Page 19 - October 2007 The Game

Canada’s Thoroughbred Racing Newspaper The Game, October 2007 19
Third Times the Charm?
by evenSteven
Most mornings the backstretch at Hastings Park feels like its own complete ecosystem. Like the ocean tides there’s an ebb and flow to how the action unfolds when you gallop racehorses for a living. One second the horses are behaving and you find yourself caught up in the beauty of the moment; the pink light of the rising sun reflecting off the North Shore mountains; the mist rising from the earth and drifting in gauzy strands across the track; the clamorous honks of geese waddling pompously around the infield. Between the breathtaking scenery and all the action unfolding around you, it’s surprisingly easy to get distracted, even on the back of a galloping racehorse. It’s uncanny how a horse always seems to know you’re not paying attention before you do. Thenextthingyouknowyou’rewatchingfromthe ground while your now rider-less mount gallops around thetrackwithstirrupsflapping. It’senoughtomakea retired school teacher wonder why he left the relative comforts of the classroom; even on the worst days you don’t have to worry about landing on your head at twenty miles an hour.
Until this week I’d enjoyed a pretty good streak of remaining in the saddle; good enough to lull me into a false sense of security. Since the beginning of the season I’ve had the opportunity to ride all manner of equine athletes; from stakes horses to bottom of the barrel claimers. Even though I don’t look forward to every horse I gallop—and some I secretly dread—I recognize that often you learn the most from the horses you enjoy riding the least. Ironically the most difficult horses to gallop are sometimes the best teachers.
I feel like I’ve had my fair share of four-legged college professors in the past six months. But no horse has taught me more in a shorter period of time than the lessons“Paulie”hasservedupinthepastweek. Justshy of seventeen hands, Paulie is a gigantic two year old chestnut with a perpetual hump in his back and a penchant for keeping his head low to the ground. My first day on Paulie also coincided with his first day back to the track after a long layoff.
“He’srealgood,”thetrainerreassuredme. “Justtake him out there and stretch his legs a little...once around the track would be fine, whatever you like.”
Once around would have suited me fine but we only managed about thirty yards before Paulie dropped his headandpushedtheejectbutton. ForabriefmomentI contemplated a clear blue sky as I sailed through the air andlandedonmyheadinthedirt. Butasmuchashe didn’t appreciate my presence in the saddle, neither did Paulie demonstrate any particular need to be anywhere else. He stood and waited for the trainer to leg me back up. “What happened there?” my trainer wanted to know.
“He went one way and I went the other,” I replied.
Amomentlaterweweremovingagain. Thistimewe managed to complete two full laps without further incident. BythetimeIdismountedIfeltlikePaulieand I had reached some kind of understanding, a mutual acceptance of our respective duties and responsibilities. Another valuable lesson had been added to my backstretch education: no backtracking green babies after long lay-offs.
The next day I waited outside the big chestnut’s stall and listened while a groom threatened the thoroughly uncooperative
Paulie with a
colourful variety of
expletives. During
my relatively brief
tenure as a gallop
boy, experience has
demonstrated this
type of groom/horse
saddling interaction
rarely serves as a
positive omen of
things to come.
Between this and
the memory of our
previous ride, the
moment I gained the saddle I
began lengthening my stirrups,
hoping to gain an edge. But
Paulie was already looking for
an edge of his own. I was still
fidgeting with my irons when
Paulie dropped his head and
altered my perspective. Once
again I found myself sailing
headfirst through the air. At this point we hadn’t even left the barn. The trainer arrived just as I was picking myself up off the ground.
“What happened that time?” he wanted to know.
“I was dropping my irons at the same time he dropped his head.”
As the trainer legged me back up in the saddle I could tell he was looking for further reassurances which I felt obliged to give: “Don’t worry, Jean. I’ve never been dropped more than twice by any one horse.”
The instant the words left my mouth a chill coursed down my spine. Too late now I knew I was doomed. A moment later we’re at the gap and on the track and moving. But this time I felt I was ready. This time my stirrups were as long as my short little legs would reach and I had no intention of backtracking. As we trotted up the backside Paulie kept trying to swing his head around to look longingly back at the gap now receding in the distance. Wanting to keep him moving I squeezed my legs and felt his back harden into a hard, tight hump. Knowing what was coming I hissed and shook my lines and dropped my heels and was thus entirely surprised to find myself once again flying head first through the air. True to form, Paulie waited obligingly close by and even tolerated my frustrated attempts to leap back into the saddle under my own steam. But seventeen hands proved too big a mountain for my five-foot seven-inches to summit. Unfortunately the outrider came to my rescue and legged me back aboard.
“You want me to stay with you and get you going?” she asked.
“Sounds like a good idea,” replied my bruised ego.
For the next half-lap we galloped around in company, my horse now a model of ponying perfection.
“He feels like he’s okay,” said the outrider. “I’m going to ease out the picture and let you gallop along with these guys.” She nodded her head to another pair of babies galloping up on our inside.
“Soundsgood,”Itoldher. PrivatelyIdidn’tthinkit sounded good at all. Privately I suspected this was preciselytheopportunityPauliewaslookingfor. Butthe outrider was already easing her pony back out of the picture. A moment later Paulie and I were on our own, and for five or six glorious strides I was once again the masterofmyowndestiny. ThenPauliedroppedhishead and launched this retired schoolteacher into the wild blue yonder. Rightbeforehittingthegroundforthethirdtime that morning I finally realized sometimes the hardest lessons to learn are the ones that bear the most repeating.
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Fort Erie Backstretch Picnic - August 9 at Sherkston Shores
Groom Chris Tuttle, trying to con- vince his little girl that the water is not cold!
Assistant Trainer Melanie Wilson taking a well deserved break in the hot tub.
Joanne Heslop at the peak of her bungee jump on the trampoline at Sherkston.
Trainer Harold Ladouceur and Jessie Ladouceur's little boy Jacob and their dog.
A serious round of mini golf!
Photos by Lorrie Scott
Trainer Mike Cohen and Lynda Cohen's grand daughter Ashlee, with her new beach ball.
ALL ALUMINUM