If you are going to New York, the Museum of Natural Historyhas assembled a show that analyzes the origins of the horse, its biology and its impact on human culture and history all the way through to the modern sport horse. The show opens tomorrow and runs through January 4, 2009, so you have a little time.

The museum's website has a lot more information, a video presentation and pictures for those of us who may only be able to attend virtually, and this

And if you have been following the horses from the Carnation seizure, please keep little Lily in your thoughts today. She has been hospitalized at Pilchuck after running a fever for three days, in spite of treatment. They will be running comprehensive tests.

Her illness has sadly overshadowed the birth of her new herd mate at SAFE, yet to be officially named - Hope suprised everyone by foaling on Monday. He was a bit wobbly the first few days, but he clearly found his legs during his first turnout yesterday!

You can see a lot more of Jaime's pictures on the SAFE board.

Or so claim a number of sites on the internet.

When I looked into his history more closely, I discovered he actually was bred on a similar cross to that later popularized as the National Show Horse.

Mr. Ed was played on the popular 60's television series by a palomino registered as Bamboo Harvester, foaled in 1949 in El Monte, California. His sire was a palomino ASB named Harvester, and his dam a chestnut part-bred Arabian named Zetna Hara.

He was not the original Mr. Ed - the series took three years to sell from the initial pilot produced in 1957, which was based on short stories written by Walter Brooks. A second cast was later assembled and another pilot shot and presented to the Studebaker Corporation, who agreed to sponsor the show.

But they moved a little too slowly - the second pilot's star had been sold!

Trainer Lester Hilton, a one-time apprentice of Will Rogers who had worked on a series called Francis the Talking Mule, had less than a month before production of the series started. He found Bamboo Harvester on a farm in the San Fernando Valley. Fortunately he was a quick learner. He took only fifteen minutes to learn a scene, responding to voice commands.

Contrary to popular belief, it was not peanut butter that made him talk, it was a string placed between his upper lip and gum which he wiggled his lip to try and remove. Eventually the response became habitual - he would begin to talk whenever his human co-star, Allan Young finished his lines.

Like any serious star, he had a stand-in, Pumpkin, a palomino Quarter Horse who had a small spot in his blaze that had to be painted over with white.

The show was a hit and ran for six years. When it was cancelled midseason in 1966, Bamboo Harvester retired to Lester Hilton's farm and lived there until his death in 1968. He was a three time Patsy Award winner (Performing Animal Top Stars of the Year award given by the American Humane Association) - imagine the awards ceremony! The question is, did he make an acceptance speech?

Cedar, the mare surrendered to King County Animal control and accepted by SAFE in January, is progressing by leaps and bounds.

Allison has been riding her too in the last couple of weeks, helping polish her up for adoption. I had a rare opportunity to see them together... or rather, I coaxed Allison into riding in the rain so we could get some pictures.

Conditions weren't ideal, but I really wanted to confirm that Cedar's trot was as nice as it felt when I was riding her.

And her canter.

I'm just so impressed with Cedar. She is a powerhouse of a mare with a great work ethic, just looking for a job (with benefits, and merit increases, and the occasional day off - like maybe this Friday, when it is supposed to be nearly 90 degrees!).

If you can't get enough of this big boned gal, I'll be posting more pictures in her thread at the SAFE board.

For Jamie Thomas a new mustang is a gift to be unpackaged carefully. There are no instructions to follow, but every move that you make will build the foundation of the relationship.

When she went to pick up Monty, her Western States Mustang Challenge horse, in Sacramento, she ended up having to start that relationship on the road – her truck (that's the Durango part of Monty's official name) broke down in Redding, CA and she had to stay for a week at a local stables. This ended up to be another gift – the gift of time.

A trainer generally hesitates to say any horse is easy, as that just invites trouble, but the initial gentling process with Monty was rapid. He was accepting her touch on the first day. Monty comes from the Twin Peaks Herd Management Area on the border between Nevada and California. In the late nineteenth century, the range horses of mostly Spanish origins were "upgraded" by the release of Thoroughbred and Morgan stallions, among others, to increase their usefulness for the Army Remount service.

If the tattoo on his neck didn't advertise Monty's origins, I think most people would guess Morgan to be his breed. He is strong, but not drafty, not over-tall, but well proportioned and with a back that can carry. Most important of his Morgan-like characteristics is his trainability.

Monty is grazing on the lawn when I arrive. Jamie hands me the halter and lead rope and says "Go get him." Because all the competition Mustangs will up for auction at the end of the Expo in Sacramento, she wants make sure he is exposed to handling by different people.

