Life with Rosie

by Helen Thomas

  Walking back to the car, Robert assures me that as Rosie’s track work gets faster, her physical development will also increase in pace. ‘You won’t know her when you next see her,’ he promises.

  As I fly back to Sydney, I wonder if it is really asking too much for two horses to be doing well at the same time. I also start worrying what will become of Harry, if he doesn’t step up to be counted at the races tomorrow.

  Funnily enough, even as I watch him walk into the barriers for what could be his last race for us, a sense of anti-climax hits me. After all this time, the five long years of expert care and attention and hard-earned money that’s been poured into this horse by all connected to him, his career hangs on the balance of the next few minutes at Geelong Racecourse. It all comes down to this. Right here, right now.

  Unwittingly, even the course caller seems to allude to this when he mentions how good News Just In looks behind the starting stalls and how enigmatic he has been, this time in work. There must be something more to him than we know, he informs the crowd, because a trainer as good as Robbie Griffiths wouldn’t persevere with him if there wasn’t. If only you knew, I think, waiting for the small field of six to jump in the maiden. If only you knew.

  I wish I was at Geelong to cheer Harry on instead of standing by myself in this inner-city pub in Sydney, a world away; the only other punters on deck are a trio who seem more interested in the afternoon greyhounds than the thoroughbreds. But I stand my ground, even as a premonition washes over me just before Harry’s race starts and I have to fight the urge to walk out of the betting end of the Glasgow Arms, because I know what is going to happen. I can see it already, like a slow-motion fast-forward.

  The small field will jump, Harry’s favourite jockey Pete Mertens will settle him back, mid field or worse for most of the race, and then he will pull out wide and race down the centre of the track, boxing on over the final 100 metres without quite enough dash to catch the leaders.

  Sadly, this is what happens, with News Just In officially finishing fourth, or second last, depending how one looks at the 1200-metre maiden field of five.

  So that’s it. The end of Harry’s line. I decide on the walk back to the office that this can’t continue. As managing owner, I can’t sustain him financially anymore. It is irresponsible and rash and what’s the point of any of us pushing on if Harry can’t keep up in this weak class of competition?

  I trudge back to work at the ABC, a light drizzle making the trek even more miserable, and I wait for my mobile to ring. I know all four co-owners must be feeling exactly the same way right now, their dialling fingers poised to call it quits. But the least they can do is call now to let me know the verdict!

  Robbie Griffiths is probably waiting the obligatory five minutes before letting me know our horse is now sacked from his stable. For a trainer of his professional standing, currently sitting fourth on the Victorian trainer’s premiership, a horse like Harry actually dents his reputation, which means this venture really is unsustainable from all angles.

  Fifteen minutes after the race, just as I have almost given up on hearing from anyone ever again and am about to sit back down at my desk, the phone rings. I feel sick.

  ‘Helen, I’m about to go into a meeting, so I don’t have much time,’ Robbie says. It sounds like he’s calling from his car.

  ‘How much of Harry do you own, 70 per cent, right? If the others want to get out, I’ll take that 30 per cent—because I really think he’s a better horse than the one we’ve seen this time in. His blood’s telling us something’s not quite right, and I’d really hate to see him go without one more prep because I know he has a good win or two in him.’

  For once in my life, I’m actually lost for words for a minute or so, trying to make sense of what Robbie is saying. Surely he can’t be suggesting hanging onto a horse that has been performing so below par, and such a heartbreaker these past months?

  ‘Oh, he’s been a heartbreaker all right, but I really don’t think it’s the real Harry we’ve been seeing go round. There’s just something he can’t tell us that’s not right and as I said the other day, I reckon it’s a seasonal thing; it really might be as simple as he doesn’t like the hotter weather.

  ‘He’s not a summer horse, so let’s give him a short spell—not too long, because we don’t want to let him get fat—and bring him back in when it’s cooler. And if his blood is back to normal, I reckon we’ll be back in action.’

