A Count and a Gentleman

Count settled in quick and easy. He didn’t fret or fuss during his 48-hour quarantine and worming, and then was friendly and polite when introduced to the other horses over the field fence. When he was turned out with them, he tactfully slotted in to his lower-pecking order new-boy place and got on with grazing in perfect contentment. For the first few days he was only allowed a couple of hours grazing per day, to help his digestive system gradually get used to a new, high-fibre diet. But, despite the fact he was obviously enjoying the grass and sunshine, he was perfectly easy to catch again. In fact, he would walk up to me with encouraging friendliness and confidence – he obviously liked humans.

He was just as relaxed when the time came to try him out under saddle. ( That’s one of the drawbacks of buying a horse at the sales – you can’t have a test-drive first to see what they are like.) I cobbled together a bridle from my bag of bits-‘n’-bobs ( it’s amazing how much scrap leather you can collect over the years – but some of it always comes in useful in the end), and found a plain snaffle bit that would fit. ( Racehorses are usually ridden in simple snaffles, often loose-ring. So, it makes sense to start off an ex-racehorse’s reschooling with a bit they are familiar with, even though you may need to try something different later on.) Then I tried a couple of saddles before finding that Big H’s fitted, more or less, when perched on top of a cotton numnah, sheepskin fleece and prolite pad. Ah well …. At least nothing would rub !

Then it was off to the school with a lunge rein, a hard hat and a spirit of adventure . Plus, of course, a noble assistant – ostensibly there to scrape up the pieces if anything went wrong, but actually chiefly occupied with making rude comments about my saddle-padding and then taking photos.

Thankfully there was no need for First Aid. Count was the perfect gentleman. He didn’t quite see the point of lunging ( few racehorses do) but he humoured me obligingly. Then, when I went for broke and climbed aboard , he was positively courteous. He actually stood still as I got on from the mounting block ( something I’m still asking Big H to do after two years!) and then carried me round the school in walk and trot ,on both reins, with ears pricked and not a hint of awkwardness. He had lovely paces, did what I asked when I asked, and all with no hint of either jogging or arguing with the bit. He even consented to do circles, both ways, though he clearly thought it was a weird idea.

It looked like I’d found the perfect horse – quiet, kind, intelligent, obedient and good-looking . And definitely one of the most chilled-out, laid-back characters I’d come across in a long while. But why, then, did he windsuck ?

A new Account

The dismal, soggy summer we suffered in the UK this year put paid to so many shows, displays, and similar outdoor events – so many cancellations due to rain and mud and haycrops not yet cut ( never cut, in some cases ! ) All that planning and training and preparation – from organisers and would-be participants – was wasted. No wonder some of us felt the need of a little cheering retail therapy occasionally…..

So one drizzly day in August, I took myself off to Doncaster Bloodstock Sales – to meet up with friends ( people converge on the sales from all round the country, so they are good get-togethers), to buy a stable rug from the tack-shop’s bargain box ( always something good there), to ogle celebrities, and to simply gaze at beautiful horses. I did NOT go to buy another ex-racehorse. Emphatically not.

So, I was heading back from my lunchtime sandwich in the grooms’ canteen ( cheapskate that I am, I eat there because it’s cheaper than the main café. And, of course, I can eavesdrop on gossip.) As I wandered up and down the rows of spanking new looseboxes in DBS’s new sales complex, gazing over the doors at the horses inside ( all in this row having now been through the auction ring), I almost stumbled over a girl sitting on the floor, reading a book. It was only polite to chat.

“What kind of horse are you looking for?” she soon asked.
“I’m not!” ( I’m hardwired to say that these days – though it is usually totally meaningless.) “And even if I was – which I’m not – it wouldn’t be a horse for racing. I’m only interested in ones that have finished their racing careers and are looking for a new type of life.”

“Oh, this one, this one!” The girl jumped up and pointed to a chestnut inside the stable.
“AND, “ I added, “ temperament is absolutely key. I can’t do problem horses these days. I need kind, genuine and good-mannered, so…”
“This one, this one!” she said again, nodding vigorously and making her curly hair shake.

And so I was introduced to Count. Proper name King’s Account, a six-year-old gelding by King of Kings out of Fighting Countess. Born in America, he had raced on the flat in UK quite successfully as a youngster – a couple of firsts and seconds, clocking up nearly £13,000 winnings. But then, as so often with young flat-racers, early promise faded, and neither a change to hurdle racing nor a tie-forward operation to help his breathing improved his form. Basically he was just too laid-back for the job. He had last raced just 3 days before, and flopped again, coming 9th of 13 after his jockey lost a stirrup and Count happily slowed down. Now Count’s owner was ill and having to sell. But it was a poor sale-day, bidders were few, and choosey. Count had left the auction ring unsold, attracting not a single bid. Now his trainer’s Head Lass, Di, was stationed outside Count’s stable, doing what she could to attract a new owner from idle passers-by like me.

She did a good job. She told me how gentle, kind, and quiet to ride Count was, how easy he was to look after, what a nice personality he had. She coaxed me inside the stable to meet him close-up…. She brought him outside and trotted him up and down for me, made him stand, turned him in tight circles, picked all his feet up…. Then she told me that the only other person who had expressed any interest was someone who wanted him to do ‘flapping racing’ – racing not under Jockey Club Rules, and a bit rough-and-ready. “And poor Count really doesn’t want to race any more,” she said. “ And we don’t want him to have to race any more, either. And certainly not flapping. The Boss asked me to see if I could find anyone else, do a bit better for him ….” She gave me a LOOK…

And so Count’s trainer was phoned, and after a short conversation a ( very modest) deal was done. Count came home with me.