants to live.

My Teacher

2011-06-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

I'm in complete rhythm now.

I've glommed onto a groom who is kind, patient, encouraging, polite...

...and willing to instruct me.

I'm his student; he is, "mi maestro." (My teacher.)

He is 27 years old and was born in Michoacan, a southwestern state in Mexico.
His mother and sister still live there. He came to America 11 years ago with his father and brother. He also began working with thoroughbreds 11 years ago, upon his arrival. His brother works in our barn. His father works for the same trainer but at a different track.

This horse racing business is such a family affair.

He is a Catholic man who is devoted to his wife and two little children (a boy and girl). He has a permanent home in our state, although he travels with the barn in winter.

I couldn't have asked for a better situation at this point in my training.

School days are in full swing...

While the two year olds are being schooled in the gate, I'm being schooled in the barn.

I'm learning how to put on tack. I'm fairly good with the shimmy, saddlecloth, pad, saddle, girth/cover. The bridle and bit... Well, I need a lot more practice.

My teacher only allows me to tack easy horses. He is very conscious of my safety. I am not only grateful for his concern, I watch him closely as he has never been kicked or bitten in 11 years.

I like his odds.

We have a new addition in our corner of the barn. He's a huge chestnut and a little bit crazy. He kicks, he bites, he is difficult all the way around. He was out at the track this morning when we were working on his stall. A hotwalker came around and asked me if I wanted to take him upon his return. I asked teach if I was ready to take him. "No," was his quick reply. "Thank you, mi maestro. I appreciate you looking out for me," I replied.

Is this nice or what?

Yesterday, my favourite filly flipped again while schooling in the gate. The starter pulled down on her bridle, she didn't like it and went the other way. Completely. Babies don't know how to stop, they just keep right on going. As she got herself up she stepped on the exercise rider. He's OK and says she needs to be treated, "Like A Virgin." We all laughed and one of the hotwalkers started calling her Madonna. She might be someone else's Madonna, but she's my Pinky.

Pinky was kicking up an awful fuss this morning before she went to the track. No doubt she was remembering what had happened yesterday. She was calm, however, when she returned and I spent quite a bit of time with her after feeding. She didn't want a mint today but she did want the attention and affection. Later, the exercise rider said he heard her dam was the same way. She grew out of it. I hope Pinky does, too.

I was inspired this past weekend, also. My day job takes me all over the country, and I happened to end up in Los Angeles on the day of Belmont Stakes. I met a friend in Beverly Hills for brunch and then we headed to Hollywood Park. The winning ticket I cashed that day was a chance meeting with... Well, I'll let you guess before I tell you.

Bob Baffert was very nice. I was thrilled to meet him and so glad I didn't make a fool of myself when I did. As I walked away, I felt like I had been in the presence of royalty; and, in essence, I had, as it doesn't get any classier than a Hall of Fame trainer who has won just about everything that means something in this sport.

If I work really hard at school and study my Thoroughbred Times, Trainer Magazine, Conformation/Equine Vet Handbooks, and anything else to further my education in equine studies, maybe someday I'll be good enough to work for somebody like Mr. Baffert.

But, first things first...

I've got to get the knack of putting on a bridle and getting that bit into the mouth.

Pocketful of Peppermints

2011-06-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

I'm settling in the new barn.

I circulate with a shank weaved through the belt loops of my jeans in a retro '80's double-wrap style, with the chain attached loosely around my neck and slinging off to the side, looking for anything that needs to be done.

I take wheelbarrows out and dump them, pick up trash, pick up piles, sweep, haul wood chips, give the exercise rider a leg up, assist with tacking, scrub water/feed buckets, fill water buckets, water down wood chips in stalls, assist grooms, assist the vet...

...and I walk hots.

I like making myself useful.

Considering how little I know, at least I have that going for me.

My early favourite in the barn spooked while schooling in the gate this week. I was busy doing many things but I noticed her stall was empty and really wanted to hotwalk her when she came back from the track.

I call her Pinky, on account of the pink stripe on her very pretty grey face. She is tattoo-less, which tells you her age. I learned her real name and made a huge face. This pretty filly has a ridiculous name. Such a pity, but naming her is someone else's purview. I'll just keep calling her Pinky.

She came back from the track and the first thing I noticed as she walked into her stall was blood streaming underneath her left eye. I called the groom straight away and the exercise rider told us what happened. She flipped in the gate and pinned him to the point he was anticipating a broken leg.

I wasn't surprised she was anxious in the gate. This filly is scared of the wash rack.

Upon closer inspection, she also had a wound on her right front leg.

So, I started walking her and singing to her to calm her down.

The assistant checked her out and told me to make six rounds before she went into the wash rack.

Well, I'm not a dumb woman, but I failed to count and headed to the wash rack earlier than I should have done.

The assistant was on it immediately, asking me how many rounds I had made, and my stupid response, "I didn't count."

He told me to make a few more rounds.

"Yes, sir!"

One of the first things you instinctively learn in the barn is to follow instructions to the letter. Whatever you are told to do, you do exactly as you are told.

One step forward, two steps back.

I apologized to the assistant later, telling him it would never happen again. He explained to me that he didn't want her tying up, which is why he gave me specific instructions concerning her.

Today, the assistant told me to walk a hot for 15 minutes before heading to the wash rack as he had worked the day before. I immediately checked my iPhone for the time and clocked it.

I also made sure the assistant knew I was clocking when I informed him I had six minutes to go. He smiled and nodded.

Just do what you are told. Exactly. Simple as that.

Today, I was walking a hot and singing to him. His head was down when all of a sudden he brought his head up and swung it in the direction of my face. He smacked my jawbone into what felt was the next barn.

Whoa, that hurt like a son of a gun.

I had a dull blood taste in my mouth. A faraway taste. Not near. Not sharp.