  I thank him for his extraordinarily generous offer, promising to consider it over the next couple of days. I don’t need to be told it is an unusual gesture from the astute, professional horseman. Robbie is a kind and patient trainer, certainly, but he is not a sentimental one. He can’t afford to be. Somehow, Harry has got under his skin and he wants to give him one final chance to do better, to live up to the potential he has always shown this team at track work. Their expectations might not be sky high, but they are higher than him running second-last in a mid week maiden.

  When I tell the others, the ragtag bunch of non-believers Robbie’s willing to buy out, about his offer and the reasoning behind it, for the first time in months they don’t take long at all to make a decision about what they are going to do. Within a minute of my email going out, in fact, Adam is on the phone.

  ‘I’ll stay in,’ he says firmly. ‘If Robbie reckons it’s worth giving him another prep, there’s no way I’m not sticking with him.’

  To be honest, this was the one person I expected to react like this. Adam runs a media consultancy firm and has been a racing enthusiast for decades, with shares in much better gallopers than Harry, and so fully understands racing’s strange twists and turns. To such a seasoned owner, it makes no sense at all to bail out now.

  But I feel for my other friends, who are really along for the fun of the ride, and it hasn’t been fun of late. Amazingly, the trio responds in the same way.

  ‘We’ve come this far, we might as well give him every chance,’ says Duncan, a lawyer who has often been in court or conference when Harry’s racing. ‘And I’ll take another 10 per cent. It will help you out a bit and when we win the Caulfield Cup, everyone will think I’m a genius,’ he laughs.

  ‘It’s obviously not the horse’s fault he’s been running so flat lately. Like Robbie says, there’s something not right that he can’t tell us about, so we really should see how he goes when it’s cold again.’

  For the third time in an hour, I’m bowled over by this support and enthusiasm.

  The ‘hold-outs’ are Peter and Jeune, who keep their cards closer to their chests for a day or two, before recommitting. ‘But he’d better get a move on,’ Jeune pretends to grumble.

  Who would have thought such an unremarkable horse could bring out such loyalty in so disparate a bunch of people? It’s remarkable how inspired we humans can be, by the spirit and beauty of a thoroughbred. Even Harry!

  A couple of days pass before I text Robbie to say we are all still on board. It occurs to me that he and I are almost back where this whole saga started a year ago, with the yearling sales in March that brought us together for the first time in Melbourne less than a month away. And for now, we’re ignoring the fork in the road. We’ll press on with our funny old horse who doesn’t like summer.

  The next day, Harry is back in the paddock.

  Chapter 19

  A little fast work

  Rosie’s biggest day yet is another muggy one in Melbourne, the fifth in a row in early February. Set to make her ‘fast work’ debut with another of Robbie’s two year olds, an unnamed gelding by a young sire called Beckett, she heads onto the track in the relatively cool early morning.

  After gaining both speed and confidence in her exercise gallops for the past three weeks, running the last 200 metres of her exercise regimen in a healthy 13 seconds, today’s increase in pace—being ridden to gallop home just that little bit faster, at 12.5 seconds—will test her mentally as well as physically.

  Naturally, I’m unable to be there
because of my job in Sydney, and I can hardly think of anything else in the first hour or so at work until the suspense gets the better of me and I call Robert, who I know will have been on duty with our trainer still looking at yearlings at the Karaka sales in New Zealand.

  As I have learnt, no news is generally good news when it comes to horses. But just how good, I wonder? The foreman gets straight to the point.

  ‘She did well this morning, don’t worry,’ he assures me, as usual in his charming Irish brogue. ‘She worked with a pal who was under the pump for the last little bit, he couldn’t really keep up with her this morning. That’s not to say one horse is better than the other, it’s just a matter of where they are in their development at this stage.

  ‘But the filly did it easily; on the bit, good as gold. She was strong in the run home and seemed to enjoy herself. We couldn’t be happier with her.’

  And the knee?

  ‘No sign of any problem with it at all. I think you’ll have to learn to stop worrying about it.’

