Life with Rosie

by Helen Thomas

  Those still in the paddock tend to look exactly the way they should: scruffy, roly-poly youngsters if the grass is lush and high; gangly and rakish if their natural source of food is in short supply. This means they can’t grow as quickly, or develop in the same way as yearlings in early training. Nor do they get a chance to interact with humans as much; in fact, they don’t know anything about life beyond their paddock. Nevertheless, they can eventually catch up and go racing, and some can turn out to be top-line performers, despite their slower start to life on the track.

  Both approaches make sense; both come at a price. The slow grow in the paddock is obviously the cheaper option, at least in the short term, especially if you own that paddock. But while a young horse’s early preparation costs quite a lot of money—around the $40 a day mark, for at least four to six weeks—an extra year in the paddock at this stage of development can end up costing more in the long term of the potential performance of the horse.

  Without the daily feed regimen a youngster’s constitution isn’t as advanced, because it doesn’t have the benefit of disciplined daily exercise and their overall skeletal and bone development is not as strong. They certainly aren’t as well adapted to stable life, and there is always the chance of an accident occurring in the paddock, as they move around freely all day, every day, without regular supervision.

  And it stands to reason that most horses who get to the races early in their careers are also mentally tougher than their counterparts still in the paddock. Since the time they were weaned, they have been put through their paces, physically and mentally, as they learned how to work with humans. This is seen to be an advantage from the time they set foot on a racecourse.

  But mental toughness is one trait, at least, I knew Rosie possessed from the outset and could be capitalised on. Even as a newborn, no more than 15 minutes old, she was squaring up to the world, keen to meet it head-on; toey, yet never flighty or fearful, curious and quite cagey. In the end, it was the filly’s independence that helped me reach a decision about her future.

  This sense of character also brought about its own series of problems. By the time she was weaned from her mother in late autumn 2008, it was apparent her natural determination could also be described as pig-headed, a definite unwillingness to do things any way but hers.

  Even at seven months of age, when she was separated from Poetic Waters, Rosie believed she knew best. While she accepted the small halter that was carefully fitted on her head, the next step at school—a lead rope being clipped to the halter, underneath her chin—was an affront, a clear attack on her independence and almost a bridge too far. This meant she and her close friend Roxie were forced to spend a little extra time than usual in the small yards on the farm, with their short ropes dangling from their halters, to get the bay filly to accept the concept. The chestnut filly, born a week or two before Rosie, was also much better humoured, in terms of learning the basics. The daughter of Diane’s big bay mare Elsie, this yearling was as short and compact as Rosie was lean and long. The closest of friends now, they will probably never meet on the racetrack, destined to be a short course sprinter and miler respectively.

  ‘She’s a vixen,’ Diane, the farm manager, would say, her voice rising ever so slightly as she recounted the latest of Rosie’s escapades that had taken place during the week while I was at work in the city.

  This could involve silly pranks like knocking over water buckets several times a day, or wheeling around the yard, rope dangling beneath her feet, as if being chased by an invisible assailant, to more serious offences like deliberately trying to kick Diane (or whoever was handling her) or nipping the farrier who arrived on the scene a month or two later, to ensure both weanlings adjusted to the routine of having their hooves trimmed. While horseshoes were a year away, getting used to having their feet handled like this was important.

  And even I could see that Rosie did possess a rather feisty approach to life. Always the first horse to walk towards you in the paddock, the one with the cheerful whinny, she was also the only one to pin her ears flat back on her head and walk away once she decided she had socialised enough. A quick parting nip was often on the cards for good measure, another reminder of who had the upper hand. She was not a cute, playful little thing, so intervention was probably a critical key to make sure we unlocked her potential.

  Then again, maybe she should grow up, and out, at her leisure in the paddock at home, just relax into herself and mellow out? There was a certain poetic cadence to the concept, and I had long believed, in theory, that it was the best way to go, the kinder approach to growing a racehorse.