I kept walking my hot as I checked my teeth with my tongue first.

Good, all teeth are still there.

I kept walking my hot as I moved my jaw around to see if it still functioned.

It did.

I kept walking my hot as I reached up with my left hand to the right side of my face to see how it felt when I touched it.

Good... Sore, but no severe pain.

Have all teeth, nothing broken, keep right on walking.

Toughens you up.

After the morning work is done and the barn has been fed, I like to hang out and spend some time with them.

I fill my jeans' pocket full of peppermints and go from stall to stall, visiting each and every one.

Most like the mints, some don't, but I offer them to all every day I am there.

Some are ready for a bit more attention. I like trying to figure out their personalities, their moods, getting to know them as they get to know me.

There are those who already know the crackle of the peppermint casing when I arrive. They eagerly nose their way into my hands as I unwrap their treat.

I wait and see if they want to bond with me. If they do, I hang around and explore them as they explore me.

I'm learning...

One horse at a time.

¡Buenos Días!

2011-05-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

A new meet, a new barn.

As a matter of fact, I've landed in one of the new barns on the backside. There are four, we are one. We take up the whole barn: 33 stalls, 28 horses.

It all adds up to my trainer being someone in this business.

He knows how to win races and he does, often. This is common knowledge, given the odds in which his horses go off at the gate.

I have to admit, though, when he arrived Monday, my first day on the job, I was nervous and intimidated, even though he was nice to me in his greeting.

Of course, I had to blow it while he was there, given my anxiety. I was walking a hot right in front of him, let the hot get too close and he clipped my boot. I yanked my foot out in time before he did any damage, but I did hear my trainer tell me to be careful in a warm way as I walked away with my hot, mortified to the bone.

The Boss came in on Monday, but the other days I was there the assistant was in charge. I knew the assistant from last year, as we worked in the same barn, albeit for different trainers. Actually, I know many of my co-workers from last year. That made it a bit easier to transition.

I excitedly told the barn when I was down South that I was to be working with them up North.

If honest, they didn't look too thrilled.

Even suspicious... and a little anxious.

My first day in the barn made it crystal clear.

I was walking a hot and saw an old face working hard in a new place and said, "Mucho trabajo." (Much work.)

He looked at me with Alpha Eyes and said, "Pequeño." (Little)

Straight up, that threw me. I responded with, "Bueno," and walked away with my hot, quite confused.

But it set me to thinking...

The industry is contracting. Fewer foals mean fewer entries mean fewer jobs. Even fewer good jobs where you can count on The Boss to pay you on time and give you a bonus when your horse wins; and perks like the agent of the jockey riding your horse that won buying a round of breakfast from McDonalds for the entire barn.

I showed up on my first day in the barn after one of two entries. I was willing to walk a hot, but the assistant practically spit at me, saying, "We've got it."

It wasn't until our second entry on that first day that I got the message. One of our exercise riders mentioned to me that people who worked races recieved extra pay.

Well, I didn't know that. I really don't want to tread on any toes or affect any paychecks.

I work a full time job outside of the track. However, the winds have been swirling ominously at my day job and I've been feeling a bit like Dorothy, which is what led me to the backside of the track. I'm working on Plan B.

But, here and now, I am going to tell you.

I work for free.

I don't need the money, I need the experience.

My call to the assistant after that first day reiterated that sentiment.

I sensed people were worried about their jobs (so many people are these days) and I told him, in so many words, I wasn't trying to muscle my way in on their thing.

He told me not to worry.

Although, I did notice, in subsequent days, Alpha Eyes relaxed. He no longer saw me as a threat.

Just like horses, people need to trust you, be comfortable with you, know you aren't going to hurt them.

I spend my days at the barn not understanding about 95% of what is said. That's OK, as I find Spanish a warm, rich language, just like the people who speak it.

I know a few words (after some years living in Los Angeles) which at least gives me the ability to communicate in a rudimentary way with people in the barn whose knowledge of English somewhat equals my knowledge of Spanish.

I'm not intrusive, but have started to ask questions. Every person in the barn knows more than I do about horses, so I can learn from all of them.

The vet who serviced my last Northern trainer also services this barn. I am pleased because I heard down South he is a preeminent equine veternarian. He is always willing to answer my questions during procedures, too. How fortunate I just purchased an equine veternary handbook. I'll be picking his brain a lot as the meet progresses.

Everything takes time.

In the meantime, I'll keep walking hots and see what unfolds.

Buenas Noches. :)

A Ticket to Ride

2011-05-14T00:15:00.000-07:00

I've started riding lessons.

I haven't been on a horse in years. Years and years... Decades, in fact.

So, since I've decided I want this journey to take me to the place where I am a respected trainer, I figured I better get back on a horse.

Even better, actually learn how to ride one.

The last time I was on a horse as a teen I took a spectacular spill that turned me into a tumbleweed. Let's just say I understand why all tracks insist on, "No Dogs Allowed."

This instructor came highly recommended from a day time colleague who is invested in horse shows.

The time was right...

I decided to take a bite out of the carrot.

My first lesson put me on a chestnut mare who happened to have the name of my first cat.

Gloria was patient with me. I made sure I got on her good side by giving her plenty of affection while I was grooming her before my lesson.

The experience of feeling a horse ripple underneath you for the first time in your living memory is one to cherish.

You can feel the power underneath, waiting to be unleashed.

My instructor guided me on a lead kept short at first, which got longer as the lesson went on.

Then she suggested we try a trot, if I was ready.

I was completely ready.

Bounce, bounce, bounce...

I felt like I was a kernel in a popcorn popper.

My instructor coached me on posting as I played like the ball in a Mitch Miller sing-a-long.

She then demonstrated on Gloria for me. I keyed in on her pelvic thrust while posting. I tried again and crossed the wire in last place.

Sigh...

