My dad owned and trained many racehorses over the years and one of the horses that still stands out vividly in my memory is Fleet Silk. She was a beautiful reddish brown mare with four white stockings (legs), white tail and mane and a large white blaze ran down the front of her head. Although she was highly spirited, her disposition overall was friendly, trusting and well-behaved; she was one classy thoroughbred. And, besides being very pretty and a joy to work with, when the starting gate flipped open to the anxious screams and yells of the bettors in the grandstand at Exhibition Park, Vancouver, BC; not one solitary horse on the racetrack could beat her. Everyone who worked at the track knew she was the fastest horse out of the gate and commanding a huge lead at the beginning of the race wasn't a problem; staying in front until she crossed the finish line was the problem.
My dad had been a gamblin' man even before I ever came into his life. I knew he didn't have much money at the time when he bought Fleet Silk, so for my dad to come up with a thousand bucks was almost an impossibility but somehow he managed to scrape the money together and it wouldn't have surprised me in the least, if he'd won the money in a card game or rolling dice up against a wall. He bought her when she was entered in a $1,000.00 claiming race (one in which the horses are all for sale, for more or less the same price). Not only did she finish in last place that day; she was in a shocking state; struggling for air when I picked her up at the end of the race; her chest, front legs and sides were covered with blood, which had spurted profusely from her wide flaring nostrils. Fleet Silk was a "bleeder". (When the air sacs in the lungs expand beyond capacity from excessive exertion, they burst and cause bleeding in the lungs.)
Having bought a bleeder wasn't the only problem my dad faced when he claimed Fleet Silk that day. The track stewards also notified him that she wouldn't be allowed to race again if she bled; they couldn't have racing fans losing their money on a horse that came to an almost standstill during the race and looked like it had been abused. I have no idea if my dad knew about Fleet Silk's problem when he bought her but I do know he was determined to solve the situation. He asked for advice from the track veterinarian and tried what he recommended, but during her morning workouts, she still bled like a stuck pig. He asked several trainers what they thought might cure the bleeding but they didn't have any answers either.
My dad knew that Fleet Silk or Silky as we affectionately called her, was a very good race horse; on that he had no doubt. During her earlier races, before she started bleeding, she usually won by 6-10 lengths and her times were excellent. Perhaps my dad, being a chef and a baker by trade, came up with what he thought just might be the solution. It seemed so simple, but often times simplicity is the answer. We began mixing gelatin (used for making jello) into her feed on a daily basis. Then, one morning when it was still very early and still dark, our fingers crossed and asking for blessings from the racetrack god, I hoisted a rider onto her back and led her out to the track. My dad told him to start her off slowly, then hit her once on the ass with the crop and just let 'er go full blast. I could hear her hooves striking the ground as she sped around the track and since all that we could barely see was her white mane and tail glowing in the dark, you'd have thought she was a ghost. When she returned, clouds of mist blew out of her nostrils with each breath exhaled but there was no blood - not a single drop could be seen.
After a few more workouts, my dad was confident that the mare wouldn't bleed anymore, so he got in touch with the track stewards. When Fleet Silk didn't bleed in front of the stewards, my dad was given the OK to enter her in a race. Of course we were very excited and had great hopes that she would easily win; she was running against the same sort of horses as before; a thousand dollar claiming race. And, she had Ulrich as a jockey, who was noted for riding front-running horses (ones that went to the lead and stayed in front, the whole way to the finish). Of course we bet on her - I can't remember the amount, but it doesn't really matter.
The only words my dad said to Ulrich before lifting him onto the saddle was, "Hang on! She'll do the rest!" When the starting gate flew open, even before the announcer could yell, "They're off!" Fleet Silk, such was her speed, broke in the air and so did the jockey; sailing over her head, he landed on his ass in the dirt, the remaining horses running past him. Only his pride was hurt as he stood up in a cloud of dust but I guess he must have been very frightened because he refused to ride her again. Needless to say, Fleet Silk was the first one past the wire but it didn't count without the jock, so she was disqualified.
We were of course a little upset about the outcome of the race but we knew we had a real runner and a future winner in Silky.
Fleet Silk's next race was highly anticipated; we were certain she'd win this time. Neither we nor the punters who placed money on her to win were disappointed, at least not in her racing ability. She won the race handily but when it was over and I took an empty bridle back to the stable, I was feeling more than just a little bit sad. My dad was terribly upset and angry about the mare being claimed, well, maybe not so upset about that but more because his so called trainer/friend who had watched him over the past several weeks cure her bleeding problem, claimed Silky. She won several more races before the racing season was over and it felt like salt being rubbed into an open sore each time I saw her being walked around the shed row past her old stall, her eyes often making contact with my own. Each horse has its own personality and like many of the other horses I looked after over the years, Silky had become my friend and I missed her gentle touch when she used to rub her bristly muzzle in my hands.
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