From the first approach, I realize this is a horse comfortable in his own skin. After a hand sniff, he waits as I move to his shoulder and drops his head for the halter. No surprise that he leads to the trailer for grooming on a lose rope.

Since she participated in the first Extreme Mustang Challenge, Jamie has the advantage of experience this time around, which is good, as she hasn't had the luxury of too much training time in the last few weeks.

That is not reflected in her results that I can see. Monty loads and unloads steadily and with aplomb. He won't leave the trailer until he is cued – we could have sat down and sipped tea with him standing there had we chosen – but there is work to do.

Jamie has invited me to take a test ride – his eleventh time under saddle. Lest you be impressed with my bravery, he was ridden by a complete novice on his ninth ride... and all of them have been as uneventful as you would want.

First, though, Jamie puts me to work as her ground crew for some exercises where she needs help - carrying a tub, a bucket full of rocks, as well as dragging a pole. The competition will be built around similar tasks. They are also excellent trust building exercises – introducing new elements all the time teaches the horse to face and conquer fear without stressing him unduly.

Monty takes a good deep sniff of each new object, sometimes chooses to go backwards, but in each case he masters his apprehension and stay with Jamie. That pays off when she tries the same thing under saddle.

She can't predict exactly what the competition tasks will be, so the ability take cues from his handler even under stress is the most critical skill. At the Midwest Mustang Challenge in Madison, the house was packed was full with over eight thousand people – and that's not counting the other eight thousand they had to turn away under pressure from the Fire Department.

A crowd of eight thousand is difficult to find on demand, but Monty will be getting some exposure to new environments and lots of other horses. Jamie is taking him to a schooling show and as well as an event where me can meet some cows, another likely feature at the Expo.

By the time I take the reins, Monty has climbed bridges, backed through the L, trotted over poles, worn a tarp, and generally been put through his paces.

"Back him in a figure eight around the barrels." Jamie says. I take a light hold of the rope and lift slightly. He's right there with me. By looking at one haunch or another, I can control his hind end. I begin to see why large horses aren't used for horsemanship demos – if you can see over their back it gives you a huge advantage. Monty has an automatic transmission, carefully installed by Jamie, so even though I am only a fumbling beginner at horsemanship exercises, better on the theory than the practice, this one is a good confidence builder for me.

We back all the way around the arena, slow, fast, through the deeper sand, over the pole. I have to be careful not to over-cue him. Once he has the idea, he will stick with it until you stop.

So I get on without any trepidation, except for asking what to do with my left hand on a Western saddle. It's been a while since I rode in one. Finding the correct length stirrup length ends up being my biggest issue. Ultimately I just drop them. Monty's trot is so smooth that posting seems superfluous.

Monty is humbling. With no advantages except his wild smarts, he has surpassed many allegedly trained horses in attentiveness and willingness. Or perhaps I should say Jamie is humbling! I think I am going to set the bar a little higher for myself, for Willy and for Cedar. I'll have to think about what color of tarp will suit them best….

You can read more about Jamie's progress at her blog (link to the right). There are only 23 days to go until the competition.

When Cricket gave birth to Kayo, she was pretty excited. In fact, it was her throaty nickering amplified over the baby monitor that woke Julie. He was a fine looking fellow, but she would have felt the same no matter what.

In the first weeks, Cricket and Kayo had to tolerate a lot – Kayo had little plastic shoes glued on to his hind feet to support his lax tendons. Cricket became a little testy – in fact, she reacted to visitors by pinning her ears and lunging over the stall door.

It was Mitch who pointed out to me that she couldn't read your body language through the door – and in fact she was fine if you entered the stall (I suspect this insight came via Julie). I had never really thought about that – from the point of view of a stalled horse, we are talking heads.

Anyway, the shoes and the tendon issues meant staying in the foaling stall for over three weeks. Kayo did his best to exercise in the small area, but he also took plenty of naps.

So when a few hours of paddock turnout finally begain, there was a lot of stored up energy.

I do mean a lot. Kayo was a little hellion, and with his mother as his only playmate, she bore the brunt of his energy.

There were body slams...

And more.....

And kicks...

And nips....

All endured by Cricket over and over again. This is Kayo's routine. Every day.

Cricket still loves Kayo. I guess that's the point of Mother's Day. Who else would put up with all that?

The Key Classic Horse Show continues all weekend at the Evergreen State Fairgrounds. On Friday in less than half an hour I had a chance to see Morgans doing just about everything (Dressage was Thursday):

No eventing, though. I am off to help Amrita Ibold at the Mother's Day Classic in Rainier today. Gotta run.