I realized after that first lesson that the key to riding a horse is finding their rhythm.

My second lesson found me on a horse that was shedding his winter coat and liked to roll around in the mud.

More grooming before my lesson. :)

This horse happened to have the name of my first trainer; a bittersweet irony in there somewhere.

Trot, trot, trot...

This time, instead of concentrating on my moves, I concentrated on the moves of the horse.

I actually started to get posting.

I was sweating, though, and working too hard. But I did feel it.

Now I need to relax and let their rhythm encompass me.

Or, put another way...

Go with their flow.

Sadness in the South and Around the World

2011-03-22T16:11:00.000-07:00

I have just returned from another personal meet in the South.

The trainer for whom I work at the sundrenched track had a much smaller stable since the last time I was there.

Quite honestly, there wasn't much work for me to do for him.

I arrived at the track on Friday afternoon and didn't do more than watch a few races on the backstretch.

Friday night, however, brought a profound sadness into my life.

The friend who had gotten me this gig in the South had tragedy strike. His son had a terrible accident and wasn't going to live.

I was in an absolute state of shock with the news. I really didn't sleep. All I could do was think of this wonderful man who was suffering the worst any human being could suffer and pray for him and his family who mean the world to him.

That man is Sid Fernando.

I met Sid at Belmont last year for JCGC in what turned out to be a major Twitter tweet-up. This was our first face to face meet. I have a memory of Sid etched in my mind while we were waiting for Zenyatta to win number 19 in the Lady's Secret Stakes. I mentioned his boys and watched his eyes twinkle in a warm response.

To say this man loves his wife and children more than life itself would have you winning the Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths.

This man has the heart of Secretariat.

Here is a pic of Sid and me at Grimaldi's, enjoying a tweet-up dinner after Belmont.

I admire this man. That is evident. I hang on to every word he says. He reminds me of my Father. I can give no man any greater honour.

I was devastated when I heard the news Sid's son had died.

I just wanted to get to work.

Physical work. Hard work.

I wanted to wear my body out to release my mind.

I offered my help to any and everyone in the barn.

My salvation came in the form of the husband/wife duo in the barn across from my Southern trainer.

I cleaned their stalls all morning... Then, thank God, the wife member of the team asked me to go out to the paddock and get the pony piles.

Well, when I went out there, that paddock was a serious mess.

Ponies need love, too.

So, I set myself to work in the hot Southern sun.

I shed my shirt (I tend to wear sports bras) and dug deep into that paddock. I was ecstatic I had a job to do.

Well, I must have done a good job for those trainers across the way because they asked me back anytime.

Building up that good will.

I ended up working more for the trainers across the way than I did for the trainer I had come to see.

I'd show up in their barn with my wheelbarrow and manure fork, looking for stalls to clean.

I don't need a lot of handholding. Which is probably a good thing, because I have discovered that trainers don't like to handhold.

The hot mornings in the stalls would have me shedding my shirt to get down to serious business.

I feel comfortable shedding my shirt where horses roam.

The male half of the duo liked walking past whatever stall I was working in and glancing at me.

OK, he was looking at the chesnut in his stall, getting the job done. He liked what he saw.

Although, I have to say, the duo appreciated my work.

The wife asked me back anytime. So did two of their grooms.

Bingo...

Always leave them asking for more. ;)

Today, the husband of the duo said that I was his favourite employee.... He liked my attitude in the morning and (um...) he liked that I stripped down to my underwear in the stall.

Um, it's a sports bra!

Glad his wife wasn't around to hear that, because I could see that she was already concerned about me, although she liked my work.

Especially my paddock work for her pony.

Back to basics...

The trainer I came to work for brought me to my new trainer in the North to have a chat and get things solidified.

My new trainer in the North is all business. 150% business. I am not even close to kidding about that...

The only thing he understands is work.

I get him completely...

Next stop, that local track in the North.

One more thing:

If you are moved to do something for Sid Fernando and his family in their time of sorrow, donations can be made to the organisation in which John Fernando volunteered and played baseball with the Bulldogs:

78th Precinct Youth Council
123 7th Ave., PMB 202
Brooklyn, NY 11215

A Southern Sabbatical

2011-02-03T15:09:00.000-08:00

It didn't take but a month or so after our meet ended in the North for me to wish I was able to spend time working on the backside somewhere in the South.

My fairy godmother came in the form of a male friend who knows people in the industry around the globe. He's one of those people who encourage at every turn with guiding, seasoned hands on the reins. He called a trainer with whom he does business and before you could say, "Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo," I had work lined up with a highly respected old school trainer at a track down South. A place to stay, too.

I agreed to work New Years Day at my day job, so I was able to get 10 days off in a row and take my sabbatical down South.

Nervous I was, knowing I was still quite clueless and arriving at a new track to work for a new trainer. There was a bit of comfort in the familiar, too, as some folks I had worked amongst up North had made The Great Migration to this track.

My day dawned at 3:30 and by 5:00 I had helped feed and had plastic manure fork in hand with wheelbarrow at the ready.

A moment of silence would ensue, as we waited for the first horse to stick their head out of the stall after feeding. Inevitably, it would be the old grey mare first, her halter would go on, to the walker she would go and into her stall I would go.

There is sublime satisfaction in mucking stalls before the rooster starts to crow. Something about the smell of a horse and the physical labour before dawn clears the head. As is my way, I would sing softly, too, as I sifted through wood shavings. One of my favourite stall mucking songs in the South turned out to be this one:

Has a subliminal horse theme, too...

Anyway...

My current trainer didn't use a hotwalker, so the stable went in pairs to the walker as their stalls were cleaned, their water replenished, their hay thrown into hayracks.

By this time, we were hearing Ray the Rooster crow... And crow... And crow...

One woman on the other side of the barn would unfailingly semi-holler, "We are all up, Ray!"

