MAVERICK by Leslie Morley
Part One: Requiem for Reno
Things just didn’t seem to be going right for Reno in the summer months of 2008. He had not won a race for quite a while. Decisions had been made earlier that year to administer the controversial treatment of pin firing on his front legs and it had not been very successful for him. Reno belonged in a string of thoroughbreds that had arrived in February at a large racing training facility in Minnesota. There had been some confusion and re-arranging when he first arrived and unloaded with all his other stable mates and he ended up in a stall that had been intended for another horse. The name on the stall door read “Maverick” Trainers and grooms knew he was Reno, but the outside world did not. He seemed quite unhappy as a racehorse. He did not want to get close to humans. He did not want to be touched or take treats. It appeared that he just did not know what he was supposed to do. Everyone around him seemed to know that he was not going to develop into a winner. And he knew it.
Everyone that is, except one quiet woman named Darla Jeffery. After tending to her own Paint horse that lived in another barn at the same stable, she would sneak into the racing barns on those late winter evenings to visit with the big, beautiful, racing stars of Canterbury Park. She seemed to be the only one at the stable who noticed the sulking, dark bay colored thoroughbred, and was drawn to him immediately. Going on the assumption that the stall name plate was correct, she knew him only as Maverick. Many of the other horses would clamor for her attention, but Maverick had intrigued her and she wanted to find out what was behind those silent eyes. She would spend long hours patiently sitting on a bale of hay next to his stall door, speaking softly to him and hoping to help him out of his depression. Sometimes she would not speak at all. She would just be there for him. Darla had only been involved with horses for about a year. She was still learning about their world, but she felt deep satisfaction in her newfound natural ability to work successfully with the equine psyche. However here in this environment, she was surrounded by people with years and years of experience with training horses. Feeling under-qualified to make any suggestions to trainers about his mood, Darla continued to work with Maverick by herself. Through the long winter, they began to learn each other’s language and Darla and her buddy Maverick had begun to develop a special bond. He was learning to trust a human.
Reno had been preparing all spring for his next race at Canterbury Park. His trainer was going to give him a shot at a race in June of 2008. Reno loaded into post position 6 in the starting gate, and when he broke, he shot to the lead. His jockey urged him hard from the start. He kept a pace battle going for the first three furlongs and fought back gamely against the other pacesetter several times to regain his lead. It was apparent that the strategy had been to try to ask him to go gate to wire. But midway through the race, Reno started faltering backwards in the field of six. His body lost all power and his gait changed profoundly. It was obvious that Reno was not right, but as thoroughbred horses do, he still tried to come around the corner as a contender. As he came down the stretch, his jockey finally relinquished, and eased him in the final furlong. He came across the finish line in last place and now he was also injured. The extended run had been too much for him. He had a career ending, severely bowed tendon in his front leg. Another blow for Reno.
But even darker days lay ahead for Darla’s friend.
Darla and her family had been spending some time together on Father’s Day afternoon at the stables. It was very quiet on the grounds that day because of the holiday. They were grooming their horses and going about her business at the stable, when suddenly they heard a noise from outside and saw a car that belonged to barn personnel tear off in a trail of dust though the parking lot. This kind of commotion was highly unusual at a stable that housed mainly high strung, thoroughbred racehorses. “Wonder what THAT was all about?’ she thought to herself. The property was large and there were other stables scattered about. “I wonder if there is an injured horse up at the other barns?” Something did not seem quite right to Darla and the mood was strange. She would soon find out why.
About a half an hour later, an odd looking, white, open aired horse trailer pulled up to the front door. No markings on the side of this trailer. Nothing to indicate a flashy stable logo with the usual luxurious traveling stalls meant for the horses of the sport of kings. This was a dirty and dusty trailer that had no loading ramp, and no dividers inside and very low sides. It seemed like nothing more than a giant version of a pick-up truck bed. Darla came outside to get a look at it.
Then the commotion started again. A stable hand appeared from the back of the barn pulling the lead on the limping and bewildered Reno. As they came outside into the sunlight and approached the trailer, the stable worker handed off the reins to a gruff trailer driver who began to handle Reno with little regard for his condition. This treatment was completely outside the norm to anything Darla and her family had ever witnessed. The horses on these grounds were always treated like royalty. This was something distinctly different.
In the light of day Darla now recognized that the increasingly upset horse was her friend Maverick. It seemed he knew the fate before him and he was terrified. She was horrified to see that he had become nothing but a chore for some driver to shove into the trailer and haul away. Reno did not understand how to load into this trailer that had no ramp. His front leg was failing him and in the struggle, he slipped and fell down as he was being forced to try to step up. To this handler, he was now simply a number on a shipping manifest that was bound for a feedlot.
It was in this moment, that thoroughbred racehorse Reno ceased to exist.
Maverick and Darla’s eyes met just as he had finally been able to get his front legs up onto the trailer. His back feet were still on the ground and his neck was stiff and craned forward. As he struggled to see over the sides of the trailer, he saw the woman that he had started to trust on those evenings in the barn. Maverick knew that it was his one and only chance to plead his case to someone that understood him. The look that Maverick gave to her during this struggle literally shook Darla to the core. ….the silent language in the eyes of the horse. Her eyes widened and she gasped for breath. The workers forced his hind quarters up and he now stood on the platform in the truck. Time stood still for Darla, but for Maverick, the door slammed shut and the trailer roared off down the road. Darla’s body felt paralyzed in the now deafening silence. Her friend was gone.
For the first time in her life, Darla had witnessed the realities of THE GAP. Not The Gap at the racetrack rail… but the Gap between life and death for an injured racehorse that no one wanted.
No one except Darla….
Next Journal Entry
Maverick
Part Two: “Return from the Precipice of the Gap”