Note: Lauren originally wrote this before Rolex, but due to overwhelming event coverage since then, this article got pushed back a bit. Thanks as always to Lauren Nethery for sharing her tales from the track and OTTB pursuits!
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Freeport Bay, aka Porter.
From Lauren:
It is often said, especially in the southern half of these United States, that there is ‘more than one way to skin a cat.’ After some extensive googling, it seems that not only are there not many similar saying that convey the same meaning but that the origins of the phrase have more to do with a gymnastics trick than with the act of rendering some poor kitty pelt-less. Bearing these things in mind, I think it appropriate that, here in our vast Nation of Eventers, we coin replace this atrociously visual phrase with the more pleasing “There’s more than one way to capture an OTTB.” What ways? Capture? Huh?
Well, you see, here in Kentucky we don’t always do things by the book and during a recent jaunt to a racetrack (Beulah) in the neighboring state of OOOOO-HIIIII-OOOOO, the Alison Wilaby and Lauren Nethery Dynamic Duo descended upon the unsuspecting Beulah trainer population, intent on acquiring yet ANOTHER OTTB for Ali’s ever-growing collection. There was laughing, there was a little bit of light-hearted crying, and we came home with a brand-spanking-new OTTB named Freeport Bay (Race Record Here. Pedigree Here.) Enjoy this cautionary tale of OTTB obsession, EN readers, and don’t ever ask me to go OTTB shopping with you if you aren’t reallllly sold on buying one. Because you will. Every time.
Beulah, located in the quaint little village of Grove City, is give or take 3 hours North of Lexington. If you’re running way late and trying to make a horse race, it’s really only two and a half. On a balmy Wednesday, I blazed the highways towards the track for the second time in a month. Just three weeks before, one of my racehorses had won her first race (racetrack lingo: broke her maiden) in the mud (rt lingo: slop) by 8 and a ¼ length and we were back out for easy money. In a moment of weakness, Ali had taken a day off work to accompany and shop for another horse (didn’t she just acquire one? Yes! But two is almost always better than one!) and I was happy to enable her, gorge myself on the box of Applejack’s she brought, and laugh about boys (human and horse alike).
We arrived at Beulah on a wing and a prayer, not really sure how many horses we were actually going to be able to look at because it seems that between cell phone cover, language barriers, and a middle-of-the-week afternoon race, there weren’t all that many people around just dying to throw horses on our trailer. Shocking really. We are normally inundated with prospects but, ever the optimists, we did not let this dampen our spirits! The first order of business, however, was running my filly. We squared that away in short order with a disappointing 5th place after she cavorted around the paddock like an orangutan on a murderous rampage, basically a loose horse, and didn’t slow down or speed up once leaving the gate (racetrack lingo: ran even without any closing kick) and returned to my truck to head to the barns (rt lingo: backside) in search of Ali’s next big star and a brother for Myles.
Here, it is worth mentioning for comic value that a well-meaning, adorable, dedicated love interest came to the races without my knowledge and left a note on my truck announcing his presence while wishing me better luck next time. Here I was thinking that I was getting in trouble AGAIN for parking my truck and trailer in an illegal location when, in fact, a guy whose heart I had won was just trying to be supportive without interfering (when I had mentioned I was running close to his hometown he had offered to come but I had respectfully declined due to the many obligations that race day for a trainer and OTTB shopping entail. His plan B was to be supportive anyway in an unobtrusive manner as described above).
Upon retrieving the note beneath my wiper, which said something to the effect of “tough race (insert pet name here), you’ll get ‘em next time, catch up with you later – you know who,” and reading it aloud to Ali, she might have been just a little freaked out that we were being watched without our knowledge and might have had some choice words that suggested a restraining order be acquired. However, after talking things over with the one and only, ever-sensible, best-guy-ever John Thier, she was placated and I was really just bemused throughout the whole thing so we moved on to horse shopping while I grinned a little bit when she wasn’t looking.
We looked at a few horses that really just didn’t suit us and, one by one, the races came and went. By the time the last two races of the day (rt lingo: on the card) came around, we (Ali) were (was) getting a little desperate. Standing by my filly’s stall while she stuffed her face with straw in preparation for the jaunt home, a lovely stamp of a horse sauntered by getting ready for the last race and, in a comical turn of events, we went into full out stalker mode. Long story short, we started asking questions, watched the horse run, asked the trainer to jog him for us after he cooled out from his race and decided then and there that he simply must come home with us. He floated across the ground like there were little cherubs on the bulbs of his heels, he had the kindest eye we had seen in a weeks, and was GIANT without being a big oaf.
Apparently, somewhere between the interrogation of the trainer and the jogging, our wires criss-crossed every which way and when we said we would take him, she looked as us as though we had three heads. She all but said “Hell to the no I’m not putting my horse on some stranger’s trailer! You people aren’t even offering me cash in hand!” However, we are two of the most persuasive people in the tri-state area and, after convincing her there are goal was not to horsenap her beautiful beast and gallivant off into the wild blue yonder never to be seen or heard from again, she reluctantly handed over the shank and we took him home with us that very evening.
Since then, he has vetted well, actually been paid for, and have been enjoying keeping his little brother Myles on his toes (and their pet mini horse Rocket). So, dearest EN readers, the moral of the story is this: There is more than one way to capture an OTTB! Go EVENTING, and don’t forget to send me more OTTB conformation pictures for the upcoming feature of YOUR horses!
