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It Doesn't Look Good for Barbaro
As Barbaro galloped down the track alone, everything seemed to unfold in slow motion. I pulled hard on the reins. An outrider (a track official on a horse) came toward us, hoping to help me corral Barbaro so he could be reloaded for the race. We had traveled only 30 or 40 yards before Barbaro came to a halt, but it seemed to take forever. My heart hammered.Horses that break through seldom run well once they're reloaded.
As I turned Barbaro around, I looked down. I was half hoping to see blood dripping from a cut on one of his forelegs, half hoping I would have to scratch him. The racing world would have been furious with me; how could I scratch a horse that looked like he could win the Triple Crown?
But I would have done it without hesitation. Barbaro had so much ahead of him. He could still make history. Why run him on a day when he didn't seem quite right?
I was concerned about his welfare. But after I maneuvered him behind the starting gate and examined him, he seemed fine. There was no blood. He wasn't limping. His eyes were bright and alive.
Dr. David Zipf, the Pimlico veterinarian, carefully examined Barbaro.
"See anything, Doc?" I asked him.
"Nothing, Edgar. He looks fine," Dr. Zipf replied.
There was no time to communicate with Michael or the Jacksons. They were up in the stands -- terribly anxious, I was sure. The other Preakness horses were still in the starting gate, waiting to race.
I spoke to Barbaro. "Okay, boy, let's do it," I said, hoping to soothe him.
When the gate opened and all nine horses took off, Barbaro was right in step with the others. But in each of his other races, he had broken sharply, powerfully, and then quickly found his rhythm. This time, he seemed dull.
I thought maybe he didn't like the track or just needed to settle down. Whatever it was, he was dragging. I was immediately on alert.
When he made it through the first 100 yards, I hoped he would get himself into the race. Suddenly, I felt him weaken. It was as if he'd absorbed a punch and been knocked off balance.
Usually I know when a horse breaks down beneath me. I've experienced it maybe three dozen times in my career. There is a sharp jolt, or the horse veers sharply, or he tumbles. The signs weren't that obvious now.
I thought maybe Barbaro had pulled a muscle. But whatever it was, it was troubling enough to convince me to pull him up. As a jockey, if I have any concerns about my horse during a race, I stop. It's not fair to run a horse if you have doubts about his health.
My heart pounded as I eased Barbaro out of the pack and guided him toward the outer rail. Was this really happening? Would he be okay?
I looked back and down. I saw that Barbaro was running on three legs, favoring his right rear leg. He was so driven and athletic that he still wanted to run, no doubt hating the sight of the other horses pulling away. This great horse wanted to beat them!
But I kept jerking the reins, and finally he stopped near the finish line, in the shadow of the grandstand. The crowd had gone silent after its deafening roar of just moments earlier, when the gates had opened. I glanced over at the first few rows. The fans stared, some with their mouths open.
I jumped off Barbaro and put my hands on him to try to control him. Some injured horses lash out, but Barbaro let me hold him. He seemed to trust me, knew I was trying to help. He was so smart.
I saw him dangling his right hind leg awkwardly over the dirt. I thought, This might be bad. I hoped it wasn't broken. I didn't see blood. Maybe it was a minor injury. Commentators later praised me for acting fast and helping Barbaro survive, but the truth is the horse did it by himself. He remained calm, followed my instructions and let me control him. He kept his injured leg raised, over the dirt.
Veterinarians and track officials arrived in waves. The equine ambulance pulled up, and the track became an accident scene. Michael and assistant trainer Peter Brette raced down from the stands, arriving within seconds, followed by the Jacksons. Everyone hovered around Barbaro.
Seeing them all, I nearly burst into tears. "I'm just so sorry," I said. As the other horses finished the race, people kept asking what had happened. I said Barbaro didn't feel right. Then I just stepped back, put my head in my hands and bent over.
An hour later, back at the barn, local vet Nick Meittinis gave me the bad news. He had just viewed the X-rays of Barbaro's leg. "Edgar, I'm sorry. But it doesn't look good at all."
The look on my face told him my heart was breaking.
The X-rays showed that the bones in Barbaro's right rear leg had shattered into at least two dozen pieces. Putting them all back together would be close to impossible. Thankfully, Barbaro wasn't in the hands of a cold syndicate of businessmen who might consider the bottom line. Instead, his owners were a pair of incredibly generous and kindhearted horse lovers, Roy and Gretchen Jackson, who decided that, in spite of the odds, they wanted to try to save Barbaro. They felt he deserved the chance.
I walked over to where Barbaro stood. The vets and the X-ray techs suddenly left; he and I were alone. He gave me a warm look, and I started crying, bawling, big tears rolling down my cheeks. Barbaro actually rested his head on my shoulder. I'm sure he was in pain, but I just held him, and he relaxed; I think he was glad I was there. We stayed in that position for at least five minutes. We were together in our own private world.
Barbaro's athletic career was over. This great racehorse was reduced to walking around the New Bolton Center, a first-rate veterinary hospital in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, with a cast on his leg courtesy of top veterinary surgeon Dr. Dean Richardson. But Barbaro's brilliance and spirit were as strong as ever.
When I first visited him in the ICU, ten days after the Preakness, I walked over to his stall and said, "Hey, guy! How are you doing?"
He reacted immediately, came to me like an old friend. His ears pricked. He let me hold him and pat him.
He was alert and bright-eyed and was looking around, as if to say, Hey, I'm going to make it. Don't worry.
I kept talking to him and fed him baby carrots, his favorite treat. He put his head on my shoulder, just as he had at Pimlico. I felt encouraged.
For many months, through multiple surgeries and under the steady eye of Dr. Richardson and his team, Barbaro fought to overcome his injury as well as the onset of laminitis, a painful hoof condition in horses that must put extra weight on a leg to compensate for an injury. The doctors and nurses who cared for him kept saying, "What a horse." They were blown away by his strength, his intelligence and his attitude.
But in January 2007, though he'd been healing well, Barbaro suffered a serious case of laminitis in his left rear foot. He also developed an abscess on his right hind foot, which was intensely painful. Dr. Richardson couldn't treat it with the cast on the leg, so he inserted a plate and two steel pins, eliminating all weight-bearing from the foot. It was a risky operation because the front feet could develop laminitis from the shift in weight. But Dr. Richardson saw no alternative.
That night I spoke to Michael, who told me the odds of Barbaro's recovery were getting slimmer by the minute. I barely slept. The next morning, I got the devastating news: Barbaro had been put down. The Jacksons had decided to do what was best for Barbaro and relieve him of his suffering.
My experience with this animal shook me to my soul. A full year after he triumphed in the Kentucky Derby, I was still seeing tears in people's eyes when they approached me. I had continued to ride other horses in other races; it was my career, my life. But I had also continued to receive emotional cards, letters and text messages about Barbaro. It was clear I would remain connected with him.
I had always imagined that my purpose in life, aside from being a good husband and father, was to honor the athletic gifts God had given me and be the best jockey I could be. Maybe I'd also been put on this earth to take Barbaro's journey with him, to share in his highs and lows.
Now and then, I like to watch the Kentucky Derby on tape, to remember how awesome Barbaro was. I'm so glad I knew him. I'm so glad I rode him. I have gone on with my life. But a little piece of me is missing.
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