Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Horse's Prayer
To Thee Master I offer my prayer; feed me, water and care for me, and when the day's work is done, provide me with shelter, a clean dry bed, and a stall wide enough for me to lie down in comfort.
Always be kind to me. Talk to me, for your voice often means as much tome as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you more gladly and learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going uphill. Never strike, beat or kick me when I do not understand what you want, but give me a chance to understand you. Watch me; and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something is wrong with my harness or feet.
I cannot tell you when I am thirsty so give me clean, cool water often. I cannot tell you in words when I am sick, so watch me, that by signs you may know my condition. Give me all possible shelter from the hot sun, and put a blanket on me, not when I am working, but when standing in the cold. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holding it a moment in your hands.
I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and wait patiently for you long hours of the day or night. Without the power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes fall on the hard pavements which I have often prayed might be of such a nature as to give me a safe and sure footing. Remember that I must be ready at any moment to lose my life in your service.
And finally, O Master, when my useful strength is gone, do not turn me out to starve or freeze, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured or starved to death; but do thou, my Master, take my life in the kindest way. And your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent if I ask this in the name of Him who was born in a stable.
Amen
~ anonymous
Always be kind to me. Talk to me, for your voice often means as much tome as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you more gladly and learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going uphill. Never strike, beat or kick me when I do not understand what you want, but give me a chance to understand you. Watch me; and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something is wrong with my harness or feet.
I cannot tell you when I am thirsty so give me clean, cool water often. I cannot tell you in words when I am sick, so watch me, that by signs you may know my condition. Give me all possible shelter from the hot sun, and put a blanket on me, not when I am working, but when standing in the cold. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holding it a moment in your hands.
I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and wait patiently for you long hours of the day or night. Without the power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes fall on the hard pavements which I have often prayed might be of such a nature as to give me a safe and sure footing. Remember that I must be ready at any moment to lose my life in your service.
And finally, O Master, when my useful strength is gone, do not turn me out to starve or freeze, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured or starved to death; but do thou, my Master, take my life in the kindest way. And your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent if I ask this in the name of Him who was born in a stable.
Amen
~ anonymous
BARBARO: Champion Of Hope ~ By Derek Granger
First Saturday in May, a charge fills the air,
In Kentucky they gather, a most splendid affair.
The Run for the Roses, mere hours away,
As twenty colts vie to be champion this day.
Some colts seem anxious, aware of the task,
Some balk and some bray, while some seem to bask.
But asleep in his paddock, a champion sublime,
The unconcerned Barbaro, enjoys some peacetime.
As post time draws near, and the horses are saddled,
The once sleeping Barbaro, appears to be rattled.
He starts to act up, his groom works to console,
In a moment the horse is brought under control.
The Post Parade finished, they load at the gate,
The unbeaten Barbaro wears number eight.
With seven to left, and eleven to right,
The start gates crash open, twenty youngsters take flight.
The front stretch is blazed in the blink of an eye,
One-hundred thousand faithful watch them rush by.
The field rounds the turn, down the backstretch they bound,
Halfway to the roses, halfway to the Crown!
Five furlongs cleared, and the noise starts to churn,
Moving faster and faster into the far turn.
The crowd starts to rise like a wave on the sea,
Which colt will move up, which one will it be?
Around the last turn and they charge into sight,
One horse pulls ahead, and seems up to the fight.
A thundering bay is now leading the field,
Digging in like a steam shovel, a champion revealed!
His rider has no need to go to the whip,
This magical colt has run his perfect trip.
The others are fading, as if they all know,
Today there's no way they can catch Barbaro!
The bay locomotive explodes to the line,
The next best has slipped seven full lengths behind!
A deafening roar now erupts from the fans,
Who all sense the magic they've watched from the stands.
A Derby performance unseen sixty years,
Has rekindled dreams that bring many to tears.
Twenty-eight years since the crown has been worn,
Twenty-eight years of dreams tattered and torn.
