Happy Mother's Day

Sunday May 11 2014

"Now," I don't believe in gambling," my mom said, "but here's $5. Go bet on Chalk Box to win."

Chalk Box, multiple stakes winner at Longacres racetrack, was up for her biggest race yet, the Washington Oaks. Year-end championship honors hung on this stakes race. It was Mom's first visit to Longacres racetrack where I worked as a groom, her first time to meet Chalk Box, her first time to watch one of my horses race. She picked a big one to attend.

After I led Chalk out of the paddock and turned her over to the pony on the track, Mom handed me the 5 dollar bill.

I was in a quandary - I wasn't suspicious, but I could not bet on my own horses! I ran in a partial panic through the crowd to the windows, not knowing what to do. I was about to pocket the $5, and just pay mom the money if Chalk won (and I felt she would)… when I saw a friend standing in line to bet.

"Ten Eyck!" I grabbed him. "Here, can you bet $5 on Chalk Box to win? She's my horse but I can't bet on her but I'm supposed to place this bet for my mom…" I babbled frantically.

He placed the bet for me, handed me the ticket, and I ran back outside to watch my lovely filly warming up on the track.

Chalk Box won (and ultimately was named Washington Champion 3-Year-Old Filly of 1989). Mom got to stand in the Winner's Circle. She got her $20. She never gambled again.

She never could quite understand my horse addiction I'd been born with… but I think she got it that day.

Miss you Mom!

Racehorse Tales - Claim the Trick: The Royal Ass

Sunday January 5 2014

…Claim the Trick charged into the paddock like he knew where to go, with me flapping uselessly off his side. I had intended to lead him into stall number three, which was the same as the number on his bridle, where Claim the Trick would be saddled and where trainer Harris stood waiting for him; but Claim the Trick had other ideas. While Harris stood there and laughed at me (and did not offer to help me), Claim the Trick stormed all the way around the walking ring, dragging me with him, until we came by his stall again, where he made an abrupt left-hand turn and marched right inside, stopping beside Harris.
Then Claim the Trick changed his mind – he spun in a half-circle; so I thought I'd let him stand with his head facing out while he was saddled. But Claim the Trick wanted to walk some more, so, he charged right on back out of the stall and drug me on another forced march around the paddock. I hissed at him in exasperation, “You Ass!”, trying desperately to surreptitiously dig my heels into the ground to gain control of him, while trying even harder to make it look like all this circling around the paddock was all my idea, not my little horse's. I was sweating profusely and already out of breath. Harris, and now Clel the valet, who was holding Claim the Trick's saddle in stall number three, were both laughing at me, greatly enjoying the show we were putting on.
I managed to spin Arthur in a tight circle, and he let me take a left turn and lead him back into his stall, where I tried with all my might and leverage to stop him and keep him facing inward. He stopped, all right, after he ran me into the wall and he could go no further forward...


Above is an excerpt from Claim the Trick: The Royal Ass, one of my series of Racehorse Tales, available on Amazon/Kindle. These short stories are a tribute to the lovable and entertaining, hard-knocking, working class Thoroughbreds I groomed on the racetrack for so many years.

This little racehorse, Claim the Trick (aka Arthur), has a mind of his own and is as strong as a mule. He entertains people as he drags me on unplanned detours whenever and wherever he feels like it, as he trains and runs at Longacres racetrack.

Check out Racehorse Tales, and if you enjoy them, please recommend them and consider leaving a review on Amazon!

Racehorse Tales - Ol' Holme: The Witch

Sunday December 8 2013

I always tried to give humans and horses the benefit of the doubt. There was almost always some good in everyone, if you waited long enough or looked deep enough. But I should have listened to my instinct, the minute I laid eyes on the plain brown filly whose ears didn't go anywhere but flat back against her head. Some things were just bad news. I should have waited to take the next horse off the van and let someone else grab this brown one.
A load of horses arrived at our barn at Longacres from Yakima in February, and whether it was fate or bad timing when I reached out to take the shank of the first one down the ramp, it was this frowny-faced 3-year-old filly that I put into one of my empty stalls. Maybe she was just having a bad day, or she hadn't enjoyed her van ride; but this Ol' Mom's Holme didn't look like a very amiable horse. But I'd give her a few days to settle into her new barn and her new routine before I would pronounce a final judgment on her...


Above is an excerpt from Ol' Holme: The Witch, one of my series of Racehorse Tales, available on Amazon/Kindle. These short stories are a tribute to the lovable (or, in this case, not so very lovable), hard-knocking, working class Thoroughbreds I groomed on the racetrack for so many years.

Some horses are like people: born on the wrong side of the barnyard. Ol' Holme is bad news, and she and I have to figure out a way to get along during the filly's racing career at Longacres racetrack.

Check out Racehorse Tales, and if you enjoy them, please recommend them and consider leaving a review on Amazon!

Racehorse Tales - Sunstorm: The Rugged One

Sunday October 20 2013

    Horses were always coming and going in our claiming barn at Longacres racetrack, and as a groom, I tried not to get too attached to any of them. But I have to admit, from the first moment I laid eyes on Sunstorm, I took a liking to him.
    He roared into my life from California in early April. His name fit perfectly his flaming red hide and his stormy temperament. I assumed he was a stallion, but when I looked underneath, there were no tell-tale signs hanging around. "Acts like a stud," I mumbled, as I led him off the van and toward his new stall. He kept his jaws busy, ferociously snapping at nearby arms and fingers attached to the end of his lead rope.
    He refused to follow me straight into his stall, and instead pulled me to a stop in the shedrow. He shook his head mightily, in a surely oft-practiced move, artistically causing his thick mane to dance about his muscled neck; and he let out a studdish bellow that shook his entire body. Towering over me, Sunstorm looked me in the eyeballs, I am in charge, here, let's get that straight from the start.
    And there you have it – I fell for him…


Above is an excerpt from Sunstorm: The Rugged One, one of my series of Racehorse Tales, available on Amazon/Kindle. These short stories are a tribute to the lovable, (or maybe not-so-lovable), hard-knocking, working class Thoroughbreds that I groomed for so many years on the racetrack.

No two racehorses are created equal. Sunstorm may not have run for a million bucks, but the macho chestnut gelding's attitude and rugged good looks are what I fell for instantly. The cheap claimer left a great indelible mark on my heart in his barn at Longacres racetrack.

Check out Racehorse Tales, and if you enjoy them, please recommend them and consider leaving a review on Amazon!