Day after day, she told Ray we were up, but he didn't care, he kept right on crowing.

It was the same woman who would call out, "Anna!" when the filly kicked her stall every morning. Kick, "Anna!" Kick, "Anna!"

Ah, the routine of the barn. It's rhythmic... It's tidal...

I derive my comfort in finding that rhythm. The trainer determines the drum/bass line, and the rest of us, human and horse, dance the melody.

In this case, the human "us" was the assistant trainer and myself. Smaller stable, fewer hands.

This was my second experience with a female assistant. This one was a lot less forgiving and a lot more professional in her demeanor. Although, I have to say, both female assistants wouldn't hesitate to call out anything they thought their boss was wrong about in the barn.

This assistant isn't really an assistant, she's a trainer. She just doesn't have any horses right now. She pulled out her win photos one day and went through them with me. I listened to her stories and I learned something valuable, although I don't think she even realized it was a teachable moment.

This is a business, it's not personal. Claiming back horses after they have been claimed because you don't like the trainer who claimed them is not smart business. You have to suck it up and move on, because that's the business we are in.

She's also not one to tolerate any owner telling her anything, so she is really on her own when it comes to maintaining a stable.

But, wow, is she smart about horses...

After the day's work was done and live racing was scheduled, she and I would head to the guard house on the backside, right off the track, and watch the races. It was also the place where trainers (and the rest of us) would watch their works in the morning.

She's shopping, and claiming is actually big at this track, so we were always on the lookout for nice horses to claim. Her eye was sharp, and she began my training in how to identify problems in horses by the way they walk.

She doesn't gamble, but if she did, she would be a hell of a handicapper.

We would sit there with our binoculars, our programs, and our vantage point, which enabled us to see the horses enter the track on their way to the paddock, and leave the track after their race was done.

This backside view also allowed me to see something that turned out to be quite valuable information.

I was very excited one day to see a particular race. A colt was running on turf who had the same sire as Goldikova, who had managed to win Breeders' Cup Mile three years in a row. Being up close to that kind of class was a new experience for me, and I eagerly waited for the colt to appear from the barns so I could take a picture of him before he entered the track with his groom.

Needless to say, when he loaded the gate, my binoculars were dead on him. He had only one race to his name, breaking maiden impressively. He was favoured to win this race, too, and I didn't want to miss a stride.

He hopped a bit out of the gate, and started running true to form, which in this case, means no early speed at all. The jockey, after six furlongs or so, gave up on the horse and stopped trying. The colt had a very disappointing, lackluster finish.

When the colt headed back home, he was hot. It was obvious he still had his race in him. He just hadn't been given a chance to run it.

I realized I had happened upon some very interesting information and all I had to do is wait for this horse to run again.

He did not disappoint me. A few weeks later, when he showed up in his next turf race, his odds rose and my faith in him soared as he ran true to form, showed no early speed, trailed the field, then exploded in his final few furlongs to win the race and put a nice paycheck in my pocket.

This work can be so satisfying in a myriad of ways.

Back to the barn...

I'm officially a groom in training now.

It was a thrill to learn how to clean the feet of a horse. I just have to find the proper body mechanics so I don't kill my back while doing it, and get better at making them give you their foot when they refuse to do so.

I also now know how to brush a mane and a tail. I'm still a little skittish when standing that close to a horse's rear, I have to say. Waiting on that first kick I know is coming, I suppose. Which one is going to break my maiden with their alloy-powered foot, I wonder?

I also learned the proper way to put a blanket on a horse, and take it off again. The assistant trainer would shout at me when I started from the back instead of the front, or the front instead of the back. Oh my... Yes, silly as it sounds, what finally cemented the mechanics of blanketing was when the assistant told me to put it on and take it off like a bra.

Many of the folks in our barn had come from the same track up North, and their worries of it's future this year were a frequent topic of our conversation.

One of the unique features I brought to the barn was my smart phone. I was able to provide updates on the situation up North, pedigrees, and instant viewing of past races of great horses who were in the news for one reason or another.

My trainer certainly enjoyed the smart phone, but told me he would never get one himself. He said he would simply waste too much time on it. The assistant trainer loved viewing pedigrees as we watched races from the guard house on the backside.

My trainer in the South is an amazing man. He's been training horses longer than I have been alive, and his depth and breath of knowledge kept me with my mouth closed and my ears open. One night, he brought out his win photos and told me stories that kept me entertained for hours.

Imagine what he thought when on my second day at the track I watched him mixing his feed. This was something new to me, as my trainer up North had used Purina Race Ready. I saw the large bins filled with various types of feed and I saw something I could not identify.

"What is that?" I asked.

Silence... A long silence....

"Oats," he finally answered.

Ah! Another, "this is hay, this is straw," moment for the neophyte City Girl.

Well, at that moment he knew what he was dealing with. Although, I think I more than made up for my absolute ignorance by my willingness to work, to show initiative, and immediately follow any instructions.

In the end, I must have been OK, because my trainer in the South invited me back anytime. He also spoke to a trainer who runs horses at my local track, and I now have a job lined up with him when it opens in Spring.

All in all, I'd say I won by a neck. Not bad for my second race.

The Great Migration

2010-11-14T20:18:00.000-08:00

Our meet ended the day Zenyatta lost.

Both events were sad to see.

Now, most everyone has moved south for the winter.

It was very hard to say goodbye to the horses, the people, the barn.

The end of the meet doesn't mean the end of the work. Quite the contrary, everything must be packed up and shipped, one way or another. Horses still need exercise, and since our track was no longer open for training all horses were being walked around the barn by exercise riders and/or hotwalkers.

But it is well and truly over now. Everyone and everything had to be vacated from the barns as of yesterday. They give you a week to get it together and get it gone.