Nineteen brave contenders have given their all,
And nineteen contenders have taken a fall,
But now there is one for whom destiny waits,
In a blanket of roses, it's Barbaro the Great!
For weeks people speak of him breaking the drought,
His romp to the roses leaves little to doubt.
The shadow of Slew, of Big Red and Affirmed,
Will finally give way to perfection confirmed.
The Pimilico track is awash in the glow,
In the paddock sits larger-than- life Barbaro.
The undercard races tick down like a clock,
As the Preakness approaches the faithful take stock.
He's led from the paddock and joins the parade,
As thousands anticipate history made.
The gates are all loaded and all that remains,
Is a mile and sixteenth, and a seventh field tamed.
With millions now watching, a cruel twist of fate,
A single bay colt breaks alone from the gate.
An audible gasp echoes over the track,
As his rider fights hard just to hold the horse back.
To the amazement of all, the fortunes have changed,
For the great Champion Barbaro, and his fate prearranged.
He's led back around, and again loads the gate,
Can this champion regroup from a tragic mistake?
The gates are flung opened, they bolt down the track,
Barbaro breaks cleanly, and he's running mid-pack!
There's hope after all for this champion renowned,
To reel them all in before shutting them down!
But another groan rings out, with cries of despair,
Barbaro has pulled up, and dread fills the air.
With his right hind leg shattered, he struggles to run,
The pack draws away quickly, the dream is undone.
Six races finished, and six races won,
His only defeat, in a race never run.
But now a new challenge, a new field of strife,
Confronts this bold champion: a race for his life.
With the prayers of the faithful, and the odds stacked against,
His crestfallen owners spare no expense.
For his chance to survive this disastrous blow,
The New Bolton doctors do all that they know.
For eight months he battles through every travail,
As millions hold hope that he'll somehow prevail.
This horse with no rival upon the racetrack,
Continues to carry such hope on his back!
But every great champion faces the day,
When no more contenders stand in their way.
When no more mountains, exist for to move,
When finally, at last, there is nothing to prove.
With all of his races on earth finally done,
This bold, gallant hero continues to run.
With Big Red, Slew and Affirmed by his side,
His legacy: Hope! Barbaro did provide.
~ by Derek Granger 1/30/07
In Kentucky they gather, a most splendid affair.
The Run for the Roses, mere hours away,
As twenty colts vie to be champion this day.
Some colts seem anxious, aware of the task,
Some balk and some bray, while some seem to bask.
But asleep in his paddock, a champion sublime,
The unconcerned Barbaro, enjoys some peacetime.
As post time draws near, and the horses are saddled,
The once sleeping Barbaro, appears to be rattled.
He starts to act up, his groom works to console,
In a moment the horse is brought under control.
The Post Parade finished, they load at the gate,
The unbeaten Barbaro wears number eight.
With seven to left, and eleven to right,
The start gates crash open, twenty youngsters take flight.
The front stretch is blazed in the blink of an eye,
One-hundred thousand faithful watch them rush by.
The field rounds the turn, down the backstretch they bound,
Halfway to the roses, halfway to the Crown!
Five furlongs cleared, and the noise starts to churn,
Moving faster and faster into the far turn.
The crowd starts to rise like a wave on the sea,
Which colt will move up, which one will it be?
Around the last turn and they charge into sight,
One horse pulls ahead, and seems up to the fight.
A thundering bay is now leading the field,
Digging in like a steam shovel, a champion revealed!
His rider has no need to go to the whip,
This magical colt has run his perfect trip.
The others are fading, as if they all know,
Today there's no way they can catch Barbaro!
The bay locomotive explodes to the line,
The next best has slipped seven full lengths behind!
A deafening roar now erupts from the fans,
Who all sense the magic they've watched from the stands.
A Derby performance unseen sixty years,
Has rekindled dreams that bring many to tears.