This mark made by human hands is etched on Rhythm's face.

It stood for halter - a too-small halter left on too long, lack of handling, or the barbed wire that nearly sliced off his foot.

Now it has taken on a new meaning, also the work of human hands and hearts - healing.

It would be fun to watch him move anyway, even if it didn't reinforce just how marvelous that healing process is.

Julie thinks that the non-Saddlebred half of his pedigree could well be Arab, judging by his flat croup and high tailset, as well as his relatively short head. He does advertise his Saddlebred half pretty strongly though!

Even after all that running around his foot appears solid and he may have no scar at all.

For Rhythm's complete story, see the SAFE thread. He will be having a little "brain surgery" soon and once healed will be available for adoption.

A gray new day is dawning…. And I'm not done with yesterday yet. But here are some pictures.

Maid duty at SAFE is, well, a little repetitive, so when there's a chance to accomplish two things at once, like picking Phoenix and Sinatra's paddock and taking some "after" pictures of them, I seize it.

First things first – the old hay spread around from their "free choice" piles needs to be removed before it smothers the grass. This causes some concern from the boys – why am I taking away perfectly good food?

Having summoned them over, I use the moment to clip up Phoenix. With the two of them being joined at the hip, it is a challenge to get individual pictures. So leadline pictures seem the most likely to succeed.

Besides, I don't want Phoenix running around. His back leg is wrapped because of some swelling in his hock, which although it does not affect his movement, is an indicator of a probable sprain. The swelling shouldn't be left uncontrolled, because it can cause tissue damage, but neither should he be standing in a stall - moderate exercise is good.

By now Phoenix is used to the camera – and as his shaggy Yak coat disappears, I think he'll be seeing it even more. There are limitations, though, on what you can do with a short leadrope and a horse who hasn't learned any refined cues yet.

When Sinatra's turn comes and I try to get close on those baby blue eyes...

I risked one shot of that last pose. I don't want to see whether Phoenix has learned about leading by watching as well - it wouldn't surprise me! Once unclipped, of course they have to sort out who is REALLY the boss. So much for worrying about Phoenix's hock.

As I finish up, Val arrives to hose Phoenix and change his bandage. Boy, is she glad to see me there. She's been doing the bandage change in the stall, with Sinatra there – the only way to keep Phoenix calm. Trouble is, Sinatra thinks he should get some attention too, and tugs on Val's clothing and has even nipped her derriere. It's tough to do much to stop that when you are trying to maintain perfect tension on your wrap job.

That is a sign they are growing up fast. Colts in particular like to grab and touch with their mouths - like the rearing, it is practice stallion behavior. While mouthiness is considered a negative in a horse, if you are trying to trick-train it, it can be useful!

Here are some recent pictures of Kokomo, one of the young horses from the Carnation seizure.

I had mixed feelings about posting these, because he is no longer an ugly duckling, though he still has some of his duck feathers to shed. He's King of the Paddock, and really doesn't look like he needs anyone's sympathy!

But Kokomo still has a long way to go. There's a kind of neglect that doesn't show in a picture - the failure to teach a young horse to accept human leadership.

Don't get me wrong, he's come a long way from the day he had to be wrestled to the ground by the Animal Control officers. Thanks to the persistent efforts of Jaime Taft and everyone who handles him, he's no longer hard to catch.

Now, more often the problem is that he hard to get rid of. A curious colt, he wants to take grooming tools out of the bucket, play with the manure fork when you aren't using it and otherwise touch things humans control. Like a child, he is testing his place in the SAFE world. Unfortunately. Hope, is now heavily pregnant and on leave of absence from her professorial duties.

So after doing the maid chores, I have started to spend twenty minutes doing a little work with him. He won't learn manners by being yelled at when he misbehaves, but through positive steps that set him up for success and build his confidence. I am gradually learning some tools for doing this, tools that work even when you aren't a trainer or a magician. The horse will tell you when you are making sense to him.

Don't laugh at me if you have serious horsemanship experience! I am just taking baby steps, and I think I am still speaking Greek to Kokomo part of the time, or shouting when he only needs a whisper, but before I turned him loose in a big space, I wanted to be sure he would at least return to me after I took his halter off. Once he got the idea that I was only asking him to move his feet with me and not against me, things went pretty well. Whether that would carry over to the open field, with its distractions of grazing, and the cows that were mating in the pasture across the road, remained to be seen.

