Horse Racing=Blood Sport

So--I love horse racing as much, maybe more, than the next person. I grew up going to the track at the Alameda Fair Grounds with my grandfather. It was a time for just the two of us, the two mavericks, the two gamblers. I loved everything about it: the anticipation of the race, watching the majestic horses pound down the track, eating sticky pink popcorn and drinking cool lemonade in the grandstand, maneuvering through the crowds while gripping tightly to my grandfather's hand so I wouldn't get lost. But, my favorite thing about going to the race track was that I got to pick out horses and my grandfather would place bets for me. Of course I would choose them based on their names, but I would win most of the time. I'm not sure if it was the thrill of free money or the fact my grandpa was letting me into a world I knew eight year olds weren't supposed to dabble in, but I was captivated, hooked! I would later watch horse racing on television, calculating statistics on which positions, jockeys, and names tended to win more. I can still picture the sheets and sheets of yellow legal pad paper filled with my scribbles. I would also watch the Kentucky Derby religiously. I couldn't wait for the first Saturday in May! The elegance, the Americana, the mint juleps, the hats, but most of all the horses! The perfect specimens of muscle and speed and grace. I stopped watching horse racing when I saw a horse go down for the first time. I can remember it perfectly: the horse flipped forward with the jockey still on top. I shocked me. It devastated me. I cried all night. I love animals, always have, and this was too much to witness. I kept watching the derby and the triple crown races, indulging in my gulity pleasure. The incident with Barbaro, however, brought back all those memories of witnessing the horse go down when I was so young. All of the same emotions flooded me: guilt, shock, pain, confusion. I couldn't understand I how could support a sport where these poor horses are stretched so far just so a few humans can make unbelievable amounts of money off them. Yes, I know these horses live like royalty; but still, there is something undeniably sinister and wrong about the whole spectacle. I mean, does a vegetarian eat Kobe beef..no! Yesterday was Derby Day, and I, like many people across the world, was watching t.v. all day in anticipation of the great race. Big Brown, the favorite won, but tragedy struck. The first filly to race the derby in nine years, Eight Belles, broke both her front ankles and had to be euthanized on the track. This beautiful dark grey horse pushed herself to her limits for her owners, for the jockey, for the crowd, and, ultimately lost her life for it. She came in second, and I can only imagine the scenario if she had won first place! It is all very Jack London, White Fang, like poetry. But, sad, very sad poetry. I wrote this blog because I feel there needs to be positive changes to the sport of horse racing to protect these creatures. When I was young, horses did not get as hurt as they seem to now. I am not sure if it is the drugs or the tracks, but something has altered for the worse. It is like the world now: not as innocent. Big Brown might win the triple crown. I might not watch. One filly down cannot stop the stampede. Yet, we can remember and we can try to change. RIP Eight Belles.