Live and Let Growl

by Laurien Berenson

  “She hasn’t even foaled yet,” Aunt Peg protested. “She isn’t due until next month.”

  “That doesn’t matter in the slightest. The books for the popular stallions fill up quickly. Many are already closed. And if you want to maximize your investment—”

  “Good Lord,” said Aunt Peg. She didn’t sound happy. “I thought I was going to need to buy Lucky Luna a warm blanket. Or inquire about the quality of her hay. But now you’re telling me that a mare I haven’t even seen yet is in need of a suitable mate and I’m already behind in procuring one?”

  “You asked for my advice,” said Miss Ellie. “And you’d be foolish not to listen to it. Fortunes have been won and lost with horses. Not only that, but the Thoroughbred industry has a way of steamrolling right over beginners. I should hate for you to be one of its victims.”

  “I would, too,” Aunt Peg replied. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and prepared to take notes. “Let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 4

  “We’ll begin with some background,” said Miss Ellie. “Six Oaks is an old farm with a venerable name and a long history of achievement in the Thoroughbred world, but the property itself is currently owned by a partnership of foreign investors.”

  As she spoke, one hand slipped down from her lap and dangled a few inches above the floor where she waggled her fingers invitingly. Faith’s head lifted. She had a look.

  “Go ahead,” I said softly.

  The Standard Poodle stood up, and padded around the table between the two couches. Reaching Miss Ellie’s side, she lay down with her body pressed against the older woman’s legs. Before Faith had even gotten settled on the floor, Miss Ellie’s fingers were already tangling in her topknot. As she continued speaking, Miss Ellie was smiling happily.

  “It’s not unusual for farms that have been around for a long time to pass into new, more energetic hands. Sometimes a family’s younger generation doesn’t share the same passion for horses. Or sometimes poor decisions have been made and the money runs out. As you might imagine, maintaining these farms is a huge undertaking. Some of them employ hundreds of people. It’s big business and it requires a firm hand at the helm.”

  “Aunt Peg told me that you grew up on a family farm,” I said.

  Miss Ellie nodded. “Green Gates Farm. You’ll drive past it on your way to Six Oaks. The two farms are right next to each other. They also share a training track that sits on an area of common land between them.”

  “How long has your family owned the property?” Aunt Peg asked.

  “The original piece of land was purchased by my great-grandfather, Ellwood Gates, in the late 1800s. That property later passed to his son, Bentley Gates, my grandfather, who became a successful tobacco farmer. He tripled the size of the acreage and then, as the family story goes, decided to indulge his penchant for gambling by investing in a few racehorses. Those first few soon grew into a sizeable breeding and racing operation.

  “Today the business of the farm is mostly devoted to Thoroughbreds, though my two cousins who share management of the property, also grow corn and hay and have a herd of Black Angus cattle. You’ll see the green gates in the fences as you go by. They were my grandfather’s trademark.”

  “It must have been an incredible place to grow up,” I said.

  “It was, indeed.” Even as Miss Ellie agreed with me, I thought I saw her stiffen slightly. She withdrew her hand from Faith and replaced it in her lap. “It was wonderful being able to be a part of it all.”

  And yet she had left it behind, I thought. I wondered why that was.

  “My son, Gates Wanamaker, manages the yearling division at the farm,” Miss Ellie continued. “So many young people these days can’t wait to escape from a place like this. They all want to go to the big city. But working with horses and assuming his role in the family’s heritage is the only life Gates ever wanted.”

  “Speaking of horses . . .” said Aunt Peg. “Perhaps you could tell me more about what to expect when I go to see Lucky Luna?”

  “Certainly.” Miss Ellie paused for a sip of sweet tea before continuing. “I’d imagine that an account manager at Six Oaks has been assigned to look after you. That person may give you the grand tour. It’s a magnificent place so they will want you to see it and be wildly impressed. Then someone will take you to see your mare. I’m sure I don’t have to give you any tips about that. You know what a good, healthy, bitch in whelp looks like. Just size up.”

