Observer
04-03-2001, 06:48 PM
A LETTER FROM IRON GAVEL (as it appeared in the New York Horse Rescue News, spring 2001)
Translated by Rae Eastwood
(Iron Gavel, a 1990 Thoroughbred gelding is our mascot. Iron Gavel & Fourstar Brother, another NYHR horse, are in Kentucky in training as jumpers. We strongly believe that retrained racehorses can have viable post racing careers.)
Dear New York Horse Rescue and Friends,
Well, here we are in Kentucky, blue grass paradise of the horse world. I should have kept a log when my best buddy Fourstar Brother and I left together for Indian Creek Farm from Manorville, New York. Truth is, they have people called journalists in New York that have always kept good tabs on me, and so I was caught off guard.
You know that I was formerly a New York racehorse. I was, in fact, a very good New York racehorse for an extremely long time. I trained and raced for eight years, made about three quarters of a million carrots (conversion table: 1 carrot = $1US). So, I knew the job well...turn left, go fast, and keep turning left, go faster.
Now, having perfected that, I raced for the last time in January 2000 and said goodbye. I left all four of my glue on racing shoes on the track that day. I was simply too fast for the glue!
I had eight months of well-deserved rest and recuperation at New York Horse Rescue. I met up with Fourstar Brother, Mona, Jud, ate a little grass, hung out, looked around. But, you know, my bud and I had a little yern for some action.
Well. That's how we got down here in Kentucky. We unloaded off a big rig in this place that has a 500-pound pet hog named Sue EE, for god's sake. She ambles about making funky noises and everything they ever said about a pig is true. She eats Twinkies and cuddles up with a thirty year old Shetland pony, so I have learned to disregard Sue EE.
I had to have Penicillin for a couple of days because of a small cut on my knee. It's really rude to go some place new and have them stick you with a needle. We got haircuts. I don't think much of haircuts.
OK, so about ten days into this, Fourstar and I are starting to like the place. Food's good, a little brushing everyday, not bad, not bad at all.
Now comes some woman who talks and laughs a lot, puts the tack on us, and takes us up on the "hill" the dreaded "hill". These things they call "jumps" are positively everywhere. And flowers. You have never seen the likes of flowers that never grow or die.
Hey, if there's one thing I know it's how to go forward. So, I'm going to fast-forward this. For the next three months, five days a week, I've gone up to the hill, as has Fourstar. And I go forward. Yes, I go forward and this woman or girl or whatever directs me to these things in my way with poles and flowers and barrels and who knows the names of all that stuff. I go. I mean, what's a guy supposed to do?
This was pretty funny. I just went and did. No big deal. But, that first day she rode Fourstar - that was funny. He's done something called Steeplechasing (must have been pretty good 'cause he says he made about 120 carrots). Well, he said that there was no way he was going near no pole on the ground. He didn't go forward, but wheeled and reared. He said, "Lady, you ain't big enough to ride me anywhere near no friggin pole." But she was, because pretty soon everything was just hunky dory between the two of them. Then, along came Dale.
Now, Dale and Laura ride us together everyday. Rae sets fences and enjoys us because we are wonderful.
Sometimes I imagine a pony horse escorting Laura and I back to the barn from the hill.
I figure Laura's shown me a few new things, so sometimes I show her a few new things that I can do. So I "bust a move" as we racehorses call it. I have an entire repertoire of moves, you know. One day, I galloped in place all the way down the barn aisle. Yep, pretty as you like - took about 3 or 4 minutes to go 90 feet. Everybody liked it and even cheered.
Farm rides, hacking on the 400 acres is really great. I really, really like that. Fourstar tenses up some because he thinks he's going to the races when he gets out on big grass. He and Dale really click up in the ring. He thinks he's better than I am some days because he's done some of this jumping stuff before. Hah!
So anyway, we're supposed to go to the Gulf Coast Classic Horse Show in February 2001 in Gulf Port, Mississippi. I wonder, "What's a show?" Do you know? Please inform.
Please send carrots also.