  With this filly I wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 4

  Talking with The Master

  The two young horses I had bred before, and kept, had been forced out of any early preparations.

  The first, Rosie’s half-sister Swirl—who raced as Miss Unexpected—had lacked a constitution robust enough to handle an early preparation, or prep. She had to catch up physically before tackling any kind of training regimen.

  The second, the fourteenth foal of Express, had gone lame when he was being broken in on his way to the yearling sales and the vet’s subsequent X-rays discovered he had significant bone deficiencies on both stifles, the joint in the hindquarters that is the equivalent joint to the human knee. Known as OCD (osteochondritis) this condition is one all breeders fear, especially those hoping to sell a young horse, as they can indicate serious bone disorders or more developmental orthopaedic problems that take time to correct. At yearling sales, given all X-rays are publicly available, the bigger the OCD usually means the less chance there is of finding a buyer willing to take a chance the youngster will outgrow it. No matter how strong the pedigree, the risk is too great.

  In the case of the lovely chestnut colt the old mare delivered on Remembrance Day 2004—more than living up to her part of our bargain—the issue was really about bone density, or lack of it, at two specific points in two important load-bearing joints. The X-rays showed that parts of these bones, no larger than 20-cent pieces, had simply not calcified properly. This was surprising, not only because his mother was so sound; his half-sister, the little foal at foot I had acquired in the ‘two for one’ deal with Express, was also strong and hardy. Racing as One Love, but nicknamed Mouse, she had put her hoof through a fence while still a yearling at Timor Creek, an injury that eventually forced her retirement from the track. At the time, her trainer said she was the toughest filly he had ever had in his stable. So this yearling nicknamed Newsboy hailed from solid stock.

  The Hunter Valley-based equine specialist I was advised to consult could not explain why he had this condition—perhaps it was a result of two older horses mating, he mused, or maybe it was just the bad luck of the draw—but the plan to sell the yearling was shelved. In fact, after an expensive course of cortisone did nothing at all to improve the larger of these lesions, the only thing left to try to get the young horse ready to race was enforced paddock rest.

  So Newsboy was gelded and came home to spend the next 12 months racing round the paddock at Picayune Farm. Eager as he was to share the same paddock as his mother and the older mares, his two companions were two female donkeys, until he became too rambunctious for them and even the blacksmith to handle—and new scans revealed the bone deficiencies had healed.

  Yet both these young horses eventually made it to the racetrack, which meant I had reason to have some faith in the slow grow method, having seen what a little rest and natural development achieved.

  But any thought of taking Rosie home to a paddock to canter freely around on her own once she reached her first birthday (yearling status) quickly vanished as it became apparent that this filly needed a firm hand to encourage and educate, if she was to amount to anything.

  Constant supervision was the phrase that leapt to mind whenever I saw her, so she stayed on the farm on which she was born—which also guaranteed that she continued to be fed twice a day to boost her growth cycle an
d gave me more time to map out a detailed plan for her future.

  Making this decision came about slowly as I weighed up the various theories. But I reached it a month or so after her first birthday on 1 August, after an intriguing conversation with master trainer Bart Cummings.

  Long renowned as Australia’s Cups King, with 11 Melbourne Cup victories to his name and a ‘baker’s dozen’ still in his sights, I am interviewing Bart Cummings about his wonderful galloper Saintly when the conversation turns to horses more generally and, eventually, my yearling. He asks what I am doing with her, selling or racing? ‘Racing,’ I reply.

  ‘And where is she now?’ he asks.

  Amazed he is even the slightest bit interested in the welfare of such a humble home-bred, a youngster he had never seen and was unlikely to have anything to do with, I outline Rosie’s scenario to the great horseman. Having taken his best-known piece of advice—‘Patience is the cheapest thing in racing’—to heart years before, I go through my current thinking, confident he would approve: as she wasn’t bred to be a speedy two year old, she should probably stay in the paddock as long as possible, perhaps until she was two.

