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Barbaro’s New Race: Victory Over Bottom-Line Thinking
Jan Butler
Loveless, PhD
I’m a Barbaro news junkie. I don’t
follow racing, yet I need at least a twice-daily update on the colt’s
condition.
For recently awakened Rip Van
Winkles, Barbaro won this year’s Kentucky Derby and was a favorite for
the Triple Crown. Seconds into the Preakness, he suffered multiple
fractures of the right hind leg. His owners, Roy and Gretchen Jackson,
shipped the colt to renowned veterinary surgeons at the University of
Pennsylvania’s New Bolton Center. Most racehorse owners would have had
Barbaro put down on the track.
....
I’ve been hooked on the drama ever since. The news is full of
commentary about us addicts. One columnist, clearly not a horse person,
hissed, “What’s the big deal? He’s just a horse who runs in circles.”
He shouldn’t be a hero, argued another writer. Heroes do something
courageous. Barbaro was just doing his job when he happened to break a
leg. Besides, spat the same man, his treatment comes at stunning
expense; the money could be better spent.
Expensive treatment? Phooey.
Barbaro’s owners can afford his bills. If he survives and is sound
enough to breed for a single season, he will certainly pay his debts.
I admit that that’s where logic ends
and intuition begins. I respect intuition. I’ve seen “Dreamer,” the
2005 family movie about a Thoroughbred filly with a broken front leg who
heals, suspended in a sling much like Barbaro’s, and comes back to win
races. Sound like a fantasy? Not quite. The film is based on the true
story of Mariah’s Storm, who fractured a canon bone in 1993 and was
winning again by 1995.
Barbaro’s racing days appear to be
over. But I hope the Jacksons made their decision to try to save him
based on love, not money. I’m allergic to mixing horses and
cold-blooded business practices. No doubt that’s why I’m not rich--in
dollars and cents, that is.
A year-or-so ago, a successful
Quarter Horse breeder told me that she never invests in colic surgery, a
procedure far less pricey than Barbaro’s first surgery, not to mention
the rest of his care. My friend said she could buy another horse for
what she’d spend on surgery. If a colicky horse survived, it might
never be sound. My friend is a businesswoman. Though she wears jeans,
I picture her in a three-piece suit when I quote her.
I’m also a small-time breeder, and I
stand a well-bred stallion. I remembered—and ignored—my friend’s words
on January 9th of this year, when I found our three-year-old AQHA filly,
My Eyeshadow Did It, lying on her side in the pasture at 5:00 PM, in the
telltale, legs-straight-out, colic position.
It was almost dark. I lifted
Shadow’s head, haltered her, encouraged her to get up, led her to the
nearest stall with lights, and called the vet. Texas A&M
University-trained Dr. Danny Dutton was there within 20 minutes. He
sedated Shadow, then tubed her with mineral oil—typical conservative
treatment to get her digestive tract moving.
This time, tubing didn’t work.
Within the hour, Shadow was worse. My husband, Buzz, hooked up the
trailer, and we hauled Shadow to the clinic. Dr. Dutton gave Shadow
more pain meds, started IV fluids, then did a thorough evaluation. His
palpation revealed that nothing inside was in the right place. Dr.
Dutton politely asked that dreaded question: “Are you willing to invest
in surgery?” Without hesitation, Buzz and I chorused, “Yes.” Dr.
Dutton called a fine surgeon, Dr. Troy Ford of Clovis, California, some
50 miles away, and told him to get ready.
At the opposite end of the fiscal
spectrum from Barbaro’s owners, we don’t take surgery lightly. I could
hear my breeder friend’s voice, lecturing: “Surgery on Shadow?
Whatever for? You have another filly with the same breeding. Besides,
Shadow’s imperfect. She has a crooked hind foot, the result of a
non-displaced, healed fracture of the sesamoid bone when she was very
young. Granted, Shadow’s sweet. She’s a lovely grulla color and was
the 2004 high point yearling for the local Foundation Quarter Horse
Club. So? She won a plastic bucket of grooming tools, a horse blanket
and a ribbon—not the Kentucky Derby. She might be worth $3,000 on a
very good day, when the economy is booming and people are rolling in
discretionary income. She’s Doc Bar-bred, like thousands of other
Quarter Horses. A buyer would have to fall for her color. What use will
she be after colic surgery?”
