As with all my best moves, it was totally unplanned. I had no intention whatsoever of buying another horse. I simply agreed to go along with my friend Becky for a day out at Doncaster Bloodstock Sales, because she’d never been before and wondered what it was like.
( A day at the sales can be great fun without buying anything more expensive than a cup of coffee. There is no entry fee, and these days they even give the catalogues away free at DBS ! You can while away many happy hours watching hundreds of horses – good, bad, and plug-ugly – and trying to guess what they will fetch in the auction ring. You can people-watch too, spotting celebrity buyers, owners and trainers. And you can marvel at bidding duels, and the vast amounts of money some people are prepared to invest in a living creature. You can even, if you work at it, get yourself a date with one of the attendant stable staff – though I grew out of that aspect some time ago. And if you really cannot resist spending money, you can usually find some bargain headcollars and rugs in the tack shop.)
So, there was absolutely no need for me to buy a horse. As we arrived at the salesground, ( later than planned, as usual) we could hear the auctioneer over the microphone, struggling to get anyone to bid on the lot he was handling. Eventually, he managed the minimum bid of 500 guineas ( £525 – about $760), and there it stopped. As the hammer came down I said, ‘Let’s go see what a five-hundred-guinea horse looks like these days.’
A large bright bay walked out of the sales ring into the holding pen , led by his girl groom. He looked alert and interested, looking round him to see what was going on. He also looked very thin, even for a horse in training. Out of sheer idle curiosity, we followed him back to his stable and began chatting with the girl.
And so I met and fell in love with Big H – or, to give him his proper name, Heatherlea Squire. ( You can see why I soon shortened it ! I don’t believe in changing horses’ names – superstition , I know – but that really was too much of a mouthful !) It turned out he had raced over hurdles just 36 hours before, then travelled 150 miles from his training yard in Cheltenham to the sales in Doncaster. No wonder he had run up a bit light ! But what was clear from the start was how intelligent and very kind this horse was. ( Don’t ask me how, but you can tell.) His groom Katie told me he was ‘a very special horse’ – and how she had cried when told he was going to be sold. I sought out her boss, the trainer. He had only good to speak of the horse too.
There was no reason not to believe them, because the horse was already sold – to someone else. I wondered who the buyer was ? Certainly not one of the big-timers, who were already spending thousands in the ring. So, either a small trainer looking for a cheap runner, or a dealer, or a private individual like myself. I enquired at the sales office , and eventually discovered that Heatherlea Squire had been bought by a dealer, one of their regular customers.
I’ve nothing against genuine horsedealers – I just didn’t want this particular horse to go to one, especially so soon after racing. I feared he might be quickly sold on to someone who didn’t know his background, and would feed him wrongly and ride him wrongly and cause all sorts of problems. And besides – Big H was blowing soft warm breaths into my hair over the stable door. What else could I do…. ?
With the help of the senior auctioneer, I located the dealer and did a deal. I didn’t offer him much profit, but the horse had not as yet cost him a penny in expenses and – as he very wisely said – ‘’When you start turning away a small profit you end up loosing it all’
He was actually a very nice guy and , by pure coincidence, turned out to know an old friend of mine from Wales. Small world !. I’ve met him a few times since at the sales, and keep him updated on H’s progress.
Of course, I didn’t have any money on me. But, with the help of my new dealer-friend, my bank card, and a bemused but obliging cashier from the sales office, we managed to make the transaction. Big H was mine.
I asked Katie to bring a headcollar for him and I bought him a rug ( bargain basement, but serviceable.) I left her alone in the stable with him to say goodbye – I knew she was crying. ( Which, from my position, was a good sign . A much-loved horse is unlikely to be a rogue.) It must be very hard, working in a trainer’s yard where you often have to bid farewell to creatures you have come to know and love. I made sure I sent Katie updates and photos of H, which maybe helped a bit.
I had no transport to get Big H home. I asked around to seek a lift or part-load, but couldn’t find anything both practical and affordable. So, I left Big H in the stable overnight ( it was a 3-day sale), rustled him up some hay, and put the transport question off till tomorrow. Then I phoned the owner of my livery yard and asked – very sweetly- if there was any chance he could fit in another horse….? As I listened to the stunned silence at the other end of the phone and awaited his answer, I mulled over possible Plan B’s if he said ‘No’. Like I said, I hadn’t planned this….
