Davy | A Horse Story

By: Jennifer Hall

It was a new beginning as I ran into the barn smiling. I was excited to meet the new horses that had just arrived late the night before. My husband, Pete and I operated a Standardbred racing stable and a new owner had filled our stalls. Times were tough and it was a struggle to make ends meet with the four horses we were training. I gazed at the ten new faces triumphantly. I wanted to introduce myself to each one of them. As I entered each stall I looked them over and decided who I would care for.

“So how do they look?” Pete asked as he walked up behind me. He was looking forward to the challenges that lay ahead.

[private]“That one over there has a huge knee.” I pointed to a small bay gelding that had his head over the gate.

Pete immediately went over to take a look while I continued my introductions. The last horse I came to was a gorgeous dark bay, sixteen-hand, stallion. He kept his head in the corner of the stall as I entered. I spoke to him quietly and watched his ears flicker, listening. As he turned I noticed the small star between his gentle eyes. I reached out to pat his head and he immediately shied away. I knew this one would be mine. I always appreciated a challenge too.

Pete walked over and I asked. “Who’s this guy?”

“He must be Davy Hanover, he’s a trotter.”

I loved trotters, theirs was a natural talent, a pacer needed hobbles to keep their gait.

The entire stable had been exercised and was now contentedly eating their hay, while we drank our coffee I asked. “So what did you think of Davy?”

“He’s a racehorse, I think he’ll be okay. He’s already had a few starts this year so I won’t need to train him too much. I see you like him already.”

“Of course, look at him.”

Weeks passed and Davy became a totally different horse around me. I was able to throw my arms around his neck without him flinching. I brushed him the longest and treated him the best. I believed the better you treated a racehorse the better they did on the racetrack. I’d take him for long walks after he trained or jogged, letting him eat at the best grass patches I could find. This was my horse and no one could touch him but me. I would hose his legs and ankles with cold water to help with the heat. To ease the stinging in his feet I’d soak them in Epsom salts. The carrots were always in good supply and Davy knew that as he nuzzled my pockets. He trusted me and was a gentleman.

Davy’s first few starts at Mohawk Racetrack showed us that he had the ability to compete on the toughest racing circuit in Canada. He wasn’t a world champion but he tried. Like any athlete he had aches and pains, but it was his stamina and enjoyment of racing that kept him going. The first time he won I beamed with pride. The owner was happy too and congratulated us in the winner’s circle.

As we headed back to the barn Pete said, “He raced well tonight, you’re doing a good job.”

I almost fell off the racebike. At last recognition for all the hard work I’d been putting into him. Grooms are very seldom acknowledged but are very important in a racing stable’s accomplishments.
We were very busy training, racing and selling off the horses that weren’t going to make it on the ‘A’ circuit. Davy continued on in our stable for two years. He won a few races and continued to place in the money.

“Guess what?” Pete had just gotten off the phone with the owner.

“What?”

“Somebody wants to buy Davy and they’ve offered $50,000 for him.”

Tears welled up into my eyes and I blinked them back before I answered. “Is he going to take it?”

“I told him to but he’s going to think about it. This is a business and don’t forget that. You make to many of these horses your pets.” Pete walked away leaving me devastated. I knew that was a lot of money for Davy, realistically he was worth $30,000. I knew the owner would take it, how could he refuse? I finished off the young mare I was brushing and hurried to Davy’s stall. He stuck his head over the gate looking for treats. He was my pet and the owner knew it but would it make a difference in his decision? I found out two days later when he refused the offer. I didn’t say anything but my heart burst with happiness. It was just shortly after that the quartercracks in Davy’s feet couldn’t take anymore training, racing or jogging. It was decided that Davy would stay at our farm for a couple of months.

“I told him he should’ve sold him.” Pete said as he opened the back of the trailer.

I led Davy out to the paddock and smiled as I watched him trot the fence line.

“Isn’t this great to have him here?”

“For you it is but as soon as his feet get better he’s back to the races.” Pete watched Davy enjoy his freedom.

