The Ruin of a Race Horse
by Caterina Tadlock

I stood with her in her stall, my arms around her neck and my cold hands and face buried in her mane. I fought back tears as I thought about the events that had lead to this day. I was in California at UC Davis struggling with the idea of putting down my special filly, Cinder, who had just a few months ago been my dream come true.

I bought Cinder when I was sixteen, with the great hope of training and competing with her in professional rodeos. I paid $1500 dollars for her. It was all the money I had in the world, but a small amount for what I thought she would soon be worth. Cinder was a 5-year-old ex racehorse filly. She was everything that a rodeo horse should be -- smart, patient, quick, fast, and strong. She was all but perfect.

Cinder was a pleasure to train. She was without a doubt the smartest horse I had ever ridden. Everything I asked she did willingly, until the day I asked her to canter a circle to the right. She had trouble picking up her right lead (when cantering a circle a horse should lead with the right front leg when going right, and the left front when going left). Racehorses run to the left on the track, so I thought that she just needed to build up her strength on the right side. But the more I worked her to the right, the worse she got. Finally, she quit picking up the right lead altogether and I knew something was wrong.

I had Cinder examined by a veterinarian in Eugene, but he found nothing wrong. He said to just keep riding her. I rode Cinder every day, hoping things would improve. They didn’t. Cinder became lame and I took her to another vet. He thought that she had EPM (Equine Protozoa Myeloencephalitis) a neurological disorder spread by possums. I treated Cinder everyday for six months with the medicine the vet had prescribed, patiently waiting for some sign of improvement. There was none. I called the vet and told him that Cinder wasn’t getting better, but he didn’t know what to do.

I still wasn’t ready to give up on Cinder, but I was out of ideas. Distraught, I went to my father for advice. He suggested taking her to UC Davis, famous for its equine veterinary facility. I had hope again. “They must be able to help her there,” I thought.

At UC Davis Cinder was thoroughly examined, and determined to have a neurological disorder. The vets took x-rays of her neck and found that she had lesions where hear spinal cord was being compressed. There wasn’t anything they could do for her. They said she would never be ride-able and suggested that I put her down.

Cinder had calmly and patiently endured the traveling and the vet visits. All the vets loved her personality and admired her beauty. Everyone who saw Cinder saw something special in her. I wasn’t willing to put her down. I was heartbroken that she would not live up to her potential, but I couldn’t let the most beautiful horse I had ever known die, just because she wasn’t useful anymore. So I loaded her in the trailer and brought her home, where she could live the rest of her life out peacefully.

Cinder had been a great racehorse. She had given racing all of her magnificent heart, and it had ruined her. Horse racing isn’t a bad sport. Many horses love it, but the racing of two and three year olds is purely a matter of greed and impatience. There is no other horse sport that demands so much from a horse so young. A barrel racing horse, for example must be at least four years old before it can compete. Most horse trainers will not even ride a horse at two, let alone race one. A horse’s knees are not fully closed until age 3 ½ and many horse’s bones are not fully developed until age six.

If Cinder had been four when she started racing, her bones would probably have been mature enough to handle the stress of racing. She would have lasted so much longer and performed so much better. She would have had a second career as a pro rodeo horse; she would have been one in a million. She would have been my dream come true.