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 Goodbyehalo |
 # 1 ≡ GANDER |
Groupe I
1013 posts depuis
le 6/9/2003
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GANDER est un pur sang américain, presque blanc. sa couleur en a fait une idole. hongre âgé de 8 ans, il n'est pas un champion, même s'il a battu quelques très bons chevaux dans sa carrière.
il y a quelques jours, pendant une séance d'entrainement, il s'est fracturé un petit os dans le paturon de l'antérieur gauche. son cavalier d'entrainement a tout de suite arrêté le cheval et lui a maintenu l'antérieur pour éviter que GANDER ne porte son poids dessus et n'aggrave le mal.
c'est probablement ce qui lui a sauvé la vie, ainsi que la profonde affection que lui portent ses propriétaires, qui n'ont pas hésité à tout faire pour le sauver.
il a été opéré avec succès et connaitra, après complète guérison, une retraite bien méritée...
voici un texte (en anglais) d'une photographe qui était présente sur l'hippodrome le jour où GANDER s'est blessé.
"Saratoga, September 1, 2004
Saratoga was beautiful this morning, as the meet swung into its final week. At 8:45 I drove into the backstretch, awaiting the end of the harrow break. Grabbing cameras, I headed to the rail.
Although much of the far turn was dark with shadows, the half-mile pole, gleaming red and white, basked in sunshine. Dappled shadows along that far turn after the break were a trademark of these final days. Earlier in the season, the sun shone there much earlier in the morning.
Cool breezes buffeted fallen leaves, leaves that had drifted from trees still primarily green. Some trees, traced with red or gold or brown, were beginning their autumn show.
Sadness always accompanies these days, as the chill reminds locals of winter and reminds racetrackers that they'll soon head home. Yet this morning was so brilliant, the sky so vivid blue and horses so lively in the cool air, that such thoughts were set aside.
After the harrow break, horses swarmed trackside. Frankel horses soon zoomed past in their workouts, a few Pletcher horses followed, and other horses with saddlecloths familiar and unfamiliar. There didn't seem to be any marquee horses working this morning - no Peace Rules, Society Selection, Strong Hope.
But then I saw him coming toward me, from the right, jogging the wrong way: the exquisite, light-gray Gander. It was around 9 a.m., and my personal marquee horse was on the track.
As he glided past Gander's rider, Simon Harris, quietly said good morning. Simon was smiling, as he often did when aboard the angular gray. He knew well how special Gander was, and he certainly knew how much I love the big horse. I chased him so often that I sometimes called myself Gander's stalker.
Simon was aboard each time the horse galloped, worked, or jogged, and his view of Gander often included silver mane hair whipping his face. Simon was trim and athletic, with short reddish-brown hair, a smattering of freckles and trusting eyes. His strong hands were gentle on a horse.
The rider had watched Gander win graded stakes, and try valiantly in losing efforts, for years now. Simon got so nervous before each start that he could barely watch, his affection for the gray so deep.
Gander usually stood out on the backstretch, near the quarter-pole, before turning around on mornings when he worked out. I moved closer, hoping to get a new shot of the gray standing proud. Simon stopped Gander and swung him out. But on this day of sunshine and breezes Gander fidgeted and headed right to his task.
Just over a week ago, Gander had worked brilliantly on another sunny morning. For those who wondered about his competitive spirit at his advanced age - eight - the work eased their fears. The exact number of workers at that distance that day eludes me now -- 26 or 28 -- yet his was the third fastest. And it was done easily.
This morning, Gander's gray form was visible way down the backstretch as he began his five-furlong work.
As they moved past, Gander's long, silver body flashed through the sunlight. Simon sat inert, his tanned hands guiding the aggressive gelding carefully. There was no need to set Gander down - he obviously relished these workouts.
His distinctive long face, appearing more Arabian than Thoroughbred, was low and his mane and tail flowed. His teeth were gritted, eyes focused on his task. This was a horse who loved to run.
Near me, several backstretch visitors watched Gander pass. "There goes the big white horse!" a Hispanic groom said to no one in particular, watching the Gander show. The visitors were discussing Gander - they, too, knew him by sight. People around the oval enjoyed watching him fly by.
I watched through the camera as he headed into the homestretch. The historic sunlit grandstand, scene of Gander's first victory and witness to countless workouts over the years, loomed on their right. Simon was still unmoving aboard his old friend, his white shirt rippled like a boat sail. It was perfection in motion.
Yet, suddenly, Simon took up sharply and Gander was suddenly fighting to keep running, his head high and mouth wide against the bit. For a moment I tried to believe they'd seen something on the track - a goose, a stunk - and Simon was pulling Gander around the obstacle. Yet I knew better. All racetrackers know the sickening look of a rider trying to slow their injured mount.
It seemed to take forever, but Gander finally ground to a halt and Simon leapt from the big gray.
Usually on such occasions I find a spot from which I cannot view the scene, or drive over to the other track and try to forget what has happened. But this time, somehow, I could not leave. I began walking, sometimes jogging, around that far turn toward the front side. I had to know. Tears flowed.