Twenty-eight years since the crown has been worn,
Twenty-eight years of dreams tattered and torn.
Nineteen brave contenders have given their all,
And nineteen contenders have taken a fall,
But now there is one for whom destiny waits,
In a blanket of roses, it's Barbaro the Great!
For weeks people speak of him breaking the drought,
His romp to the roses leaves little to doubt.
The shadow of Slew, of Big Red and Affirmed,
Will finally give way to perfection confirmed.
The Pimilico track is awash in the glow,
In the paddock sits larger-than- life Barbaro.
The undercard races tick down like a clock,
As the Preakness approaches the faithful take stock.
He's led from the paddock and joins the parade,
As thousands anticipate history made.
The gates are all loaded and all that remains,
Is a mile and sixteenth, and a seventh field tamed.
With millions now watching, a cruel twist of fate,
A single bay colt breaks alone from the gate.
An audible gasp echoes over the track,
As his rider fights hard just to hold the horse back.
To the amazement of all, the fortunes have changed,
For the great Champion Barbaro, and his fate prearranged.
He's led back around, and again loads the gate,
Can this champion regroup from a tragic mistake?
The gates are flung opened, they bolt down the track,
Barbaro breaks cleanly, and he's running mid-pack!
There's hope after all for this champion renowned,
To reel them all in before shutting them down!
But another groan rings out, with cries of despair,
Barbaro has pulled up, and dread fills the air.
With his right hind leg shattered, he struggles to run,
The pack draws away quickly, the dream is undone.
Six races finished, and six races won,
His only defeat, in a race never run.
But now a new challenge, a new field of strife,
Confronts this bold champion: a race for his life.
With the prayers of the faithful, and the odds stacked against,
His crestfallen owners spare no expense.
For his chance to survive this disastrous blow,
The New Bolton doctors do all that they know.
For eight months he battles through every travail,
As millions hold hope that he'll somehow prevail.
This horse with no rival upon the racetrack,
Continues to carry such hope on his back!
But every great champion faces the day,
When no more contenders stand in their way.
When no more mountains, exist for to move,
When finally, at last, there is nothing to prove.
With all of his races on earth finally done,
This bold, gallant hero continues to run.
With Big Red, Slew and Affirmed by his side,
His legacy: Hope! Barbaro did provide.
~ by Derek Granger 1/30/07
How many horses does it take to change a light bulb?
* Thoroughbred: Who ME?? Do WHAT? I'm scared of light bulbs! I'm outta here!
* Arabian: I changed it an hour ago. C'mon you guys - catch up!
* Quarter Horse: Put all the bulbs in a pen and tell me which one you want.
* Standardbred: Oh for Pete's Sake, give me the darn bulb and let's be done with it.
* Shetland: Give it to me. I'll kill it and we won't have to worry about it anymore.
* Friesian: I would, but I can't see where I'm going from behind all this mane.
* Belgian: Put the Shetland on my back, maybe he can reach it then.
* Warmblood: Is the 2nd Level Instruction Packet in English? Doesn't anyone realize that I was sold for $75K as a yearling, but only because my hocks are bad, otherwise I would be worth $100K? I am NOT changing lightbulbs. Make the TB get back here and do it.
* Morgan: Me! Me! Me! Pleeease let me! I wanna do it! I'm gonna do it! I know how, really I do! Just watch! I'll rewire the barn after, too.
* Appaloosa: Ya'll are a bunch of losers. We don't need to change the lightbulb, I ain't scared of the dark. And someone make that darn Morgan stop jumping up and down before I double barrel him.
* Haflinger: That thing I ate was a lightbulb?
* Mustang: Lightbulb? Let's go on a trail ride, instead. And camp. Out in the open like REAL horses.
* Lipizzaner: Hah, amateurs. I will change the lightbulb. Not only that, but I will do it while standing on my hind legs and balancing it on my nose, after which I will perform seven flying lead changes in a row and a capriole. Can you do that? Huh? Huh? Didn't think so.
