Meet Dara the Indecipherable

So now that I've figured out how to post photos, I reckon it's time I introduced you all to my terrible trio of ex-racers. I'll do it in easy stages, to minimise shock and alarm....

I've kept ex-racehorses for over thirty years, one way or another ; honourably- retired old jumpers, failed flat-race youngsters, flashy stallions and venerable broodmares. At the moment I have three horses all taken straight out of training over the past four years; Dara, Miraed, and Big H. They are all different and, though the aim is only to re-school them into simply-for-pleasure riding horses, for my own enjoyment, they are all at different stages and their rehabilitation progress has been erratic, to say the least. From now on, I'll keep you posted; be ready for a lot of ups and downs !

So, first up, say hello to Dara .

Formal stuff, for those into bloodstock ;

Name: Laird Dara Mac, (GB) dark bay gelding , foaled 4th May 2000, by Presidium out of Nishara

Petnames - Darling Dara, or Dara the Divilment, depending on his mood. Which says it all, really !

Dara was foaled, reared and put into race training all on the same farm in Malton, North Yorkshire. He was a great favourite there, apparently, because of his sweet and gentle nature. He was easy and straighforward to break-in, was regularly hacked out by the trainer's 11-year-old nephew, and sometimes raced with a girl jockey aboard. Between the ages of 3 and 4 he raced seven times, on the flat and over hurdles. He was last, or nearly last, every time ( except the final race of his career, when he pulled up before the second hurdle ; Dara showing his dontwanna streak ?) His owner got the message and put him up for sale as a riding horse, a 'real gentleman'. ( If you sense a doom-laiden 'but then' - you're absolutely right !)

This is where I came in. I'd been searching for a pretty little horse ( just like my much-loved old mare, now deceased) for ages. I'd seen lots, and never felt right about any of them. This was to be a horse for ME - not chosen to suit someone else; it had to be 'right', in that subconscious, instinctive way that most women, and even some men, if they are true horse-lovers, will understand. I walked into the stable yard and a dark bay head, pretty as a picture with a white star, rushed to look over the door and whinny at me. I was in love.

As soon as I saw him, I new Dara was The One. Of course, being a sensible woman with years of horse experience , I didn't shout out loud 'That's it ! He's coming home with me !' Oh no indeedy. I did all the proper, sensible things. I had him walked and trotted out. Asked loads of questions. Spent some time with him unsupervised in the stable, and felt him all over, pulled his ears and tail, picked up all his feet, checked his mouth. All the stuff you do. I arranged to come back another day, and saw him tacked up and ridden, before getting on him to try him myself - walk, trot, and finally ( what the heck!) canter. Good as gold ! No bucking, jogging, or pulling. We even had good brakes . I was ready to talk money. And of course, because I was determined to have Dara, and it must have been pretty obvious from the soppy, besotted grin on my face, the owner levered out of me more than I had wanted to pay. But who cares? - not me ! The deal was agreed, and Dara was mine - subject to vetting.

Ah yes, I still had enough of my wits about me ( and a big enough hole gouging out of my bank balance) to insist on a veterinary examination. And - well - that's where the Dara saga starts getting more complicated.