Love and kisses to the biggest apple of them all, my New York.
Iron Gavel
Translated by Rae Eastwood
(Iron Gavel, a 1990 Thoroughbred gelding is our mascot. Iron Gavel & Fourstar Brother, another NYHR horse, are in Kentucky in training as jumpers. We strongly believe that retrained racehorses can have viable post racing careers.)
Dear New York Horse Rescue and Friends,
Well, here we are in Kentucky, blue grass paradise of the horse world. I should have kept a log when my best buddy Fourstar Brother and I left together for Indian Creek Farm from Manorville, New York. Truth is, they have people called journalists in New York that have always kept good tabs on me, and so I was caught off guard.
You know that I was formerly a New York racehorse. I was, in fact, a very good New York racehorse for an extremely long time. I trained and raced for eight years, made about three quarters of a million carrots (conversion table: 1 carrot = $1US). So, I knew the job well...turn left, go fast, and keep turning left, go faster.
Now, having perfected that, I raced for the last time in January 2000 and said goodbye. I left all four of my glue on racing shoes on the track that day. I was simply too fast for the glue!
I had eight months of well-deserved rest and recuperation at New York Horse Rescue. I met up with Fourstar Brother, Mona, Jud, ate a little grass, hung out, looked around. But, you know, my bud and I had a little yern for some action.
Well. That's how we got down here in Kentucky. We unloaded off a big rig in this place that has a 500-pound pet hog named Sue EE, for god's sake. She ambles about making funky noises and everything they ever said about a pig is true. She eats Twinkies and cuddles up with a thirty year old Shetland pony, so I have learned to disregard Sue EE.
I had to have Penicillin for a couple of days because of a small cut on my knee. It's really rude to go some place new and have them stick you with a needle. We got haircuts. I don't think much of haircuts.
OK, so about ten days into this, Fourstar and I are starting to like the place. Food's good, a little brushing everyday, not bad, not bad at all.
Now comes some woman who talks and laughs a lot, puts the tack on us, and takes us up on the "hill" the dreaded "hill". These things they call "jumps" are positively everywhere. And flowers. You have never seen the likes of flowers that never grow or die.
Hey, if there's one thing I know it's how to go forward. So, I'm going to fast-forward this. For the next three months, five days a week, I've gone up to the hill, as has Fourstar. And I go forward. Yes, I go forward and this woman or girl or whatever directs me to these things in my way with poles and flowers and barrels and who knows the names of all that stuff. I go. I mean, what's a guy supposed to do?
This was pretty funny. I just went and did. No big deal. But, that first day she rode Fourstar - that was funny. He's done something called Steeplechasing (must have been pretty good 'cause he says he made about 120 carrots). Well, he said that there was no way he was going near no pole on the ground. He didn't go forward, but wheeled and reared. He said, "Lady, you ain't big enough to ride me anywhere near no friggin pole." But she was, because pretty soon everything was just hunky dory between the two of them. Then, along came Dale.
Now, Dale and Laura ride us together everyday. Rae sets fences and enjoys us because we are wonderful.
Sometimes I imagine a pony horse escorting Laura and I back to the barn from the hill.
I figure Laura's shown me a few new things, so sometimes I show her a few new things that I can do. So I "bust a move" as we racehorses call it. I have an entire repertoire of moves, you know. One day, I galloped in place all the way down the barn aisle. Yep, pretty as you like - took about 3 or 4 minutes to go 90 feet. Everybody liked it and even cheered.
Farm rides, hacking on the 400 acres is really great. I really, really like that. Fourstar tenses up some because he thinks he's going to the races when he gets out on big grass. He and Dale really click up in the ring. He thinks he's better than I am some days because he's done some of this jumping stuff before. Hah!
So anyway, we're supposed to go to the Gulf Coast Classic Horse Show in February 2001 in Gulf Port, Mississippi. I wonder, "What's a show?" Do you know? Please inform.
Please send carrots also.
Love and kisses to the biggest apple of them all, my New York.
Iron Gavel