This reminds me of the discussion we had about breeding [Persian] cats with such small faces. In that exact same vein, breeding horses to run at a speed they’re not meant to run leads to this.
It’s really awful to hear about an animal or person going through so much suffering but with recovery a real possibility and then having something else happen that makes what he went through all for nothing. The way the reporter ended the story, although I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way, seemed sort of cold to me. It seems like what should pain us most is what the horse went through, not that we won’t know if he could have won some more big races.
When my wife was on her horse rotation at Vet school, they
brought in a young colt that had a Salminella infection. The colt
was sired by a million dollar racehorse, and apparantly was itself
worth half a million at birth. It died, which is the normal coarse
for such infections in young horses, regardless of breeding. The
horsey people around campus were really broken up about it.
The most moving thing about Barbaro’s story is how much the people around him loved him. His owners continued to try to save him, even though they would have done much better, financially, to have had him put down immediately after the race. They knew he would never run again, and by July it was becoming increasingly obvious that he would most likely not be able to breed, but they kept trying because they loved him, and if all he was ever able to do was graze quietly in a pasture, it was enough for them.
I can really relate to people like that.
I can relate to the writer as well. Barbaro was an amazing animal, and it IS sad that we’ll never know what he could have done. As someone who saw Secretariat’s Belmont, I can relate to the joy the entire horse world takes in seeing such a horse do what he loves best, and do it with such incredible athleticism.
But for most of us, including Barbaro’s owner, his trainer, and the millions who simply rooted for him, both before and after his tragic breakdown, the real sorrow is simply that such a brave, beautiful creature, who fought so hard to live, is gone.
When I think about, oh, novelists who have died at a young age—like Camus, just happened to be reading something by him lately—I do think about what they might have done if they had lived longer and it seems like a sort of natural thing to occur to a person and it does seem very sad. I think that isn’t different than how the writer is thinking about the horse—so I think you have made a good point there. It does not mean the writer didn’t recognize how terrible the suffering of the horse was, it just means that the brilliance of the horse had added a great deal to his life and that it is painful not to have that brilliance present in one’s life any longer.
I just read about Barbaro - http://msn.foxsports.com/horseracing/story/6421288?MSNHPHCP>1=9012 - and hopped on to share it. The news “here” in the Louisville area has been following his battle/struggle with recovering lately and I was greatly saddened to read the latest.
I know nothing about the Horse racing scene in America but to see such potential laid to waste saddens me.
To see a thoroughbred horse, in full flight, with a smart little guy on his back, is an awesome site.
So many words come to mind..poise, balance, grace, style, strength..and many more.
Never to breed, or refine, that bloodline is a tragedy beyond words.
The problem with such a highly tuned racing machine, a bit like Shergar really, is how incredibly sensitive they are and how susceptible they are to any type of injury. Hard to believe that something so huge and strong can be so weak, in so many ways.
I’ve always found the devastation wrought by a leg injury to a horse to be a strange thing to fathom. My sister kept a mare at a local stable when she was a young teen. She hadn’t had that one long before it sustained a broken leg caused by a kick from another horse in the pasture and had to be put down. She acquired a challenging gelding shortly thereafter and worked hard with him for several years before she went to college and the horse found another home.
Strange though. We humans do well with no functional legs. The animals most of us are most accustomed to can hobble manageably on three legs if need be. But horses have this particular vulnerability.
It has to do with blood flow. When a horse favors one leg over another for a significant period of time, circulation to the uninjured leg is altered, which causes laminitis (founder). This is a painful and usually crippling disorder in which the soft tissue of the hoof becomes engorged with blood. Because the soft tissue is surrounded by very hard tissue (the horn of the hoof), this swelling has no place to go. It causes excruciating pain, and can even cause the sole of the foot to drop. There are other causes of founder (a horse overeating, or eating while hot, can also founder), but this is what happened to Barbaro. He lost 3/4 of the tissue in the hoof of his uninjured leg to founder, and just recently started to founder in his front hooves.
The other problem with horses is you can’t keep them immobile for long periods of time like you can humans. They will actually develop pneumonia if they lie down for extended periods of time, so the weeks of bed rest a human with a similar injury might have to endure just aren’t possible for the horse (even if you could persuade him it was a good idea). Their digestive systems also only work correctly if they move regularly and eat almost constantly, and a horse with a tummy ache (colic) is in as much danger of dying as a horse with laminitis.
For all their size, they’re incredibly delicate creatures…even the seemingly tough and hardy draft and pony breeds, and their feet and legs are the most delicate part of all. The old horseman’s adage “no foot, no horse” really does hold true. Nature designed them to live on their feet and on the move, and when that can’t happen, they generally don’t survive.
As a horse lover from way back, I have always admired the racers. The thing that touches me most is that the desire to “win” is in the great ones. It’s not taught, it’s there from the moment they are dropped on the ground. I think that this is one reason we are drawn to the great ones- because they are doing what they want, want so badly that, like Barbaro, they will continue to try- even after sustaining massive injury. Just look at the video of the Pimlico. Anyone who, like myself, was watching that race, cringed in horror at the sight of him fighting his jockey to go on, run, run.
The great ones are made up, not so much of flesh and bone but of great heart. It is tragic when that potential is left unfulfilled.