  I was half tempted to laugh but I was glad I hadn’t when Aunt Peg nodded solemnly. She was taking this whole enterprise very seriously. “What sorts of arrangements should I be making for the delivery of Lucky Luna’s foal?” she asked.

  “None,” Miss Ellie told her. “The farm will take care of everything for you. If you’re satisfied with what you see today, there’s no need to make any changes. And in fact with your mare this close to foaling, it’s probably safer not to.”

  Aunt Peg jotted down a note. “And you mentioned something earlier about a stallion?”

  “You’ll have to check with your account manager about that. The mare’s former owner may have already made the decision for you. In that case, a contract will have been signed and, once again, the farm will know what to do to get Lucky Luna bred back when the time comes.”

  “And if there is no contract?” Aunt Peg was nothing if not thorough.

  “Come back and see me again. I may not be part of the industry anymore but I still keep abreast of what’s happening and who’s who. If necessary, you and I can go stallion shopping.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I said. “Can I come, too?”

  “Absolutely.” Miss Ellie smiled at my enthusiasm, before turning back to Aunt Peg. “There’s one more thing you need to know. When you visit Six Oaks, you may find that Kentuckians can be rather dismissive of people who aren’t from around here.”

  “I may be an outsider,” Aunt Peg said archly, “but as far as that farm is concerned, I’m also a paying client.”

  “Yes, but with just one mare, you’re only a very small one. Which means that they may or may not bother to take you seriously. So let me tell you this. If anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know, and by God I’ll come and straighten them out. The Gates name carries some weight around here. Nobody will dare talk sass to me.”

  The expression on Miss Ellie’s face was fierce. So much so that I suddenly found myself hoping we’d have an excuse for her to come and shake things up. A Southern grande dame on the rampage. That would be fun to watch.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Aunt Peg replied, “but I’m sure we’ll manage just fine. After all, Ellie dear, you’re not the only one who knows how to fight her own battles.”

  “I have every faith in you, Peg. But you may find that things are very different here than you’re used to back home. Just keep me in mind, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Miss Ellie sent us on our way with directions to a tavern in Midway where we could stop for lunch before keeping our afternoon appointment at Six Oaks. No one minded when Faith accompanied us onto the outside terrace. The waiter even brought her a bowl of cold water and adjusted the umbrella over our table so that Faith could lie down in the shade.

  “Miss Ellie is quite a character,” I said to Aunt Peg as we split a loaded pizza between us.

  “She always has been.” Peg nodded. “Miss Ellie and I were dog show friends for years. But, sad to say, when she stopped showing Poodles we allowed ourselves to lose contact. I know she was having some problems back then. Her husband was ill and subsequently lost his battle with cancer. And I believe there was another family issue that was causing trouble as well.”

  Aunt Peg reached up and slid the last slice of pizza onto her plate. “That’s the problem when your whole social life revolves the dog show community. When someone drops out for whatever reason, it’s as if they just disappear. Nowadays people talk on Facebook or Twitter. But we didn’t have those options then. I’m sorry I didn’t try hard
er to stay in touch with Miss Ellie. Hopefully that’s an omission I’ll be able to rectify on this visit.”

  From downtown Midway, the drive to Six Oaks took only a few minutes. As Miss Ellie had indicated, we first passed her family farm with its white board fencing and distinctive green gates. Then the fences changed from light to dark and half a mile later we came upon a pair of high, stone gateposts, bracketing an ornate double gate. A polished copper sign announced that we had reached our destination.

  Aunt Peg pulled into the entrance and paused before the tall gates. After a moment they swung slowly inward to reveal a long driveway that was shaded by a border of mature oak trees. The road meandered between bountiful green pastures filled with sleek Thoroughbreds.

  Off in the distance, on the other side of a rustic, double-arch bridge, I saw several low stone buildings. A group of barns was visible beyond that. The entire vista was breathtaking. Someone had obviously taken great care to ensure that each man-made element served to complement the charm of the beautiful landscape rather than detract from it.

  “Whoa.” I blew out a long breath. “Lucky Luna, indeed. This place is amazing.”