I watched horses packed in long trailers that stacked them four across and four deep. It was an interesting trailer in the sense that it had horses four abreast facing a like compliment of barn companions. Sixteen horses in all, with a local license plate and a tiny Florida plate. Their ears were perked as they readied to go and I stood outside of that trailer saying goodbye to them, even though they didn't know me. I was melancholy as that trailer pulled away.

More sadness as I said goodbye to the people who worked for another trainer in our barn. They were all headed to Florida, too, and taking the barn cat with them. We hugged, exchanged phone numbers, wished each other well.

They have watched me grow a little... I'm not completely clueless anymore, just somewhat clueless.

One of the highlights of my week was hearing from our part-time groom who also gallops horses. He had made it down to Florida and had started a job galloping horses there. He's a remarkable man who has been through more in 26 years than many people have been though in a lifetime. He hails from El Salvador and has a little girl there. He at one time had a wife there, too, but she was raped and killed. To make matters worse, he was riding a two-year-old at our track who threw him and subsequently kicked him so hard he lost a kidney and his spleen.

Now he's a little skittish to teach babies how to break from the gate. Can't say I blame him for that one bit.

He had no workman's comp coverage, either, so when he wasn't working, he wasn't getting paid, either. I helped him get his certificate reinstated so he could gallop again after he was healed. In the meantime, he was our full-time groom and was instrumental in my introduction to working with thoroughbreds.

I will really miss him a lot this Winter, but am so happy he is well, has work, and is someplace warm.

Our assistant trainer headed south, too, although not quite as far as sunny Florida. We have a track in the southern part of our state that is open when ours is not, so she migrated there.

She's an interesting case, she is... Hardened by years of working on the backside, she's tough tongued and has this inability to treat any man with respect. I honestly suspect she has been abused, although my queries had her insisting this wasn't true. I'm no professional, although I do think she needs to talk to one. She tends to shoot herself in the foot, which is rather a shame, since she is so knowledgeable about thoroughbreds.

I came into the barn one day and found out that she had left. To this moment, I remain clueless why she never said goodbye... Maybe she just doesn't like them. Since then, she has had gallbladder attack and was in the hospital. My trainer happened to be running a horse in a stakes race at that track this past weekend, so I asked him to tell her I said hello and that I hoped she was better. I have also texted her, but haven't heard back from her.

I was glad I had the opportunity to help my trainer after the meet was over. It gave me a few more precious days with our stable of horses and also allowed me the ability to help him pack a few things up.

I also went with him to visit the farm where he decided to board our horses for the Winter. He was truly stressed, as a deal he had with someone else had fallen through and time was getting short to find a winter home for the horses to roam.

The farm is amazing. The man who owns it actually built the place himself with stables, an arena and multiple outdoor pens. I know my trainer was relieved he found such an awesome place for his treasures, and I was pleased, too. I hope to visit our horses this Winter, to give them mints, say hello and see how they are doing.

I'm also trying to help my trainer find a good home for my favourite who happened to be my first win. She has degenerative joint disease and really can't run anymore. Sad, because she gave everything she had everytime she was on the track. She has a decent pedigree, so we are trying to find her a home where her next career can be having foals that hopefully have the heart of their dam. I'll really miss her when she is sold, but will be happy as long as she safe and sound. Well, as sound as she can be, given her circumstances.

I have a few more posts I plan on blogging, done in recollection. Working two jobs has kept me quite busy the past three months and I wouldn't change it for the world. I also want to take some riding lessons this Winter, and if I do, I'll blog about those, too.

But I suspect this blog will be going into hibernation.

A silence that equals the sound of an empty barn at an empty track...

Matching my empty heart.

Metamorphoses

2010-10-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

I'm not Ovid, but something wondrous and transformational is happening...

I'm turning into a horsewoman.

The recent highlight was walking a hot who heard a noise he didn't like (besides my singing!) and decided his best move was to rear.

This was actually the second time a hot reared on me. The first time, like every beginner, I got nervous and pulled down on the lead shank. Fortunately, the exercise rider was right there to take the filly off my inexperienced hands.

I asked my trainer what I learned from my error. He told me to give the horse it's head, that pulling down on a rearing horse is a battle I will never win.

I paid attention.

What was so remarkable is when this hot reared, I couldn't have been more calm. I always loop the shank loosely in my left hand, although I was never trained to do so. Did that ever come in handy, because when the horse went up on his hind legs the shank moved easily with him.

I just stood there and looked up into his scared eye while he looked back at me. The assistant trainer started to move towards me, but I said, "I've got it," and she stood where she was and watched. My trainer was watching from the other end of the barn, too. So we were all watching, waiting to see what happened next.

I just waited for my horse to come back down to earth. What else are you going to do? Once he did, I started talking to him softly, telling him it was OK (in retrospect, he might have understood, "easy, boy," better) and slowly inching my right hand forward on the shank towards his head. I could still see the white of his eye but kept talking softly to him and gathering the shank until I had him close to his halter and started walking him again. He decided at that point it was OK to go along with me.

Dang, did that ever make me feel good. For the first time, I felt like a real pro.

Another high point since my last post was Andrew. I guess Andrew is over the top about my singing to him because I have discovered I am the only person in the barn from whom he will take a mint. The assistant trainer was simply bowled over when she saw him eating a mint out of my hand and made quite the fuss over it which made me feel wonderful.

Another breakthrough came with our 9yr old horse who is aggressive and difficult with that intact equipment. He is one tough old man with all his teeth! I've been standing in front of his stall from a safe distance, talking softly and sweetly to him for weeks now. He will take a mint from anyone, but he's not inclined to let you stick around and visit.

Until...

One night, long after the track had finished live racing and dusk had turned to dark, I left the grandstand and returned to the barn via the backside. I had never been there in the evening before and just felt like visiting with the horses in our stable.

Is it ever quiet at night in the barn.

So different than daytime, when the cacophony of people, horses and music from a myriad of boomboxes create quite the shake, rattle and roll.

