Midway through August and much to everyone’s surprise, our filly is still showing no signs of tiring.
Unfazed by stable life, the pace of her work in the morning has been slowly increasing, and she is happily handling the pressure, all good signs. Finally, the morning she is to have her first proper fast gallop, running the last 200 of 600 metres at a prescribed time against the clock, Robbie runs his hands over her front legs and finds a problem. A big one.
‘I’ve got lots to talk about and none of it’s good,’ he says, after the briefest of greetings on the phone.
‘We discovered that Rosie has inflammation in one of her knees when we were checking her over before stepping her up in speed. She wasn’t sore at all, and she wasn’t the slightest bit lame, but her left front knee was inflamed.
‘We got the vet in to have a look and the X-ray shows the bone quality in that knee’s not good and there’s evidence of what could be a tiny hairline fracture—but it’s old, quite old, and the vet’s not really sure what it is. She says it’s either a defect or deformity from birth or an injury she’s had when she was really young.’
I have started pacing the floor of my Sydney office, walking between the desk and the window to try to keep up with what Robbie is saying, when I realise he’s actually paused for breath, and is waiting for some response from me. I assure him that, to the best of my knowledge, Rosie has never injured that or any one of her four legs in the first year-and-a-half at home, either on my farm or where she was born. One thing I’m even more definite about is that she has never been lame.
‘It doesn’t really matter, because we just have to deal with it now. So we’ve drained the knee, got rid of all the crappy fluid in it and she’s on a bone-strengthening treatment called Tildren. Once that’s finished we’ll put her in the paddock for three months and let nature take its course before checking her again. To be honest, I don’t know what the knee will do. I’ve never had a horse with this particular condition before. The bone quality doesn’t look good … But there’s a fair chance that if we do everything right now, it will improve. It’s not good news, but by stopping now and being aggressive in our approach, we might turn it around … The good thing we’ve observed about Rosie is that she’s always had a good action. So the positive thing I’m taking from it is (the knee’s) not concerning her at all. And from what you say, it never has; in fact, that inflammation might come back again when we bring her back to work, and never bother her.
‘It might just be one of those things that is just Rosie, part of her physical make-up we have to be aware of and manage. She’s always been a busy bee, she’s certainly never backward in coming forward, and she hasn’t missed a beat along the way,’ Robbie says, a chuckle coming back into his voice.
‘She wants to be a racehorse and she’s not had a chance to show us her level of ability yet. So we have to give her that chance.’
When we stop talking, I stare at the small mobile phone in my hand that has been the conduit for this crushing news, as if trying to conjure up a solution to what could be an insurmountable setback.
The first thing anyone who has anything to do with horses learns is that legs are everything. Simple as that. No legs, no horse. And that means all four legs must be good.
At the same time I have to admit to almost a sense of relief. In all honesty, I think I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen, some hiccup to occur. Knowing horses even as little as I do, some ‘thing’ was bound to happen. Even though Rosie was doing everything right, it was like we were all having too smooth a run.
I am also aware that this development, while certainly not good, is not as bad as it could have been. She could have chipped a bone in her knee (worse), or damaged a tendon (much worse), or run into a fence post somewhere out on the track, or—and this is the more likely scenario—gone out in the morning and run on her inflamed knee and damaged it more severely. All things horses do, in and out of work, especially young horses.
But at this stage, Rosie isn’t even sore to the touch, let alone lame, and that has to be an indication of an issue that nature and proper recuperation might just be able to fix. I resolve not to panic, at least not until I see her and the suspect knee again in just a few days time, when I’m next in Melbourne.
Still, I alert her little band of owners to this latest news, only to be immediately heartened by their response. Adam, the most experienced team member and already a highly successful racehorse owner, sends back an email within minutes that says simply ‘Goodo’, before mentioning another horse that he has a share in is running at Randwick that afternoon and that ‘should win by 10 lengths’ (it doesn’t)—while first-time owner Tony rings up demanding his money back.
‘This wasn’t in the script,’ he says, but he’s laughing. Having raised two children of his own, he is remarkably unperturbed by the latest twist Rosie’s career path has taken, though he is concerned for her welfare. ‘She’s not hurting, that’s the main thing.’
He is right, and I realise that everyone’s response again has much to do with their faith in Robbie Griffiths’ skill as a trainer. And why shouldn’t we believe in this horseman, who picked up the heat in the filly’s knee and unsaddled her before she started working?
I also ring Diane, who literally helped bring Rosie into the world, and she is not quite so sanguine about the matter.
‘Whaaaat?’ she yells, on her way up the Hume to check on some cattle. ‘She never had anything happen to her at home, and she’s never had a lame day in her life.’
I assure her I have already told Robbie exactly that and explain what the vet believes might have happened.
‘Bloody hell, that’s unbelievable,’ she says. ‘But at least they caught it before any real damage was done.’
Sitting in his office a few days later, I am reminded that Robbie’s laidback demeanour tends to belie his exacting attention to detail and overall consideration that many trainers don’t have.
Relaxed and quietly cheerful, Robbie is enjoying one of the few Saturdays of the year when he doesn’t actually have a runner at the races, either in town or at a provincial track, and is more than happy to talk through his plan for the filly’s next few months.
‘The vet’s confident the bone-strengthening agent will work and I can say it’s been pretty effective, this treatment, when we’ve used it before. And the good news is Rosie’s never really missed a beat, as far as going off her tucker, or feeling that leg at all. She’s never missed a meal and as I said the other day, she’s never been sore at all. Plus she’s well within herself and has taken even this in her stride, so that’s good.’