  As I struggle to contain both my sense of relief and my sudden rush of excitement, Robert mentions that Robbie has actually returned home from New Zealand and was there to watch Rosie’s first proper sprint.

  ‘He hasn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, and he commented on how well she looks. I think he was surprised at just how much she’s come on; she really has developed, even in the time since you saw her.’

  This is obviously a result of the solid exercise and feeding regimen. Yet, to be fair to Rosie, she seems to have confounded her stable again by doing better and staying in work longer than anyone predicted. She certainly hasn’t crumbled mentally under the pressure of the work increasing, nor has her knee packed it in. So now what?

  ‘She’ll probably quicken up again next week, see if she can go just that little bit faster—12 seconds for the last 200 metres,’ the foreman says.

  And if she can do that without extending herself too much, if she can literally hold her stride, what will it tell us? When will we know if she’s a real racehorse … or not?

  ‘If a young horse runs 400 metres under 24 seconds, they can gallop; anything under 23 seconds, they can really gallop,’ Robert reminds me. ‘Today, she came home in 25. But remember, that’s all we asked her to do.’

  Against this particular clock, destiny’s timepiece, mere seconds can indicate a world of difference and change the course of a horse’s future, which means that Rosie’s immediate path could well start to take shape over the next seven days, at least in her trainer’s mind. All of which suggests she probably won’t head back to the paddock at this stage.

  ‘Not while she’s doing so well,’ Robert agrees.

  ‘I think for the next couple of weeks at least, as long as she’s doing well, Robbie will keep her in work, until she tells us she’s had enough. And she will, at some point. But right now, she’s working well, she’s eating well, she looks terrific, she’s doing everything right. There’s no point tipping her out just yet.’

  It is almost impossible to believe that 53 weeks ago, this filly was meandering around the good grass and peppermint gums in a paddock under a hill three hours south of Sydney, the scab on what had been an ugly, deep wound still visible under her mane, her best mate Roxie by her side. Back then, her biggest challenge most days was devising ways of getting into the adjoining paddock where her mother was, and that usually involved wading through the dam.

  At that stage, there wasn’t much between the two friends, both chubby and happy yearlings at Picayune. Twelve months later, her first friend Roxie is still chubby and happy in a paddock, waiting to be broken in while Rosie is getting closer to her first race start.

  In theory, of course, it should be the other way round: the chestnut filly is bred to go early, the bay a much later developer. So much for what’s on paper. As these past few years have taught me, and all owners and breeders learn sooner rather than later, thoroughbreds and theory have a knack of parting ways, no matter the strength of the theory, no matter the best-laid plans.

  Living proof of this are the two year olds who are actually already up and racing, especially those sound and mentally robust enough to tackle the elite events that are scheduled early in the year in Melbourne and Sydney, lead-up events to the lucrative Group One Blue Diamond and Golden Slipper Stakes.

  As Rosie gets ready to really stretch out for the first time and show Robbie precisely what she might be capable of, Australia’s handful of truly precocious youngsters—strong, natural-born flyers—are hitting their straps in town.

  A million dollar baby from last year’s Easter Sale in Sydney, now known as Benetau, won the boys’ heat of the Diamond Prelude, while a flying filly making her race debut trounced her rivals in the fillies’ division. Her name is Psychologist. More than a little counselling could be required for connections of both these horses over the three weeks leading into the Blue Diamond, though I suspect they will know by now just how long a week, let alone almost a month, can be in terms of keeping these babies going.

  As dazzling as their flashy two year olds are, as enthralling as it must be chasing such huge prize money so early, I’m happy to wait for Rosie to grow into herself, to show us what talent she has in a less pressured environment. If all continues to go well, she might get to a barrier trial in the next couple of months. If she gets any further than that before her third birthday in August this year, it will be a remarkable bonus.

  Yet, a little cautious optimism can’t help but creep into this picture when Robert’s audio update arrives a couple of days after the filly’s latest gallop.