Nighttime is the perfect time to spend some quiet time with horses. It's just you and them. Peace, quiet, your voice, their sounds, your soft touch, their soft response.

The old man must have been watching me relaxing other horses with my touch and sensing their pleasure, because when I stood in front of his stall, he let me rub his forehead. I could tell he was anticipating something feeling good by the position of his head, so I got a little bold and decided to softly rub his ears at their base. Well, he zoned (like so many of them do) when I did that, and I was absolutely astounded.

Also interesting is what happened when I next showed up a few days later. It was morning, the barn was it's usual busy self, and I stopped to greet the old man. Much to my surprise, he put his head down in anticipation of my touch, which I willingly gave him. Then someone in the barn came up to me and started talking very loudly about how I was mesmerizing the old man. Maybe I overstepped my bounds (as this person has been around forever) but I shushed him, as I didn't want the loud voice to agitate the horse.

I don't know much of anything, but I crave peace and quiet, so I tend to believe horses like peace and quiet, too. Granted, they are hardy creatures and very adaptable, but in my very inexperienced opinion, I think one can get a horse to relax a lot easier if it isn't being hammered with sound from every corner of the barn.

Now, a bit of a sad story to share. There is a very amicable mare in our barn that I have spent a minimal amount of time with as she never seemed to want a lot of my attention. I hotwalk her, I sing to her, I give her mints, but she is headshy, so I always respect her face space. One day, I was talking to her and looking her close in the eye and lightly rubbed her chin. She liked that, so I kept it up. I realized she wanted me close to her and I just stood there next to her head. She then rested her chin on my shoulder and we froze in pose.

It was an endearing moment, a mare with soft eyes resting her chin on my shoulder. It wasn't until I was home later that it dawned on me that this mare had most probably been abused before my trainer had her, which would explain why she was so anxious with any hand near her face. I shed some tears about that one.

I'll be seeing her for the first time since that revelation in a few short hours. I really should be in bed, but I work another job (which is another story). I'm hoping I can reach her and get her to trust me to touch her face. I also know that time is short, as the meet will be ending soon and I have no idea where she or I will end up.

...and that's the rest of the story...

Men on the Backside

2010-10-14T20:22:00.000-07:00

Men who work at the track are an interesting breed. They live and work with horses, so perhaps that is why many of them treat women in a similiar fashion.

My first meet with a backside man was a former jockey/current exercise rider. I met him on the cusp of summer when I was a mere civilian hanging out at the track, working on my handicapping. We exchanged phone numbers and texting ensued.

I kept putting aside his inability to spell. I knew English wasn't his first language, but he spoke the language of thoroughbreds, so I continued to text him back.

Until...

Zenyatta...

Zenyatta became the deal-breaker. She broke off any chance I would ever have a first date with this ex-jockey the day she went 17-0.

I tried my best to forgive the spelling problem, but a jockey who can't spell, "Zenyatta"? I could not get past "zonatta," and simply stopped texting, even though he kept it up.

Eventually, he got the message and my iPhone stopped tritoning with texts from him.

It certainly was interesting, a few months later, when I showed up on the backside to work for a trainer and ran into, you guessed it, the former jockey/current exercise rider.

I was pleasant, he was cool, and I thought that was the end of it. Right up until he grabbed my arm when near the windows at the track later that day. I was taken aback when he held my arm like I was a thoroughbred breaking at the gate. I had to wrest myself away from him.

I didn't get it at the time, but my next experience with a jockey had the light dawning.

I was at the track on one of our racedays when a jockey came up to me and started sweet-talking me. I wasn't interested, although I am sure he meant it as a compliment. I was polite, but declined his advances. I figured he had gotten the message until I had my back turned and he decided to heave-ho on my flank with the palm of his hand.

Mind you, I don't even know this jockey's name and he's spanking my flank like I was a closer at the top of the stretch.

At that point, I had to get stern on him and let him know in no uncertain terms that was unacceptable behaviour.

Two and two make four, and that's when I realized I was being approached as if I was a racehorse.

I'll admit, I've been known to call myself a G1 filly. But, if honest, I'm no filly; I'm really a mare. And the G1 part may be a flight of fancy, but it sounds really good when you say it.

For instance, when Pops (the old man who has been around forever, Polish heritage, rough around the edges and rich from the strength of his own two hands) says if I ever drop, he's going to claim me; I tell him I'm a G1 filly and no one is going to put a tag on me. We always get a laugh out of it, but it's obvious that women are viewed as fillies and mares on the backside.

One of our owners and I were talking one day. A few drinks, a drive around the backside to hit the track for a few races, and I all of a sudden found myself being told how to behave, who I could or not converse with, what I should do with my life. As an independent single woman, you can imagine how well that went down with me. Nice guy, but the approach was akin to him treating me like his mount. The only thing missing was the bridle, bit and reins. That certainly wasn't what I was looking for, so needless to say that lasted a few frustrated hours until I wouldn't get into a car with him to go to a party after the last race.

The most recent example was a trainer I met at the track bar. It was the last few races of the day. I knew he was a very successful trainer, we had exchanged smiles previously, and had a few words. Very nice guy, so when I was down at the end of the bar later, I bought him, my trainer, and our groom a beer. I had reached my limit with the wine currently in front of me, and continued to sip. I admit we were all feeling pretty good at the time. I headed outside for a cigarette and the trainer (standing next to my trainer) made some kind of sexual comment torwards me. I can't even remember what he said, but I do remember my whitty reply, "I don't know if you have what it takes to cover this G1 filly, my friend." He seemed to really like the challenge of that comment by giving me a very approving face as I waltzed out the door near the paddock.

I took a stroll down by the track, and decided to just sit and enjoy the rest of my wine with my cigarette in peace, as the track and emptied out since live racing was over.

