Autumn Is Icumen In, Lhude Sing Doo-wah
Fall has finally arrived in Fairfield. The nights occasionally descend into the fifties and the morning horse feeding celebrations are conducted in nippier weather. The aroma of coffee fills our little post office on cooler mornings and even though the daytime temperatures still ascend into the eighties, the handwriting is on the stable wall. Cooler is coming. For those of you out there who think Florida never gets cold, think again. We get winter nights in the twenties on occasion and days which don’t get past 55.
The horses, of course, like this. They leap and cavort around their paddocks like hellions, signifying their enthusiastic approval. And China, our Rottweiler, doesn’t feel it necessary to whine her way back into her air-conditioned summer quarters. Siobhan, on the other hand, mourns the passing of warmer weather. No lover of cold, she is already lining up the knitted caps and down jackets for emergency use.
The biggest grumbler at this time every year is our neighbor Allen, who has the excuse of being 85. “I never should have moved up here from Stuart,” he has told us—often. “My face gets cold up here.” Siobhan keeps knitting him scarves to cover the afflicted area but sometimes we have a sneaking suspicion that Allen just likes to complain. If you’re 85, though, we concede you certain God-given rights and the right to complain about everything is one of them.
The Return Of Elf
Our little filly, Ice Elf, returned home the other day after a 6-hour van trip from Calder. Siobhan feels that she has a non-displaced tibia fracture while local veterinarian John Langois thinks it’s a femur. It’s almost impossible to find these injuries with normal radiographs, you have to ship the horse off for scintigraphy at one of the local clinics. We didn’t want to subject her to that since the answer would require the same treatment, mainly bute daily and stall confinement. One of the problems with this injury is that the horse puts all of its hind weight on the remaining healthy leg, stressing the other and causing potential problems there. It’s a frustrating and worrisome situation. Very small signs of improvement are appreciated like tiny jewels. No improvement is grounds for fear of the ultimate demise of the horse, one of the Great Fears of all horse owners. After four days at home, improvement for Elf is slight. She is eating well and appreciates her daily hop a few feet outside her stall to graze, but she is not using her right hind leg at all. If there is no improvement over the next ten days, the prognosis is grim. We would hate to lose our spirited little filly so we are once again asking you for your magical incantations and positive thoughts. It isn’t over til it’s over.
Wilson Arrives A Little Late
Super Chief, aka Wilson, made his first start last Saturday at Calder, finishing second in a good effort. Wilson, the only first-time starter in the race, might well have finished first if he thought to run when the gate opened like all his little friends did.
“Hmmn,” said Wilson, surveying the situation. “it appears they everybody has gone and left me standing here looking like a bit of a fool—I’d best make tracks. I’m not sure why they’re all going so fast but it could be the first one back gets fed.” And with that he was off, reaching the back of the field by the turn, saving ground on the rail but coming into the stretch surrounded as the leader opened up on the rest of the field. Wilson finally found an opening inside the eighth pole and began passing everybody else but the leader was too far ahead, winning by four lengths in a quick 1:06:3. He’ll move up in class next out as Cosmic Crown did; hopefully with the same result. Cosmic Crown’s next start is October 21 in a six-furlong allowance race. The race will be difficult but don’t bet against her.
Getting There (And Back) Is Half The Fun. Says Who?
Siobhan and I went to the race in her elegant Ford 150. We left after feeding Friday, around three o’clock, stopped for a delightful gourmet dinner on the Florida Turnpike and proceeded on to Irana and Paul’s apartment/condo (we’re not sure which) at a place called the Boca West Country Club. All I can say about this place is that the Government should give serious consideration to using it in the Federal Witness Protection Program because you’re not going to find anybody in there. Even with instructions. This place is as big as an airport—I think Paul said it contained four different golf courses, which seems a little showy if you ask us—and several different “neighborhoods.” We had to stay on the phone with Irana to be guided in. Once you get there, assuming you ever do, the place is very nice. We had a pleasant visit and slept like logs.
In the morning, we arrived at Calder bright and early and were happy to discover that the groom for Juno and Wilson was our old friend Ralphie, who worked for Dominic Imprescia back in the eighties and took care of several of our horses, all of which he asked about. Er, Ralphie, it’s been 30 years, you don’t want to be inquiring about the good health of too many 30+ year-old horses.
Irana showed up for the race and we all wore our Stuart Bentler hats in some sort of show of solidarity. The old punters in the paddock probably rolled their eyes but we didn’t care. Girls just want to have fun. Me too. And even if we didn’t make it to the winner’s circle this time, we did have fun. Last three starts, one win, two seconds, three checks, three breeder’s awards, you don’t want to get greedy.