  ‘Rosie’s in good order,’ his message says.

  ‘On Friday morning, she had a sprint session at the track, and performed well. Robbie was there watching her and she ran home her last two furlongs in 25 on the bit, which is pretty standard work at this stage, so we’ll keep pushing forward now. We’re very happy with her body condition and (there’s) no sign of any soreness or anything. We like to monitor these two year olds all the time and make sure they’re coping with the added pressure of the faster training, so she’s moved into EJ’s now.

  ‘She’s at the track each day and from here forward, we’ll let the stable jockeys ride them once, twice a week, have a good feel of them, see how they’re going. So on Saturday, she’ll have another sprint session over 600 metres with the Beckett gelding and the following week, she’ll work over 800 metres and (come) home a bit quicker each time.

  ‘We’re very happy with her, and to push on from here. So we’ll take it one day at a time. But she’s in great order, and all’s well at this stage. Cheers.’

  Much more exciting news comes later in the week, when the first of Rosie’s Class of 2009 is nominated to make her debut. Marvellous Miss is set to run tomorrow in the first race at Geelong, Harry’s recent stomping ground, the improvement she has made this time in work surprising even her trainer.

  ‘It’s my belief she’s not a genuine two year old,’ Robbie explains.

  ‘But she’s strong in body and strong in mind. She has a terrific attitude and that’s what’s helped her get this far this time round. Her pedigree suggests she’ll be a better three year old, but in saying that I expect her to go really well (tomorrow). And if she can run competitively, we’ll run her in that Inglis race later in the month—the one that’s worth $250,000.’

  The other youngster thriving at this stage is the $40,000 Flying Spur filly Robbie bought for Craig and Tony, the two clients who were at the yearling sales last year with us. ‘She’s trialled well and I’m really pleased with how she’s going, really pleased,’ he says.

  Intriguingly, the biggest girl of the group, the daughter of Elvstroem that everyone is so taken with, is only just ‘poking about, doing some slow work’. Rosie, on the other hand, is up to speed, still working. This also wasn’t really part of the plan.

  ‘I wasn’t going to get her doing any speed work this time in at all, but I just thought we may as well,’ the trainer
says. ‘She’s going so well and a little bit of pressure at this point might encourage a growth spurt. But I don’t think we’ll keep her in work too much longer because I don’t want to overdo it. Her knee’s still puffy, but the only one worrying about it is me. She’s certainly putting her feet down, no worries, it may just be something that’s there forever.

  ‘It may just be the way things are with her and we just have to keep an eye on it. She’s happy enough in herself and seems to love the work. And she’s another filly with a good mental attitude to her, which really does help.’

  The next day, Marvellous Miss—the first graduate of Robbie Griffiths’ Class of 2009—tries to lead all the way in her 1110-metre race debut. But ridden by her regular track work rider Ivan Culliver, she runs out of puff in the closing stage of the race and is run down by two other fillies. Still, she sticks to her guns for third place, which—for a youngster who looks as if she will be happier galloping over a longer distance—is a fair performance. And for the Class of 2009, it is a terrific start.

  Overall, though, the day could have been better. The plan to let Rosie and her track pal run faster than they ever have before comes unstuck, through no fault of the horses, halfway through. Instead of galloping over the 600-metre course in at least ‘evens’, the jockeys mistimed the three ‘sectionals’—the three 200-metre splits—stopping the clock at 14.5, 13.0 and 12.8 seconds respectively.

  ‘Pilot error, pure and simple,’ our foreman admits. The last sectional reading is particularly disappointing, almost a second slower than the trainer had instructed the pair to travel.

  ‘The two of them did it on the bit, that’s for sure, and when they came back in, Robbie asked the boys how they thought they had gone and they said the two had done it easily.

  ‘And Robbie said, “Well, they’d want to ….” and told them the times they had run. They couldn’t believe it, it was a mistake; they thought they were going quicker than they were. That’s all there was to it.