It must have been 10-15 minutes later when the two trainers were side by side, heading in my direction. A general, "We're leaving now," with a "bye fellas" response. But that wasn't the end of it. The trainer I had just met (whom I've never told my name) decided to slap me so hard on my bottom I thought I had the astrophycis figured out on how to get to the moon without a rocket. Pun intended, it was his parting shot.

Which brings me to my trainer. He doesn't smack my flank or bottom. He shows me respect and seems to appreciate my work and input.

If I was a G1 filly, I would want to be in his barn. He treats his horses well. He's gentle with them, he takes care of them, they mean the world to him. It makes me wonder if he treats women the way he treats his horses.

Now that doesn't seem so bad.

Hello, Andrew

2010-10-12T16:16:00.000-07:00

"Hello, Andrew,
Well... Hello, Andrew,
It's so nice, to have you back where you belong.

You're lookin' swell, Andrew,
I can tell, Andrew,
You're still growing, you're still glowing,
you're still,
going strong.

I feel the room, swayin',
For the band's, playin',

One of your old favorite songs from way back when.

So,

Golly, gee, Andrew,
Find me an empty knee, Andrew,
Connie will never go away, again..."

I have been softly singing to my hots.

I don't have a great voice...
Not even a good voice...

But the horses seem to like it.

Would I be crazy if I suggested that horses have their favourite songs?

Andrew does seem to listen closely (and bow his head completely into the vicinity of my mouth) when I sing, "Hello, Dolly."

The modified version, of course...

Nina seems to really like, "Here Comes the Sun," also finessed,

"Little Nina, I feel the cold ice slowly melting..."

Does a horse know his/her name?

"I've been through the desert on a horse with no name.

It felt good to be out of the rain.

In the desert, you can remember your name,

'cause their ain't no one for to give you no pain."

I started singing the above to my hots when I heard Fly Down had been sold to someone in Saudi.

I've had a lot of men break my heart, but I never expected a racehorse to break my heart.

Back to the singing...

Someone said to me, after I told them my hots were responding to my singing, that their horses seemed to like soft singing, because it gave them something on which to concentrate.

That I can believe...

The hearing of a horse has to be ultra-sensitive. They are prey and they need a hightened sense of preparedness. Every sound is amplified to them.

Which is why I am mystified that they put up with my singing. Honesly, no human would tolerate my singing for very long, but I must have a singing voice only a racehorse could love.

Maybe they put up with it because I'm the only one who rubs their ears.

I have discovered, if you get the trust of a horse, that they will stand completely still with their head bowed if you gently rub the base of their ears.

There is nothing more special than getting a thoroughbred to completely submit through gentle machinations.

I hit paydirt recently with our bambino (2yr old colt), although he gave me a love bite today that will glow purple, red (and no doubt yellow) for a week or so... So goes it with children, eh?

There are two horses in our barn (colts, of course) who I have yet to reach...

But, I'm still trying...

And when I do, I'll tell you about it...

Figure it's only a matter of time.

My First Win

2010-09-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

I'll never forget my first win.

A spirited mare with a lot of heart, which covered a multitude of soundness issues with her legs.

This mare has a lifetime Beyer of 90 (she likes a muddy track), but had only been able to manage a peak Beyer of 59 in 2010.

At age five, it was obvious her best days were behind her...

But this mare was my first experience with a winning horse. On my first day in the barn, no less.

I spent the morning bumbling along, trying to learn the routine and the personalities within, human and horse. It's an overwhelming experience to introduce yourself into a strange place and have absolutely no clue what you are doing.

The nice part about it was there were people around me who were willing to teach a neophyte city girl who didn't know the difference between hay and straw.

That's no lie; that's raw truth. Why do they call it a haystack, if "hay" is green? Shouldn't it be called a "strawstack?" The assistant trainer and I had a big laugh with that one.

Oh, so that thing that fits around the head of of a horse is called a halter, went another clueless question. Thanks....

So, this is a shank. Great. Now I just need to learn how to put one on. (I can do that now, I am proud to report.)

I especially liked being trained on how to walk along shedrows. It was the first thing I learned, really. I got too close to a hot on the wrong side of the shedrow and learned my first lesson.

My Trainer, "Don't walk there! Walk on the inside!"

Neophyte City Girl, after jumping across in haste in front of the horse taking his stroll with his handler, "I told you I don't know anything! Why on the inside?"

"Horses kick to the right."

First lesson learned. Stay on the inside of a horse, always. Who wants to be kicked by a horse with metal alloy feet as weapons, powered by 1,000+ lbs?

Mind you, through all the absolutely ridiculous questions towards those who have been around horses all their life, I did not get laughter directed at me. We laughed together.

Nothing so freeing than walking into a barn at a track and proclaiming, "I have no clue what I am doing but I want to learn and work here."

After the morning bustle was done... Mucking the stalls, baths, exercise, galloping, walking hots, rolling bandages, rinsing down the wash rack to eliminate the mud and straw, feed time, mint run, et al.

I was finally able to just spend time with the horses.

I like horses. I feel an affinity for them, actually. In my world, horses are much easier to relate to than people. Easier to trust, for sure. They put it all out there. No game players are our thoroughbreds. If they bite, they bite because that's what they do. If they kick, they kick because something is annoying/alarming them and they want to get it away from them. Now, I totally believe one can mitigate the bad behaviour of horses in the barn, but one can never forget that horses will always be themselves.

Refreshing as the smell of the barn in the morning...

So, on my first day, we had a mare running 6f on a fast track in the 2nd race. That poor girl had bone chips removed previously and swelling joints currently. Short answer: Ice her down until she thinks she's running in the Artic with the polar bears.

She was our only horse running that day. I was just hanging around, trying to figure out how I could make a difference. It all happened so naturally...

I just spent time with her. Talked to her softly, petted her, felt her pain as I looked at her iced-down legs.