  ‘Who’s she by?’ The Master inquires.

  I rattle off her pedigree, explaining that her mother was a Yeats mare, her young sire was King of Roses, a horse most had never heard of.

  But I should have known better than to underestimate Bart Cummings’ knowledge of Australia’s thoroughbred breeding scene. No one who’s trained 259 Group One winners as he has over seven decades loses sight of what’s going on in a world he’s actually helped shape.

  ‘From memory, that King of Roses comes from a very good family,’ the 80 year old muses, a small smile playing on his lips as his well-known gift of sardonic understatement gently put me in my place.

  So sharp is Cummings’ insight into equine lineage, he knows that Risen Star was King of Roses’ dam’s sire, himself a son of the great Secretariat. Naturally he needs no prompting about Spirit of Kingston.

  ‘What are you going to call her?’ he asks, eyes twinkling, genuinely animated. He even starts thinking up names for Spirit’s great-grand-daughter.

  Wordplay is one of the things Bart Cummings enjoys, I remember, thinking back to the fun he had years before, coming up with possibilities for a young horse by the challengingly named sire Belong To Me. Happily, I had just started thinking of official race names for the filly on the long drives to and from the farm, and Rose Aqua was at the top of the list. But it didn’t come close to making the grade with the man who’s probably named thousands of horses, many of them inspired concoctions of equine grace and strength. Saintly was a classic example, a simple, yet perfect, moniker for the son of the mare All Grace and the sire Sky Chase.

  ‘Holy Water, that’s more like it,’ he declares. ‘Perfect with the mum and all.’

  ‘No way,’ I laugh, shaking my head. ‘It’s too Catholic for this girl.’

  I look around Bart Cummings’ office, and see the photo of the golden Saintly in pride of place on a wall not far from the trainer’s desk. A sense of wonder comes over me.

  I confess to Bart Cummings that my game plan for Rosie is incomplete, due to my confusion about which was the best way to go with a yearling who has no real commercial value and, theoretically, no real chance of becoming an early two year old.

  ‘How do you know?’ Bart Cummings asks. ‘She doesn’t know about any of that.’

  I gaze at him across the desk. He’s right, but what does that mean in terms of the path Rosie should take? This is the point all owner/breeders reach at some stage as they map out a plan for the youngsters they have bred. In a sense, it all comes down to this moment, as the path you determine fashions not just your horse’s future, but your own. And here I was sitting with Australia’s undisputed training genius quizzing me about my equine direction.

  The blindingly obvious suddenly hits me. Perhaps Australia’s Cups King wouldn’t mind telling me the best way forward, shed a little light on the tantalising mystery he continues to solve with the young horses he bought or bred himself at his beautiful Princes Farm at the foothills of the NSW Blue Mountains?

  ‘Well, whatever you do, you have to keep feeding the filly,’ he says, smiling broadly. ‘She’s not a tree, you know. You can’t just plant her in the paddock.’

  She’s not a tree? Again, I laugh out loud, even though the master trainer is absolutely serious. But what about being patient, just letting her grow?

  ‘Yes, that’s all fair enough,’ he replies, with a raise of his famous eyebrows. ‘But you have to keep the feed up to her. She won’t do well just eating grass and grass alone. I have a special yearling mix you can have a look at; all the good things are in it. Just give Selena a call at the farm and ask her for the list.’

  A special yearling mix! With all the good things in it! Of course Australia’s premier horse conditioner would be supplementing his yearlings’ development in the paddock, especially those lucky enough to be growing up on his own farm.

  ‘Horse heaven’ is how he often describes the property that he bought decades ago, only to have to sell it to his most loyal and successful client, Dato Tan Chin Nam, at a time of great financial strain. But once on his feet again, he bought the farm back.

