Post by Synthia on Apr 26, 2009 13:07:28 GMT -8
Sunday, April 26th... 19 hour days, but I chose this life and our goals would be defeated by complaining. In another state where horse racing is on the way out, we are hoping to set up a Tbfriends satellite ranch. Not even a done deal, but already 5 race horses have been rescued. On our ranch we are beginning a new program called Tbkids... where youngsters visit and learn about thoroughbreds. Once a month from spring to summer, teens who live in a youth shelter come to our ranch. In the last two years two of those teens fell in love with horses, which is two more than we had hoped for.
Always throwing us a curve ball... liability insurance.
With endless chores and a thousand plans, my old friend Gaylen Strong keeps telling me I forget to smell the horse poop. Embrace the sky. Hug an unhuggable horse.
Feeding Saturday supper, and a teenage girl from Davis is at our front gate. The girl has visited in the past, and she follows horse racing. I tell her sorry, Cathy and I must finish feeding our horses, and then we are off to feed horses at another ranch. There is not any time to chat.
The girl begins to cry. She tells me about a race horse who has made almost a million dollars, but now he is racing at a crappy low life track where the next step is slaughter. And then she tells me about another race horse who has earned over 700 grand, but earlier in the day he ran next to last in a cheap claiming race. She asks please do something about this. The girl has followed careers of many race horses, and one day they simply vanish. Never heard from again.
I can give her no promises. We have attempted this on dozens of horses. Tried to bring certain race horses to our ranch and failed. But with other horses we have been successful. Depends on the humans you are dealing with. Depends on the soundness of the horse. Depends on the asking price, and transportation costs.
Those 19 hour days. Feeding supper at two different ranches. Blah blah blah...
An old hippie friend from 30 years ago tells you to stop and smell the horse poop. And a teen girl who loves race horses with all her heart reminds you of what is most important.
A beautiful Sunday morning. Oscar Award looking through the office window. The blind mare Gracie waits for her banana. Billy Joel on the radio...
Joe
Always throwing us a curve ball... liability insurance.
With endless chores and a thousand plans, my old friend Gaylen Strong keeps telling me I forget to smell the horse poop. Embrace the sky. Hug an unhuggable horse.
Feeding Saturday supper, and a teenage girl from Davis is at our front gate. The girl has visited in the past, and she follows horse racing. I tell her sorry, Cathy and I must finish feeding our horses, and then we are off to feed horses at another ranch. There is not any time to chat.
The girl begins to cry. She tells me about a race horse who has made almost a million dollars, but now he is racing at a crappy low life track where the next step is slaughter. And then she tells me about another race horse who has earned over 700 grand, but earlier in the day he ran next to last in a cheap claiming race. She asks please do something about this. The girl has followed careers of many race horses, and one day they simply vanish. Never heard from again.
I can give her no promises. We have attempted this on dozens of horses. Tried to bring certain race horses to our ranch and failed. But with other horses we have been successful. Depends on the humans you are dealing with. Depends on the soundness of the horse. Depends on the asking price, and transportation costs.
Those 19 hour days. Feeding supper at two different ranches. Blah blah blah...
An old hippie friend from 30 years ago tells you to stop and smell the horse poop. And a teen girl who loves race horses with all her heart reminds you of what is most important.
A beautiful Sunday morning. Oscar Award looking through the office window. The blind mare Gracie waits for her banana. Billy Joel on the radio...
Joe