Esquela and the Attack of Gorgon

"Esquela", which I may likely have spelled (or spelt for you Kentuckians) incorrectly, is Spanish for school. Today, we schooled horses. That means the groom preps the horse as if it's going to race. You put some bandages on, clean the critter up, put on a halter (sometimes a bridle, the thing with the bit) and you march up to the track (the groom on the left side with a shank, a very long strip of leather attached to a brass chain attached around the halter, and a hotwalker (myownself) on the right with a much wimpier piece of leather also attached to the racing mammal), to the paddock where the horses are saddled for the races.

The idea is that the horses you're schooling will stand in the paddock and have a look around, see all the people, and maybe get out a little nervous energy, so that, when they return to the paddock on race day, they're not scared out of their minds and, hopefully, will behave themselves.

What also happens is that horses get really, really mad that they've come to the track as if they're going to race, and then they don't. "Ha, ha, horses, just foolin'." Some of them really are alright with this. Others, especially the good ones, look to take out payback on their handlers on the return back to the barn.

Today we schooled Donkey. Donkey gets an "A". What a good boy. Not such a good boy when I brought him out for his rider to get on, seeing as how he, once again, dragged me several yards and scattered a couple of horses. Once again, I tried not to pull, but I ran out of leather to hold on to and, when Donkey goes backward, he goes hard. Sigh.

For schoolin', no worries. He got a little antsy while standing, but was overall pretty calm. Donkey schooling can be a really good idea because he's such a flight risk. I expect him to be fine for his race tomorrow (the third).

We also schooled Street Sense. Oh boy. Street, as opposed to Donkey, gets very, very discontented when he goes to the track and can't run around it and beat all the other horses. And, so, on the way back, Street jumped and threw his head, and jumped, like reared up, threw his head. Repeat that about 7 more times.

Now, I was with Street when Carlos and Jose, our barn foreman (manager) and Street's groom, respectively, schooled him before the Derby. I thought he was going to kill them both coming back. Not really, I guess, but he spent the whole 12 minute walk back to our Churchill barn trying to get rid of Carlos and Jose, so he could go run around the track, which he thought he was supposed to do anyway. Both guys held on. Oh yeah, and we were walking through a sloppy track, mud flying everywhere (in this game, you just have to let go to the elements, so we're hollering back and forth and having a good old time).

So, I gotta grade Street on a curve. Even with a steep one, I'll have to give the fella a B-, just a lot of pent-up anger there - he needs to get in touch with his inner child.

The upside of all this is the endorphine or whatever-generated happiness which comes afterward. I expect Street and Donkey will be a couple of very happy critters tomorrow, and that's just the way we want them.

Another note on today: Today was the first of all my months with Street when he acted up while we were walking - he reared up twice when I was walking him after his morning gallop. That's the sign of a sharp and fresh horse. I guess most people have seen horses rear in a movie or on the tube, but to be right there when the Derby winner does it is something I won't soon forget. It was a beautiful thing to be a part of.

Donkey bolting, not so much.

Now to Gorgon:

I believe Gorgon had been dormant for thousands of years, probably after the onset of the last Ice Age (like I know when that was). The appearance of all these notable persons and horses at the Spa apparently awakened him from his centuries-long slumber within the last week. And, so, Gorgon rose. And Gorgon was hungry, and angry. Very, very angry. He wanted to level Saratoga, the racetrack, and the surrounding town, and thought he might proceed to New York City when he was through. Like himself, Gorgon's powers were still a little hazy from his long dormancy. And, so, Gorgon needed a small test before setting out on greater ventures.

And Gorgon chose Zoe.

But Zoe prevailed, not because of bravery so much on her part (or, really, much bravery at all). Zoe won the day because of the essence of Gorgon - what Gorgon is cannot change over time or through circumstances.

Gorgon, you see, appears first like a rat, not even really a very big rat, just a sort of smallish black rat. And, unfortunately for Gorgon, his teeth aren't very big. And, he's a total chicken, really.

That's because Gorgon is a Chihuahua. A chihuahua (I couldn't capitalize the word again) who attacked Zoe the other day here on the grounds, right behind our barn. Zoe, true to form, tucked tail and slinked away. Gorgon, cowed at last, was retrieved by his handlers. When I saw what was going on, I was stunned for a moment - what was that little thing trying to do around my dog? And then he started yipping, and then his "teeth" started nipping at Zoe's flanks.

It would have been funny if I wasn't so alarmed. In retrospect, it is pretty funny because he's such a ridiculous little creature. I have loved dogs all my life (and there's this great, sweet honey-bear of a Rottweiler who comes around the barn who I just fell for), but chihuahua's are not dogs. As Mark Twain once said of Dachsunds, I think it was, I consider chihuahua's "almost a dog".