  Aunt Peg was less impressed. “Perhaps that explains the size of the bills I’ve been told to expect. Don’t forget, Lucky Luna is a horse. All of this grandeur is lost on her.”

  “But not on visiting clients,” I pointed out.

  Aunt Peg merely snorted under her breath in reply.

  A sign outside the first building we came to identified it as the farm office. Aunt Peg parked the minivan in the shade. We rolled the windows down halfway, and I dug a rawhide bone out of the glove compartment. We left Faith chewing on it happily and went to check things out.

  Inside the office, a receptionist was sitting in a front room that had the look and feel of a gentlemen’s library. Aunt Peg explained the nature of our visit and was told that someone would be along shortly to help us. I studied the equine art on the walls while we waited. Aunt Peg sat down in a leather club chair and thumbed through a glossy stallion brochure.

  “It occurs to me that I might need this,” she said after a minute. Aunt Peg looked over at the receptionist. “May I have it?”

  “Of course,” the woman replied. “That’s why they’re there.”

  As Aunt Peg was tucking the brochure into her purse, the office door opened and a woman in her early twenties with a bright smile and a brisk, energetic stride came hurrying inside. Her curly hair was gathered into a French braid that reached halfway down her back and she was dressed in what appeared to be the farm uniform: blue jeans, solid boots, and a navy blue polo short adorned with the SIX OAKS logo.

  She looked at the two of us and immediately approached Aunt Peg with her hand extended. “Mrs. Turnbull? I’m Erin Sayre, the assistant broodmare manager. Ben Burrell, your account manager, was called away but he should be back shortly. In the meantime, he asked me to show you around. Welcome to Six Oaks Farm. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, too,” Aunt Peg replied. “This is my niece, Melanie Travis, who’s traveled with me to Kentucky. We’re both looking forward to making the acquaintance of my new mare.”

  “I can imagine,” Erin said cheerfully. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll take you right to her. Is Lucky Luna your first Thoroughbred broodmare?”

  “First and only,” Aunt Peg told her. “This is my initial foray into horse ownership. I’m hoping the learning curve won’t prove to be too steep.”

  Erin strode to the office door and held it open for us. “I’m sure it won’t,” she replied. “We at Six Oaks will be here to help you every step of the way. I know Ben Burrell will take great care of you. But if you have any questions before then, feel free to ask. That’s why I’m here!”

  Erin led us outside to a dark blue pickup truck with the farm logo painted on both doors. As I walked by, I snuck a look into Aunt Peg’s minivan. Faith was still busy with her bone. She glanced up, flicked her tail up and down in acknowledgment, then went back to work. She’d be fine on her own until we returned.

  “Do you mind riding in a truck?” Erin asked. “It’ll be easier if I drive. You can leave your car here and I’ll bring you back when we’re finished.”

  “Young lady, I have ridden in far worse conveyances than this one.” Aunt Peg appropriated the front seat and left me to scramble into the back. “This will do just fine.”

  “We’re on our way to the broodmare division,” Erin said as she pulled the pickup back onto the driveway. Another gate separated the barns from the front buildings. Like the one at the road, it opened when we idled in front of it. “Lucky Luna hasn’t foaled yet this year. I assume you know that?”

  Aunt Peg nodded.

  “She’s due on April fourteenth, but that’s an estimate not an exact date. Normal gestation time varies a great deal in broodmares.”

  “The same is true in dogs,” Aunt Peg said.

  “Oh?” Erin glanced over. “Do you have many dogs?”

  “I have bred and shown Standard Poodles for many years,” Aunt Peg told her. “I gather that’s why Anthony Stone bequeathed Lucky Luna to me.”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Stone,” Erin told us. “All I know is that he owned a lovely mare. I work with lots of broodmares and Lucky Luna is one of my favorites. I’m sure you’ll like her.”

  She guided the truck into an empty space beside a big, U-shaped, cream-colored barn. Large stalls, lushly bedded with straw, had doors that opened into the interior of the barn and big open windows that faced the outside. Most of the stalls appeared to be empty.