On January 9th, I hushed that voice
in my head. I’d delivered Shadow and imprinted her at birth. We’d lost
her dam, my favorite mare, the previous June. Shadow was our baby, and
she deserved a chance to live. We didn’t arrive at that decision with a
calculator.
Through the foggiest night of winter,
Buzz and I made a harrowing midnight drive to Dr. Ford’s hospital. We
arrived at 1:30 AM. Surgery began by 2:00.
Dr. Ford warned us that this was a
life-threatening case; if he couldn’t save Shadow, he’d euthanize her on
the table. Buzz and I nodded, then went to the clinic kitchen. We
stared at a bowl of leftover holiday candy, watched the clock, and
silently prayed.
At 4:00 AM, a vet tech appeared in
the doorway. Dr. Ford was closing the incision, she said. We could
watch and get his prognosis. Our filly had had a twisted large
intestine, we learned, but Dr. Ford had been able to untwist it, lay it
out, split it to remove the contents, repair and re-insert it. The next
48 hours would be critical. If Shadow survived that, then there could
be other complications, but the risk of those would lessen each day. If
she healed well, said Dr. Ford, Shadow would have no limitations.
Like Barbaro, Shadow did have
complications. An abscess formed in her incision, then reappeared when
we thought the infection was gone. But eventually, Shadow healed.
She’s grazing in our front pasture as I write.
Is Shadow’s value affected by her
surgery? Sure…if she were for sale. But Shadow’s a member of our
family. I’m hoping she’ll never colic again, and that she’ll live into
her 30s, like her grandsire. To quote the credit card commercial,
Shadow’s “priceless.” Her experience may make her a better facilitator
for equine-assisted learning.
I can hear my friend’s protest:
“Your $3,000 filly is worth the $11,000-or-so you spent on her colic
case?”
“You bet,” I reply, in my internal
conversation. We won’t measure her value in dollars.
But Barbaro’s owners are probably
spending $11,000 per hour. Our surgical drama was private, with a horse
a true businessperson would consider worthless. Barbaro’s drama is
public. He was hugely valuable before that fracture, but his treatment
could run to millions.
Still, I’m hoping the Jacksons
continue to make decisions intuitively, as we did. I want Barbaro to
defy the odds, survive both surgery and laminitis and trot triumphantly
again. It would be a bonus if he could be a breeding stallion, though
that means supporting his weight on those injured hind legs. Unlike the
AQHA, The Jockey Club doesn’t allow artificial insemination. They
require witnessed live cover.
Regardless of his future as a sire,
Barbaro now has a fan club. Is he a hero? I think so. To paraphrase
Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist who wrote definitive books on
the hero’s quest, a hero returns from his death-cheating adventures
(that operating room?) with a “boon”—a prize of great value—which he can
share with regular people.
A pebble dropped into still water,
the Jacksons’ decision to treat Barbaro, and not put him down, has
already made positive ripples. The racing industry has a shrunken
following in 2006. Barbaro’s convalescence plays to a far larger
audience than a Preakness win would have. His death on the track would
have horrified the same public that follows his recovery. New rules for
track surfaces, hastened because of Barbaro’s injury, may be
beneficial. Publicity about Barbaro’s treatment will certainly be a
boon to the University of Pennsylvania and to veterinary medicine
overall.
Most importantly, Barbaro’s spirit is a boon to us
regular folks. So many of us fight handicaps of one kind or another,
just as he does. The Kentucky Derby win was impressive, but Barbaro’s
current race is far tougher.
I hope Barbaro wins.
Three-piece-suit thinking aside, I thank his owners for letting him run.
Jan
Butler Loveless, PhD, grew up loving horses and riding with her dad
in College Station, TX. She taught in the public schools of multiple
states, worked in industry, and eventually earned her doctorate in
English. Her most exciting growth, though, has been in The Epona
Center’s program in equine-assisted learning. Now Jan offers
equine-assisted therapy/learning workshops through
J-Bar Ranch (
www.jbar.com ) in Visalia, CA. Essential partners in this
venture are Jan’s husband Buzz and an intuitive family of horses that
sprang from her dad’s mares.
Contact Jan at
jan@jbar.com
or visit
www.jbar.com
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