* Miniature: I bet you think I can't do it just cause I'm small. You know what that is? It's sizeism!
* Akhal Teke: I will only change it if it's my owner's lightbulb and no one else has ever touched it.
* Andalusian: I will delegate the changing of the lightbulb to my personal groom after he finishes shampooing my mane and cleaning my saddle, but only on the condition that it is changed for a soft blue or green bulb, which reflects better off my coat while I exhibit my astonishing gaits.
* Cleveland Bay: I'm busy. Make the whipper-in and the hounds do it.
* Saddlebred: My ears are up already, please, please get the lightbulb away from me! I'm ready to show, really, I promise I'll win!
* Paint: Put all the lightbulbs in a pen, tell me which one you want, and my owner will bet you twenty bucks I can get it before the quarter horse.
* POA: I'm not changing it. I'm the one who kicked the old one and broke it in the first place, remember? Now, excuse me, I have a grain room to break into.
* Grade Horse: Guys? Um, guys? I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and changed it while you were all arguing.
~ author unknown
* Arabian: I changed it an hour ago. C'mon you guys - catch up!
* Quarter Horse: Put all the bulbs in a pen and tell me which one you want.
* Standardbred: Oh for Pete's Sake, give me the darn bulb and let's be done with it.
* Shetland: Give it to me. I'll kill it and we won't have to worry about it anymore.
* Friesian: I would, but I can't see where I'm going from behind all this mane.
* Belgian: Put the Shetland on my back, maybe he can reach it then.
* Warmblood: Is the 2nd Level Instruction Packet in English? Doesn't anyone realize that I was sold for $75K as a yearling, but only because my hocks are bad, otherwise I would be worth $100K? I am NOT changing lightbulbs. Make the TB get back here and do it.
* Morgan: Me! Me! Me! Pleeease let me! I wanna do it! I'm gonna do it! I know how, really I do! Just watch! I'll rewire the barn after, too.
* Appaloosa: Ya'll are a bunch of losers. We don't need to change the lightbulb, I ain't scared of the dark. And someone make that darn Morgan stop jumping up and down before I double barrel him.
* Haflinger: That thing I ate was a lightbulb?
* Mustang: Lightbulb? Let's go on a trail ride, instead. And camp. Out in the open like REAL horses.
* Lipizzaner: Hah, amateurs. I will change the lightbulb. Not only that, but I will do it while standing on my hind legs and balancing it on my nose, after which I will perform seven flying lead changes in a row and a capriole. Can you do that? Huh? Huh? Didn't think so.
* Miniature: I bet you think I can't do it just cause I'm small. You know what that is? It's sizeism!
* Akhal Teke: I will only change it if it's my owner's lightbulb and no one else has ever touched it.
* Andalusian: I will delegate the changing of the lightbulb to my personal groom after he finishes shampooing my mane and cleaning my saddle, but only on the condition that it is changed for a soft blue or green bulb, which reflects better off my coat while I exhibit my astonishing gaits.
* Cleveland Bay: I'm busy. Make the whipper-in and the hounds do it.
* Saddlebred: My ears are up already, please, please get the lightbulb away from me! I'm ready to show, really, I promise I'll win!
* Paint: Put all the lightbulbs in a pen, tell me which one you want, and my owner will bet you twenty bucks I can get it before the quarter horse.
* POA: I'm not changing it. I'm the one who kicked the old one and broke it in the first place, remember? Now, excuse me, I have a grain room to break into.
* Grade Horse: Guys? Um, guys? I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and changed it while you were all arguing.
~ author unknown
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
Arabian stallion Khemosabi video tribute (not mine)
This is a very nice tribute to the late, great Arabian stallion Khemosabi. I had the privilege to see him win at age 4 in the driving class at a local show. I even snapped a photo of him. Little did I know then, that he would become one of the most loved and greatest champions of all time!
Friday, October 5, 2007
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