  “All of our horses spend as much time outside as possible,” Erin said as she jumped down from her seat. “That’s the way horses would live in nature and it’s much healthier for them. The rest of the broodmares in this barn are turned out now. But of course we knew you were coming, so we kept Lucky Luna up. Here she comes now with Sergio.”

  In the time it had taken us to cross a small path and walk into the barn’s wide courtyard, word that we’d arrived had already preceded us. A groom, neatly attired in an outfit that mirrored Erin’s, was coming toward us leading a tall bay mare from the other end of the shed row.

  Even from a distance, it was easy to see that the mare was in foal. Her wide, rounded belly extended outward on either side of her body and swayed slightly as she walked. Lucky Luna had a big white star on her red-brown face and a kind look in her dark eyes. Those two facts, both evident at first glance, comprised the entire extent of my equine knowledge.

  “Oh, she is pretty,” Aunt Peg said as Sergio and Lucky Luna drew near. “And big, too.”

  “Sixteen one,” Erin told us. Seeing my blank look, she added. “Horses are measured in hands, and a hand equals four inches. So Lucky Luna is sixty-five inches at the withers.” She approached the mare and brushed a spot at the base of Lucky Luna’s neck with her fingertips. “That would be here.”

  I nodded and tried to look more knowledgeable than I was. I don’t think I had anybody fooled, least of all Lucky Luna.

  The mare regarded me with a look of benign indifference as Sergio brought her around and posed her so her left side was facing us. He stopped Lucky Luna in place, and rocked her back and forth gently, until he was satisfied with the position of her feet. Then he stepped back out of the way to let us admire her.

  “Not unlike stacking a Poodle,” said Aunt Peg. Having watched the exercise with interest she sounded pleased.

  “Stacking?” Erin repeated.

  “Positioning the legs just so,” I told her. “So that they can optimally be seen by a judge at a dog show. Show dogs learn to take a pose and hold it.”

  “Horses, too.” Erin laughed. “At least ones that go through the sales ring often enough.”

  That was the second time that day someone had mentioned Thoroughbred sales. As Aunt Peg walked around the mare to take a look at her from all sides, I asked Erin how often they were held.

  “All the time,” she told me.
“Keeneland and Fasig-Tipton are the two big sales companies in Lexington. In the spring, we have two-year-old in-training sales. In the summer and early fall, people buy and sell yearlings. In the winter, breeding stock changes hands. It’s not unusual for one horse to be bought and sold several times throughout the course of its life. There’s serious money to be made at the sales. Sometimes even more than you might make by racing.”

  “She has a lovely shoulder, doesn’t she?” Aunt Peg asked.

  Erin nodded in agreement. “Good bone, too. Lucky Luna is a beautifully balanced mare. You can really see her sire in her. If she has a foal that looks anything like she does, I’m sure you’ll be very pleased with it.”

  “I’m pleased already,” said Aunt Peg, stepping in closer. “May I touch her?”

  “Of course,” Erin replied. “She’s yours. And she’s a very friendly mare. They aren’t all like that, but Lucky Luna is a pleasure to work around. Right, Sergio?”

  “That’s right.”

  As Peg approached Lucky Luna, Sergio slid his hand up the lead rope and tightened his hold. The precaution proved unnecessary. When Aunt Peg stroked the mare’s soft neck, Lucky Luna simply flicked an interested ear in her direction, but didn’t move otherwise.

  “I think I’m in love,” Aunt Peg said after a minute. She laughed in happy surprise. “I can’t say that I expected that.”

  Erin just smiled. “As soon as you told me you had dogs, I knew it would happen. Horse people and dog people are all the same.”

  “Lucky Luna certainly looks as though she’s been very well cared for,” Aunt Peg said as she stepped back again. “I’m sure there are questions I should be asking, but right now I am perfectly content just to stand here and enjoy looking at her.”

  “That’s the good thing about having your mare under the management of a farm like Six Oaks,” Erin told her. “We have all the experts you need right here. Vet care, bloodstock advice, day-to-day care, and monitoring; we take care of everything for you. All you have to do is relax and enjoy the fun of owning a very nice mare. When we’re finished, I’ll take you back to the office and you can sit down with Ben to go over any remaining details.”