After awhile a warning alarm sounded, warning other riders that there is a problem somewhere on the track. The horn on the main track is different than that on the Oklahoma side. The latter sounds like a fire alarm, a rising and falling wail. But the horn on the main track is solid, loud, blaring, ominous. While no one wants to hear that sound for any horse, it seemed impossible that the sound was blaring for Gander.
I stopped when I reached the head of the homestretch. The scene before me was incredible, and I could not go closer. To the right that ancient grandstand, gold in the morning light, stood silent as the gray horse bobbled on the track.
Gander was near the outside rail, sweating, impatient, his blue-and-white saddle tossed aside near the center of the track. Trainer John Terranova was already at Gander's head while Simon struggled at Gander's left, trying to keep the horse's left foreleg up. On this quiet Saratoga morning, Simon was as Chris Antley was on a June afternoon five years ago. Yet with few witnesses, Simon would perhaps never be recognized for this heroic deed.
Soon they came - a black blazed-faced pony, a pony boy on a plain bay, the equine ambulance, the vet's truck. Several other people converged on the scene as the breakfast crowd on the other side of the rail wandered down the track apron to watch.
John's wife, Tonja, ran down the track to the gray. Two of the most gentle, kind-hearted trainers on the backstretch, John and Tonja sport youthful faces and infectious smiles. For the past two years, they've cheerily allowed us to bring a backstretch tour up to Gander's stall to gawk at the big gray. And if I am not Gander's biggest fan, that honor might fall upon their daughter, perhaps three, who often enters Gander's stall and plays safely in his straw.
I thought of a day two Augusts ago when Gander tossed jockey Mike Smith at the start of the Saratoga Breeders' Cup. He went around the track between horses, took the lead as he entered the homestretch and won easily. The fact that he had no rider -- an impressive weight allowance -- did not mean he was not victorious that day. He knew that he was, but he simply did not get the winning purse. He later sported a black eye as a war wound.
I thought of the first time I noticed Gander, at Saratoga's 1999 Albany Handicap. He was four then, his coat already quite light. He won easily that day, dominating his New York-bred competition. He had many bright days.
There were Gander's two Empire Classic wins, the only time a horse has repeated on New York Showcase day. And the times Gander put fear into Lemon Drop Kid fans as he tried his best to beat the champion. And the gutsy allowance score against much younger competition last autumn at Belmont.
And, perhaps best, a cold autumn night at the Meadowlands in 2001 when, in the Grade II Meadowlands Cup, Gander held off Include and Broken Vow for his biggest victory. We were there that night, cheering like idiots. After the race the groom gave me Gander's tongue-tie, which still sits in my winter jacket pocket as reminder of a magic night.
The scene before me was now in motion. Gander continued to resist Simon holding his leg up, but Simon persevered as John held Gander still the best he could. But it was a great relief when, finally, Gander's leg was placed in a brace. He was slowly led to the ramp of the waiting ambulance and willingly hobbled aboard.
The ambulance proceeded slowly down the stretch past the finish wire, a far cry from the way Gander had entered that same stretch this morning. The horn's blare continued as the ambulance slowly made its way around the first turn and off the track, and the people who'd been at the scene scattered.
Then, suddenly, the siren was quiet. While the ambulance tire tracks were evidence of what had happened, it was back to business at the track. Workers resumed their schedules, and horses again began zooming past.
It is never the same after these incidents, and the rest of the morning was tinged with sadness. As I headed toward the car a trainer asked if Gander was the injured horse. He'd seen Tonya running, and a gray horse, and hoped that it was not their beloved star. A jockey asked if I knew how severe Gander's injury was. He shook his head, his face empathetic. Writer Sean Clancy, on his regular rounds in the backstretch, spoke with me about it.
The ambulance passed us on its way back to the Terranova barn, and Gander peered out the side window. Tonja was with him, and John, and perhaps unseen others. Their beautiful Gander, the old gray veteran, had left the track one final time. Back at the barn, vets awaited his arrival.
I headed home.
Later that morning, reports came in that Gander had suffered an unusual fracture of the short pastern bone, and that he will load a van tomorrow to head to the Albany Airport, and then Kentucky, for surgery. The prognosis is good.
Yet my world has changed.
I will miss Gander sailing down that Saratoga homestretch, his mane whipping and teeth gritted, reveling in the day. He has been grand to watch. Thank you, mighty Gander, for the wonderful show.
(c) 2004 Barbara D. Livingston
All rights reserved. easygoer78@aol.com
Gander
(gr./r. g. by Cormorant - Lovely Nurse, by Sawbones)
Foaled 5/15/96
Owner: Gatsas Stables
Breeder: Angel Rugnetta (NY)
Trainer: John P. Terranova II
Won 15 of 60 starts, and earned $1,824,011"
quelques photos :
juste avant de partir pour la clinique :
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GANDER