( A day at the sales can be great fun without buying anything more expensive than a cup of coffee. There is no entry fee, and these days they even give the catalogues away free at DBS ! You can while away many happy hours watching hundreds of horses – good, bad, and plug-ugly – and trying to guess what they will fetch in the auction ring. You can people-watch too, spotting celebrity buyers, owners and trainers. And you can marvel at bidding duels, and the vast amounts of money some people are prepared to invest in a living creature. You can even, if you work at it, get yourself a date with one of the attendant stable staff – though I grew out of that aspect some time ago. And if you really cannot resist spending money, you can usually find some bargain headcollars and rugs in the tack shop.)
So, there was absolutely no need for me to buy a horse. As we arrived at the salesground, ( later than planned, as usual) we could hear the auctioneer over the microphone, struggling to get anyone to bid on the lot he was handling. Eventually, he managed the minimum bid of 500 guineas ( £525 – about $760), and there it stopped. As the hammer came down I said, ‘Let’s go see what a five-hundred-guinea horse looks like these days.’
A large bright bay walked out of the sales ring into the holding pen , led by his girl groom. He looked alert and interested, looking round him to see what was going on. He also looked very thin, even for a horse in training. Out of sheer idle curiosity, we followed him back to his stable and began chatting with the girl.
And so I met and fell in love with Big H – or, to give him his proper name, Heatherlea Squire. ( You can see why I soon shortened it ! I don’t believe in changing horses’ names – superstition , I know – but that really was too much of a mouthful !) It turned out he had raced over hurdles just 36 hours before, then travelled 150 miles from his training yard in Cheltenham to the sales in Doncaster. No wonder he had run up a bit light ! But what was clear from the start was how intelligent and very kind this horse was. ( Don’t ask me how, but you can tell.) His groom Katie told me he was ‘a very special horse’ – and how she had cried when told he was going to be sold. I sought out her boss, the trainer. He had only good to speak of the horse too.
There was no reason not to believe them, because the horse was already sold – to someone else. I wondered who the buyer was ? Certainly not one of the big-timers, who were already spending thousands in the ring. So, either a small trainer looking for a cheap runner, or a dealer, or a private individual like myself. I enquired at the sales office , and eventually discovered that Heatherlea Squire had been bought by a dealer, one of their regular customers.
I’ve nothing against genuine horsedealers – I just didn’t want this particular horse to go to one, especially so soon after racing. I feared he might be quickly sold on to someone who didn’t know his background, and would feed him wrongly and ride him wrongly and cause all sorts of problems. And besides – Big H was blowing soft warm breaths into my hair over the stable door. What else could I do…. ?
With the help of the senior auctioneer, I located the dealer and did a deal. I didn’t offer him much profit, but the horse had not as yet cost him a penny in expenses and – as he very wisely said – ‘’When you start turning away a small profit you end up loosing it all’
He was actually a very nice guy and , by pure coincidence, turned out to know an old friend of mine from Wales. Small world !. I’ve met him a few times since at the sales, and keep him updated on H’s progress.
Of course, I didn’t have any money on me. But, with the help of my new dealer-friend, my bank card, and a bemused but obliging cashier from the sales office, we managed to make the transaction. Big H was mine.
I asked Katie to bring a headcollar for him and I bought him a rug ( bargain basement, but serviceable.) I left her alone in the stable with him to say goodbye – I knew she was crying. ( Which, from my position, was a good sign . A much-loved horse is unlikely to be a rogue.) It must be very hard, working in a trainer’s yard where you often have to bid farewell to creatures you have come to know and love. I made sure I sent Katie updates and photos of H, which maybe helped a bit.
I had no transport to get Big H home. I asked around to seek a lift or part-load, but couldn’t find anything both practical and affordable. So, I left Big H in the stable overnight ( it was a 3-day sale), rustled him up some hay, and put the transport question off till tomorrow. Then I phoned the owner of my livery yard and asked – very sweetly- if there was any chance he could fit in another horse….? As I listened to the stunned silence at the other end of the phone and awaited his answer, I mulled over possible Plan B’s if he said ‘No’. Like I said, I hadn’t planned this….
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