In fact, I had my doubts as he went through his paces unprompted, trotting and cantering for the camera like a trained professional. He even threw one perfect square conformation pose as he studied the action across the road. Modeling opportunities are limited for horses, but Kokomo could certainly be a contender.

I had one big advantage, though. He really didn't like being out without other horses. I was the best security he had in this situation, and when I lowered the lens, he came up, then aligned his shoulder to me.

He lowered his nose into the halter like an old pro.

There's still only a shaky foundation, but I began to think that Kokomo could be much more than just another pretty horse.

Last weekend I was lured into attending a Dennis Wright clinic with SAFE volunteer Met, and now I feel like I have even more tools... but that's another post. And thanks to Jamie Thomas, yesterday I got to test drive Monty, her Western States Mustang Challenge horse in training, and have raised expectations of what a light and responsive horse really is!

Yesterday Eight Belles, a seventeen hand dark grey thoroughbred filly, sprang from the gate and ran her heart out for second place in the Kentucky Derby.

She also ran her legs from underneath her, breaking the condylar bone where it meets the pastern, first on one side, then the other, driving the bone through the skin, and collapsed on the track while galloping out. Such an injury happens when muscles are tired and ligaments and tendons stretched - she had given everything and was now paying the price. The injury was devastating and she was quickly euthanized even before the winner was draped in roses.

It was nobody's fault - and everybody's - even mine for watching.

Five years ago, I was watching morning works on the Oklahoma track at Saratoga on a sunny August morning. A woman was leaning the rails next to me, scrutinizing a horse that flattened out and barreled towards us. Focusing on the horse, we missed the ocmmotion on the other side of the track until a siren went off The woman's head jerked away from the horse pulling up in front of us.

"Meat Wagon," she said as she glanced over at me, and her freckles grew vivid as she clenched her jaw tight.

The siren is the warning of a loose horse or a horse down on the track. The riders all pull up. Perhaps they are thinking, there but for the grace of god.... Not just horses but riders are hurt every day on the racetrack. It is a grin-and-bear-it reality of the industry - you just hope it doesn't happen to you.

If you can't take it, you get out. The woman's name was Holly, and she was a former exercise rider, still drawn to the racetrack by a single magnet, the horses. Holly had got tired of seeing it. Instead, she came to the track to reconnect with friends and look for prospects to retrain.

Fresh to racing, I was still caught by the charm of discovering a world which revolves entirely around the horse, a throwback to another era. If you are open to being beguiled by beautiful horses, Saratoga is the place to experience it. But I didn't forget our conversation. I think of her and all the others who work in racing for the horses, and quit because of the horses.

Yesterday, I felt like Holly. Maybe I cannot bear to watch any more.
Sure, horses get hurt in other sports, get used up and discarded or downgraded to what the racing industry terms a "pet" or are caused pain to produce extravagant movement, kept like hothouse flowers and exhibited like forced blooms, or ridden into the ground for two-year old futurities, but nowhere is the carnage even remotely close to that of racing, where the sums of money are greater than in any other equine industry.

Horses are inherently fragile, and thoroughbreds seem to delight in challenging their own vulnerability from birth onwards. If you give your heart to any horse, but most especially a race horse, you must accept this possibility.

Or, like Holly, pick up what fallen blossoms you can, muttering to yourself like a stooper, one of those shabby figures who arrive at the track after everyone leaves, sifting through discarded tickets looking for a winner.

I counted the number of breakdowns at Aqueduct one year and tried to correlate them to something, anything, but it had no single factor, no magic button that you could press to protect a horse. The price of the relentless pursuit of speed is sometimes death. It eats at everyone at the track, from the dark comments of a woman in the racing office about the number of amazing two year old, to the owner of a homebred who is to be retired and then breaks down in her last race.

You can blame the trainer, the jockey, the track, the breeder, medications, the handicappers on down to the casual spectators just having a flutter. You can go back to Colonial times and curse the English for bringing their mad sport to America. You can swear at the practice of running on a dirt oval, the conversion of racing to a year round sport, the two year old in training sales, where young horses sprint at breakneck speed, or television and on-line betting, even the racinos that have breathed artificial life into the sport.

It is even debatable who we should be more troubled by - Big Brown, who won the race with amazing grace on crappy feet and will now sire another generation of thoroughbreds with crappy feet, and maybe a few with enough speed to make the nursing along of their poor feet worth it - or Eight Belles, oversized daughter of an oversized sire who carries the legendary weak ankles of Raise a Native. The large ones are gorgeous but the little ones live longer.

I love thoroughbreds, and on a good day I even love to watch racing, but today I am just sad.