SWEETIE PIE'S LAST RACE

My Dad - Len Sherman Sr. & "Ruffy" Rough Road

Exhibition Park's racing season ended shortly after Labor Day and Sweetie Pie, not only did she not win a race the entire season, she never so much as came in third, so any loyal bettors (if she had any) who had been hoping to clean up on her high odds came out a loser.  Basically running with the least fastest horses on the track, one last chance to win a race, my dad and I took her and the other horses to Sandown Park, which is located near Sidney, BC on Vancouver Island.  In comparison to Exhibition Park, Sandown Park was like a bush meet - most of the racehorses were of the lower caliber and the purses were not as high either.  Even though Sandown's setting was somewhat pastoral, out in the country, Sweetie Pie was still as scared as ever.  Perhaps having her stall facing the racetrack and being able to watch the horses work-out in the morning and then see them race later in the day was not a good idea but these were the row of stalls that were allotted to my dad and there was nothing he could do about it.

At this point in Sweetie Pie's sad racing career, she was as fit as she would ever be.  The fans no longer bet on her or cheered like they did on her maiden race - her odds were so high, a $2.00 win ticket could almost buy a new shiny automobile if she won.  My dad had entered her in three or four races before Sandown's season was coming to an end and even though she seldom ran last anymore, she never finished in the top four - even fourth place won fifty bucks.

I can't remember if it was the last racing day of the season or not but I do recall it being a warm autumn day when Sweetie Pie ran her last race.  Now anyone reading this tale is going to think my dad and I were very cruel and as much as we loved those racehorses and always treated them very well, sometimes a point is reached when a horse just has to win a race.  That's the way it was for Sweetie Pie.  If she didn't win this next race she would be banned from racing; having never won a race as a 2 year old was the consequence.  The thing about racehorses and one's livelihood depending on winning races; my dad was not the only trainer that was forced to use a stock prod in those days; I'd often see the long, cylindrical prod all wrapped up in newspaper going from one trainer to the next.

I can still see Sweetie Pie's trusting eyes when I took a firm hold of her in the stall.. And oh, how those big brown eyes bulged, the whites clearly seen, when she received the first jolt.  If the stall door had been open, she would have come out of there faster than any starting gate.  My dad gave her about six jolts with the stock prod and each time it connected, I BUZZZZZZZED in her ear real loud so she would connect the sound and the prod together.  We told the jockey what we had done with the little filly and when he worked her out in the morning, she ran like she'd never ran before - it still wasn't fast by any means but it was as fast as she would ever go.

That afternoon, when I walked her around the big old oak tree in the centre of  the paddock, I dug my thumb into her neck and buzzed in her ear a couple of times, which made her jump and try to get away.  I didn't like doing that but this was her race; her one last chance to win.  A part of me wanted her to win and another part wanted her to lose.  I believe the odds on her that warm autumn day were around 70-1, which meant a $2.00 win ticket would bring in about a hundred and fifty bucks.  We didn't have much money in those days and I think I scraped together about two bucks and  my dad had maybe $10.00 riding on her - not sure about the jockey (they weren't allowed to bet but we all knew they did).  This was Sweetie Pie's chance to finally win a race and a chance for my dad and the owners to break about even; the cost of having a racehorse at the track has always been high - they don't call it the "sport of kings" for nothing.

This time when the bell rang and the gates flew open and the announcer yelled into the loudspeaker, "They're off!" Sweetie Pie was the first one out and she was quickly putting distance between her and the rest of the pack.  You could tell when the jock dug his thumb into her neck and buzzed in her ear because her tail would flare out behind her and he did that several times in the back stretch.  Coming around the final turn, a short homestretch to the finish line, she was about 6 lengths ahead of the second and third horse, the remainder even more distant.  To this day, I don't know why the jockey stood up on her back and looked over his shoulder because by the time he sat back down, goosed her one last time, the horse which was in second place nipped her by a nose at the finish line.

While the losing tickets were thrown to the ground and the winning punters were standing in line to collect their money, I picked up a sweaty Sweetie Pie and began leading her back to the stable.  She may not have been a winner but as she pranced alongside me with her neck bowed, her long flaxen tail flicking from side to side, she looked and felt like a winner to me.  I knew my dad would be upset but I also knew, that like me, he would be glad to see her go back to the farm - the racetrack was not a place for my Sweetie Pie.