Over the two months that Davy stayed with us our relationship grew stronger. Before I knew it Davy‘s holiday was over. After all he was a racehorse, bred to race and make money not stand in a field eating grass all day. Six weeks later Davy was still not racing.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.” Pete paced the shedrow. The owner was starting to get impatient. It was a difficult choice but Pete knew he would have to send Davy to an easier track. It was settled that he would go to Windsor and see if the trainer there could get him qualified.

“I know I can get his feet in shape.” I argued.

“You’ve tried everything, the decision has been made. Go and get his harness ready.” Pete wouldn’t look me in the eye; he knew what this was doing to my heart.

My beloved horse was leaving and I didn’t know when he would return, if ever. When the trailer arrived to pick Davy up I wouldn’t lead him up the ramp and I watched as he looked for me, when he started whinnying I ran into our tackroom and cried. For two and a half years I had looked after this horse, we had formed a bond that I had never experienced before with another horse.

Five months later Pete called me into the tackroom and said. “I talked to Don he said he can’t get Davy going either so he’s coming back.”

I jumped around the barn, “When? Can we go and pick him up?” I didn’t care that it was a six-hour trip there and back I just wanted my horse where he belonged.

“No, he’s arriving tomorrow, if I can’t get him going Tom said he’d sell him. So don’t get excited he may be gone again before long.”

I almost burst into tears when I saw him standing with his head in the corner once again as I walked into the barn.

“Davy, you’re home, come and see me.” I stood in front of his gate. He turned when he heard my voice and his eyes lit up. He knew he was home. He nuzzled my hair and I opened the gate to check him over. Pete laughed when he saw me hugging him.
“Well, how is he?”

“His ankles are bad, feet are worse and there’s a big lump below his withers.”

Frowning Pete pulled Davy out of the stall. He ran his hands over his back and found the lump.

“Go and get the vet, we better get this checked out.”

The lump was along his back and to the right of his spine. We had it tested and tried a few things but it wouldn’t go away. It just kept growing.

“I can’t believe this. How can I train him with that?” Pete was frustrated. We had been having bad racing luck and it was taking its toll on him.

The owner came in and looked Davy over. He looked at me and smiled.

“I’ve decide that we should retire him. Do you think you’d like to take him home with you?”

My mouth dropped and I choked out, “Yes, I would.”

“You’ve been very good to him, I don’t want Davy to go somewhere where he might be abused.”

Pete agreed and once again Davy was back at our farm only this time he was all mine.

One month after Davy’s retirement from racing, I had to make a decision. After more tests the diagnosis wasn’t good. The lump was a tumor and there was only a ten-percent chance of recovery if operated on. It was the size of a cantaloupe and growing it’s own hard shell underneath his skin. I knew Davy would go down in the medical books, this was a very rare case. It didn’t help my decision. This horse had been in my life for three years now. I loved him almost as much as my husband and at times a little more. For me he was my ‘Black Stallion’. How could I end his life?

The light in Davys’ eyes was fading; he was in pain and losing weight. My racehorse didn’t want to move. It hurt too much. I felt better knowing he was well-taken care of and living his last days in peace. I was there everyday brushing him, cleaning out his stall and talking to him. He would stand outside with the autumn sun on his back eating grass and apples. Some mornings I had to coax him out of the stall, it was as though he was giving up. I would pull hard on his halter, crying at him to move. It wasn’t time yet.

“Where are you going?” Pete had just made me a tea and we were settling down for a quiet evening.

“I’ve got to check on him.” Pulling on my rubber boots and coat I stopped to get my mug of tea.

“He’s fine, just leave him.”

“I can’t.”

I took my tea out the door and the tears streamed down my face before I had even reached the barn. Davy heard me and called out. He put his head on my shoulder as I cried into his mane.

On October 10th, five months after Davy’s eighth birthday, I took him to the equine clinic. My heart broke as I stayed with him as long as I could. Davy rested his head in my arms, as the vet looked him over. He knew it was time. The technician handed me his halter and I ran out of the building not wanting anyone to see the tears in my eyes. For some he was just another racehorse but for me he’ll always have a special place in my heart.[/private]