After the race, we drove back to Marion County in ceaseless rain, much of it driving, which always produces in Siobhan the certainty of Death and by the most gruesome means possible. This means, among other things, that she will request the driver “slow down,” no matter what the speed that driver is going, oh, say maybe five times a minute. If you are driving seventy, sixty would be nice and if you are going sixty, well, fifty would certainly be more appropriate.
“Siobhan, if we go as slow as you want, we will never get there. But you can go whatever speed you want when it’s your turn to drive.”
“But, Bill, I might be getting rich soon, finally, after all these years. It’s not fair that I don’t get to live to enjoy it.” And on. And On.
My turn finally stopped at the Fort Drum Plaza, where we pulled in to eat. Siobhan wanted me to go straight to the restaurant but I thought I should check my excision bandage, the better to keep terrified little children from shrieking away in fear. Good thing I did, too, as blood was dribbling down my neck. Big tough truckers gave me wide berth as I proceeded through the rest room to an empty sink to make repairs. People invariably assume the worst when they encounter a bloody old guy moving in their direction and nobody wants to mess with you.
“Siobhan, you didn’t tell me I was leaking.”
“You looked alright in the car.”
“You could only see the other side in the car,” I told her.
“It was probably all that fast driving,” she said.
Health Report
Since you asked, I’m doing pretty good these days. Of course, just when I’m recovered from the neck surgery, they’ll be making a divot in my nose and, eventually, my back. But hey, that’s life in the oldster lane. The back situation is rectified, thanks to Jennifer and the crew at Kinetix, who make weekly inspections, apply pressure to the appropriate areas (did you know you have a psoas muscle?—I didn’t) and run me through my exercise regimen, which I also repeat at home. I’m back to the gym and, now that the blood has ceased seeping from my wound, even lifting weights again. My annual physical was sterling, so there is hope yet for old Bill. I’m not going to say 80 is a foregone conclusion because there are always devious tricksters like amyloidosis lurking in the bushes, but the Vegas odds are good. I’ll take the “over.”
Plight Of The Republicans
Well, ain’t this rich. The GOP, grasping at straws to slow down unfavorite son Mitt Romney, has boosted the stock of Herman Cain, an almost black guy and betrayer of his race. Herman is relatively articulate, though, which puts him miles ahead of the bumbling Rick Perry, whose ignorance is almost incomprehensible. Herman is the Clarence Thomas of presidential candidates, a nice safe conservative African-American who hews to the party line. It’s kind of ironic that the Republicans are pushed in the direction of an almost black man when many of their constituents despise Obama precisely for his blackness. That said, nobody is beating Romney, the wily hypocrite ex-governor of Massachusetts whose health-care plan implemented in that state was a model for Obama’s own national package so despised by the GOP. It should be fun watching all the right-wing bigots foam at the mouth as they try to justify supporting a nigrah against a yankee. They can’t win either way.
Rise Of The 99%ers
Well, they’re probably in your town by now. The fast-moving Occupy Wall Street movement mentioned in last week’s column is growing faster than Dunkin Donuts and will soon be in theaters everywhere. Yesterday, driving through Gainesville, I saw a bunch of them lined up near the courthouse on University Avenue, replete with the appropriate signs and props. Now, I am the first one to realize that some people will show up for any protest you got, but a higher percentage of these people are purposeful, angry, and, until now, without a place to vent. They see the despicable, misguided Tea Party electing one-issue candidates who immediately make things worse and they feel helpless to move things in another direction. They are not all big fans of Obama, either.
Protestors in New York, the epicenter of the spreading movement, have taken Wall Street corporate bosses to task, Tuesday marching by their Fifth Avenue homes complaining and chanting. This movement is not going to go away soon. All of the nation’s larger cities are engaged and now smaller ones like Gainesville are coming into play.
In case you were wondering, all this started when the editors of a Canadian magazine, watching Egyptians camping out in Cairo, wondered why wasn’t this happening in America. In an internet posting in July, they suggested a time—September 17—and a place—Wall Street—for people to make a stand. The editors didn’t organize any activists or even visit New York, but thousands of people took their idea and made it real.
“All of us had this feeling that there was this powerful wave of rage rising up in America that hadn’t found its expression yet,” said magazine co-founder Kalle Lasn, who came up with the idea for the demonstration with Adbusters editor Micah White.
The Vancouver-based magazine audaciously called for 20,000 “redeemers, rebels and radicals” to flood lower Manhattan and occupy Wall Street for a few months. So far, the numbers haven’t reached 20,000, but they’re growing daily and the demonstrations have created a political buzz and inspired dozens more encampments across the country. Labor unions have joined in as have others who feel disenfranchised by recent right-wing successes.
Gordon Gecko famously said, “Greed is good.”
Well, Gordon, not THIS much greed.
Onward and upward!
