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.

The Kathryn Taylor Equestrian Park opened April 5th, right in the heart of one of Redmond's fasted growing neighborhoods. The land set aside for the park was negotiated as part of the concessions made by the developers of the Trilogy housing project. Last year, the King County Council voted to name it in memory of Kathryn Taylor, who spent many years fighting to keep equestrian trails open in an increasingly urbanized East Side. The park will be maintained by the King County Parks Department.

The facilities include a large (100' x 200') sand arena and a sixty-foot round pen with gravel footing, ample parking with room to turn a trailer and access to the Tolt Pipeline trail. There are no sanitary facilities or water that I saw.

There was no-one around when I stopped by on a mid-week afternoon, but the arena has obviously been used, as a track is developing. The footing is fairly deep in the arena. There is a concrete mounting block outside the arena, but the gate will test your skills if you want to open and close it from horseback.