  So it is the feed mix that is the beginning of the sculpting of the unmistakable ‘Bart look’, as racing commentators describe it, the idiosyncratic roundness and strength that even non-experts can see in his horses when they step into the mounting yard at the races. It stands to reason that grass alone cannot do that, even the best and lushest grass in the world.

  As he speaks, the old trainer pulls out a sales brochure from one of Australia’s leading equine feed companies and starts running through the product list until he finds their yearling preparation, which he says is highly effective in promoting early muscle development. Apparently one ingredient is vital and I make a silent note to research it as soon as I get home.

  ‘But how long should she stay in the paddock?’ I plough on, determined to coax some kind of timeframe from him, a mental map I can start working with. ‘When should she be starting her preparation?’

  ‘Keep her eating,’ he replies. ‘And bring her here next August.’

  I almost burst out laughing again at the thought of Rosie walking into Bart Cummings’ stable in 11 months time. Even with all those months to grow into herself, even if somehow I could arrange the feeding regimen he is advising, my filly will not be able to take her place with the other youngsters who would already be ensconced in the idyllic stable complex next to Randwick Racecourse for one simple reason—her owner (or group of owners as the case will hopefully be by then) won’t be able to afford it. At a set training fee of around $90 a day, Leilani Lodge—his world famous stable—is a little out of our league.

  Still, leaving his office, product brochure in hand, I know I have just learned something crucial. To paraphrase The Master, young horses aren’t trees, and they need more than just time in a paddock to grow and mature. As I head for the door, Bart Cummings’ stable manager Bill Charles looks up from his desk.

  ‘You’d better give Selena a ring,’ he says with a smile. ‘Get some of that good stuff into that filly of yours.’

  I assure him I will.

  Later in the day I price the yearling feed mix and realise that following the legendary trainer’s feeding regimen is not going to be financially possible to maintain with only two yearlings.

  Then again, I reason, we can certainly supplement their daily feed with the core ingredient Bart Cummings believes is crucial. For the next couple of months the magic ingredient is mixed into their meals once a day.

  The conversation with the maestro has convinced me of an even more important point: Rosie must be broken in and prepped up like all the other yearlings around the country heading to the sale yards. This will ensure she is physically and mentally on par with her peers, and ready to tackle a proper training preparation as a two year old.


  Having reached this big decision, all I have to do is work out how to put this plan into action. Should I send her up to the rolling hills of Timor Creek in the Hunter Valley for her initial education, or down to a farm in Victoria? Both facilities are set up to educate and condition young horses and are highly respected in this work. It is another difficult decision, yet one I have to make soon if she is to catch the first wave of yearling graduates.

  Chapter 5

  Growing up

  Just as I start to work out this next step, just before I ring Bart Cummings’ farm manager to talk over that special yearling mix he has offered, at least to have a look at it, real life intrudes on the equine fantasy.

  My father becomes very ill when the prostate cancer he believed he had beaten returns in virulent form. Even worse is that the initial course of chemotherapy affects him so badly he has been hospitalised, just four days after it was administered.

  I fly down to Melbourne to help in whatever way I can, making sure I am there for the doctor’s early morning rounds, to ensure the family knows exactly what the latest prognosis and plans are. I spend hours just sitting with Dad in his hospital room, filling him in on the latest news from home, sharing the daily word puzzle in the morning paper, and ducking out every now and then to get him a fruit smoothie from the local juice bar.

  I also tell him endless horse stories from the farm and the track, more to distract him from his immediate ordeal than anything, as he has no real interest in racing beyond an annual punt in the Melbourne Cup. A Newcastle boy, born and bred, a man of active faith and grace, he has always been a rock of support for my two brothers and me. Though my parents live in Mount Martha on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula, he and Mum have visited the farm a couple of times and he remembers it well … although he often wonders if I will ever be able to afford to build a house there that they can stay in next time. He also knows my foundation mares—Poetic Waters and Express—and is happy to hear how Rosie’s going, my tales of equine escapades helping him smile.