At one point, my trainer offered me pizza. I told him I didn't want to leave her. She was the most important thing in my life right now. Gee, I can see you hurt, you are racing today, you tend toward the hyper in your personality, what can I do to calm you down?

I am clueless, really, but I know it's best for a horse (or in this case, mare) to be as calm as they can before a race. Save the energy for the race... Obvious, eh?

So, while my trainer and his assistant were bandging her in the wash rack, I was talking very softly and sweetly to her, emoting her pain by proxy, paying all my attention to her well-being.

That was the payoff.

This mare (who I now know is a hot horse and is very difficult to handle) actually nestled me while she was having her ankles wrapped in the wash rack. I was struck by her emotion, and hugged her neck while her head was resting on my thighs.

She did this twice.

I did not miss the exchange of glances between my trainer and his assistant.

I was just pleased I was getting through to this mare. She was responding to my soft and gentle touch and voice. I felt her emotions, and she responded in kind.

I followed her to the track in my Eclipse. I had no idea how to get there via "the backside," and my trainer is not one to hand hold, so I had to figure it out for myself.

Not a major drama. The backside doesn't go on forever, and I asked a willing backsider how to get to the track.

Once there, my trainer was busy with our mare in the paddock. I stood there and watched everything he did. He knew my goals, and I was ever grateful he was giving me a chance.

Our mare was saddled up, my trainer gave our mare's jockey a leg up, and they were on their way to the track...

I told my trainer, in a brief moment we were standing there before her race, that I thought she had a lot of heart and that I had bet on her.

With quiet strain in his voice, he said, "She's not sound."

Neophyte City Girl still believed in her. Yes, we women can get emotional, but, hey, I had been talking to and cuddling a mare who nestled me. Enough said.

She broke at the head of the pack and she never looked back. She took that field and sent them all to place, show and also ran.

When she was coming down the stretch, I spontaneously ran to the wire and started cheering her on. A friend of my trainer said later that my voice was the one she heard. Suspect our mare heard my voice, too.

The connections and the rest of the barn congregated for the win photo. I stood outside the win circle, with a beam of light on my face and happiness in my heart.

Later, more than a few people (including my trainer) would ask why I didn't get into that win photo.

Well, I wasn't invited, and my mother taught me manners.

More importantly, I was there in spirit, and I had connected to the heart and soul of this difficult mare who had just crossed the wire a winner.

I had more gratification than a win photo could ever give me...

I had reached the heart of a mare who had a lot of heart and she won.

Maybe, I helped her win. That's my satisfaction.

Walking in Circles

2010-09-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

I've worked at the track for only a month, but so much have I seen, heard, learned.

I met my trainer there. I was betting on the horses and he was running a few that day. He saw my nose in The Daily Racing Form, we struck up a conversation, and now I am...

Walking in circles...

I've never worked with horses before. Now that I am up close and personal with thoroughbreds, I have a few thoughts on the matter...

If you are turning a horse around, watch out for your feet. I learned that lesson a few weeks ago when I ran into a traffic jam in the barn and turned my horse to let someone else "through the middle." The horse only did what I led him to do, and dutifully stomped on my foot.

"Oooowwwwwww!" I screamed inside my head, while pushing the enormous beast in a frantic attempt to move him off my extremity.

Oh, I was quiet on the outside. I was new and wasn't about to let anyone know I was in serious agony. I was tough and figured if I kept going it would get better and the pain would go away.

So I kept right on walking my chestnut.

Well, maybe limping a bit, but not enough so anyone would notice.

Actually, I was convinced it was feeling better. Right up until I looked down at my hoof-introduced foot and saw a lot of red seeping up through my Nike.

"Hmmmmm," I thought, "I'm going to have to take a closer look at this."

I continued to walk my chestnut until I was told it was time for him to hit the wash rack and eliminate the barn dirt (and my flesh and blood) from his feet and head back to his stall.

Then, and only then, did I allow myself to sit down on the battered couch on our shedrow and start peeling back the layers to view the evidence.

The Nike was in bad shape and one half of my white sock had been dyed red. I pulled off the sock, took a cursory glance at my foot, didn't see any blood, and proceeded to try and wring the blood out of my sock as I had to put it back on my foot.

At this point, I started getting a little attention.

Blood will do that, I guess...

My trainer was at the end of the barn with the blacksmith, so he didn't see the drama unwrap. I wasn't eager for him to know, either. What newbie wants to admit to their boss they made a mistake and practically dismembered themselves?

Nawwwww.... I'll let that pass, I thought...

"What happened?" asked everyone who passed me as I nursed my foot.

"Oh, he stepped on me, but I'm fine!" I said time and time again.

All great Neptune's ocean couldn't wash the blood clean from my sock. But at this moment, I just needed to get the puddles out of it to put it back on and get back to work.

Assistant trainer to the rescue, with a clean sock she just happened to have in the tack room. Bless you, sister! I popped it on, stuck my foot into my bloody Nike and got back to business.

Later in the day, I mentioned to my trainer that I had an incident. He already knew (he knows everything that goes on in his barn I have discovered, but I'll save that for another day) and asked me how I was doing.

"Fine! I'm just fine!" I answered.

I knew I was in pain and I couldn't shake the limp, but what had really happened?

I wouldn't know the answer to that question until I arrived home that evening.

First thing I did was take off my shoes and wash my feet. Once I did that, I could figure out exactly where all that blood had come from.

Ah! There it was... My baby toenail on my right foot had been separated from my baby toe on my right foot. Well, not completely... I kept bandaging it for a week and trying to hide my hobble before I debrided it and said goodbye to that toenail forever.

And I mean forever.

That chestnut managed to pull the root of my toenail right out of it's bed.

Talk about a wake-up call.

Horses aren't designed to mind my feet. That's my job.