She was almost at the end of her first preparation anyway, I suggest.
‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘And if all goes well with the calcification of the bone, she should be right to come back into training in three months.’
‘That’s December,’ I calculate quickly. ‘So there’s no longer even a sneaky hope of this girl being a star two year old?’
‘No,’ the trainer replies, a little smile playing around his lips, as usual not beating around the bush.
‘She never really was going to be one anyway; I know you hate me saying it, but she was too far behind in her development to expect that she could have been. That’s what happens when they come in late in their first year. It’s hard to catch up.’
In other words, this is what happens to most home-breds, the young horses born and raised on small farms as opposed to big commercial studs.
Yet, even in this bunch, who would no doubt fall into the ‘$0–$10,000’ group of youngsters the Melbourne University’s Equine Centre study identified, there will always be one or two surprise packets each year, who don’t quite look the goods, either on paper or when you first see them, who turn out to be ready-made gallopers in a very short space of time. But by now we know enough about Rosie to understand she isn’t one of them.
So who is?
Of the nine yearlings Griffiths Racing had on show at the parade at the open day five months ago, the smallest and cheapest filly tucked away in the end stall—by Black Hawke, the most unfashionable sire on the list—has turned out to be the natural sprinter, while the hardy son of Catbird—foaled in Victoria, trucked to Perth for the Magic Millions yearling sale in January and then back across the Nullarbor again—is also coming to hand nicely. Having survived that arduous journey so early in life, learning to gallop must seem like a breeze.
The rest of the bunch, flashier and better credentialled, are pretty much cooling their heels for now, or on the backburner like Rosie, out in the paddock to grow.
What is also intriguing is that, as we run through the list of the stable’s youngsters to check on their progress, Robbie realises he has a few more babies in his care than he thought. He seems genuinely astonished when we carefully run through the list, using his office whiteboard to help jog his memory.
‘Gee, that’s good, isn’t it? That’s great.’ Many of these extras have come in via their owners without much fanfare.
Later that morning, as I look over Rosie’s X-rays, or radiographs, with Leigh the vet, I hear Robbie updating Robert Kingston. ‘How many two year olds do you reckon we’ve got?’ he asks, hardly waiting for a response. ‘Forty. Can you believe that?’
For any trainer, these young horses represent a future. They may not turn out to be any good at all, but when they are young and healthy and untried, the future looks good. And 40 young horses represents a pretty solid future. If nothing else, it means Robbie will have a lot of stock to work with over the next couple of years, and hopefully one or two of these youngsters will prove to be outstanding.
Meanwhile, the vet is keen to help me see where the problem lies in Rosie’s knee, and what it amounts to is a slightly deformed fourth carpal bone. It is an important bone, as it is in her knee. But it isn’t one of the most important bones. Again, it could be much worse.
‘See where the shape doesn’t look as smooth and curved as on this other (good) knee?’ Leigh says.
This latest setback is, I’ve come to accept, just one of a myriad of problems that seem to haunt horses, young and old. Trouble, in some mysterious form, is always just around the corner, even if the road ahead looks clear and safe. So no turn or twist is ever really unexpected; anticipating the unpredictable with horses, in fact, is a practical and emotional necessity for anyone closely involved with them.
For a lifelong journalist, primed to deadlines and impatient for facts, living with horses has inspired new reflection.
When Robbie explains there is a book being written about the making of Rosie the racehorse, Leigh exclaims ‘But she’s broken …’ before recovering her diplomacy, and assuring me the filly will be fine. I take more heart from the fact that another, more senior vet she has asked to have a look at these X-rays for a second opinion is pretty sure there isn’t a hairline fracture in the knee.
‘When do you have to finish the book?’ Leigh asks. I tell her my deadline is seven months away.
‘Oh good, she should have had her first start by then.’
Really, I ask? Will her knee be up to that?
‘Oh look, she should be fine by then, this Tildren (treatment) is pretty good and she’ll just get bigger and stronger.’
An already sunny winter Saturday morning suddenly looks brighter, and when I follow Robert out to see Rosie, who is still stabled at the pre-trainers yard a few blocks away, my relief is turning to optimism.
As we walk towards her stall, Rosie’s unmistakable head is already over the door, nose extended, keen for a sweetie.
‘I see she knows who you are,’ Robert laughs, as she rummages through my jacket pocket, looking for a treat. And moments later, when she is standing out in the sun, the suspect knee looks normal to my untrained eye, although—as I run my hand over it, following Robert’s example—I do feel a small spot of heat still there.
Far more dramatic is the shaved hair on the side of her neck, where the Tildren has been injected every day for the past 10 days. But Rosie looks as unperturbed as usual, although she will no doubt welcome her time out in the sun.
‘Three months in the paddock should do the trick with the knee,’ Robert agrees. ‘At this point, it will do her the world of good generally. She’ll come back a lovely filly. Don’t you worry about that!’
We spend the next 10 minutes discussing the more clear-cut future of Harry aka News Just In.
‘He will also be doing well out in the paddock now,’ the foreman says. ‘To tell you the truth, I really thought he’d won one or two of those races he came second in, they were so close. But we’ll get that win under our belt, for sure.’
How far does he think the gelding can go, if and when things do start to roll his way?
‘I think he could make a night meeting at Moonee Valley, I don’t think that grade is beyond him.’
As I drive away, I allow myself to imagine, just for a minute, how exciting that will be if it actually comes to pass. But I know better than to get my hopes up too far, and my good friend Deane helps level the dream before it gets too far out of control.
‘A win at Yarra Valley would be good at this stage, Helen.’
Naturally, he is right again.