Grace, the Thoroughbred: Gentle Heart, Wild Ride

The day started like any other weekend for a horse-crazy eighteen-year-old. I jumped up to feed the horses on the chilly, late February morning. Later, I groomed and saddled the horses. My brother, Thomas, and I enjoyed riding Dolly and Cutter, trying out some patterns in the pasture before heading out for a quick trail ride. We barely got back home in time for lunch. Walking into the warm kitchen, we were enveloped by the enticing aromas of the meal Mom had prepared.

“Okay, well, I will have them call you. Uh-huh. Yes.” I heard Dad talking on the phone in the living room as we washed our hands. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

Hanging up the phone, Dad joined us at the table. 

“Who was that?” Someone asked.

“That was Craig.” He replied, referring to our farrier.

I was confused that Craig would call since we’d just had the horses’ feet done not quite a week ago. “What was he calling about?” I asked.

Dad chuckled. “You will never guess.”

And he was right -  I wouldn’t have ever guessed. We had talked a lot about horses with Craig and I had told him that I wanted to train horses someday. But never in a million years would I have guessed that he’d ask us to train a horse for him! Thomas, my brother just shy of a year and a half younger than me, said he was in. So I went to get more details on the phone.

“I don’t know much about her. She’s a Thoroughbred; around three or four.  Got her for a good deal and I’m looking to resell her. She’s trained to ride but needs some work. I don’t have the time right now. Would you and your brother want to work with her for a week? I can’t pay a lot, but…”

I'd said yes before he’d fully finished his sentence. It was my first chance to train a horse and there was no way I was going to pass it up!

“Great!” He said. “I’ll bring her over soon.”

When Craig led her out of the horse trailer a few days later, I was blown away. She was a perfect Thoroughbred - great conformation, shiny coat, tall and lean. She was a deep chestnut/bay - blending the colors of chocolate and rich caramel. She had a short black mane that bounced when she walked. Her head was high, ears alert as she took in her new surroundings.

Craig led her to the barn.

“She doesn’t have a name yet.” He said as he handed me the lead rope. “But I’m sure you’ll give her one soon.”

“There’s something about you, girl. You’ve got something special.” I stood leaning against her stall that evening, watching her munching on hay. 

She had settled in better than we’d thought. She’d enjoyed her turnout on the pasture and had been easy to bring back to the barn. 

“What should I call you?” I wondered aloud, going through names in my mind like rummaging through pieces of paper. After looking at and rejecting several, I came across one that felt right.

“How about Grace?” I asked. 

Her head came up to look at me. I smiled.

“Grace? Grace.” I repeated. “Do you like that, Grace?”

She bobbed her head once as though answering my question, her mane bouncing against her neck. And that was that. We had a horse named Grace.

My brother, Thomas, and I jumped into horse training. What we lacked in experience, we made up for in enthusiasm. I emptied our local library’s shelves of horse training books; studying at night what we would try out in the morning. Each day we would layer on the coats and head to the barn. Grace did amazing with her groundwork and saddled well. My brother climbed on her first and said she rode well. We began teaching her to respond to leg cues and exposing her to things that could be scary to horses. She passed all those tests with flying colors. She would follow me around in the pasture and seemed to enjoy all the attention. The first few days went so smoothly and we made so much progress. Until…

“I want to see how fast she can go!” 

I paused my grooming of Grace to look at Thomas. “What did you say?”

He came carrying the saddle. “It’s time to see how fast Grace can go.”

After having several falls at fast speeds, I felt timid at the thought. “But she’s a Thoroughbred.”

Tom cocked an eyebrow as we finished brushing her and began to saddle. “And?”

“That means she’s probably really fast.”

He grinned and patted Grace’s shoulder. “That’s the idea!”

I swallowed. “I wish I had your courage.”

Tom hopped on Grace and rode out to warm her up. I would join him a few minutes after I tended to some things in the barn. Apparently it took me longer than I’d thought because when I headed out of the barn, Tom was riding a prancing Grace up the lane from the back pasture. His eyes were wide and his face was flushed. 

“You wouldn’t believe it! Whoa, what an adrenaline rush! We were flying!”

“You galloped her already?” I reached up to hold Grace’s bridle since she didn’t seem to want to hold still. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. It was amazing - I mean, she didn’t want to stop at first, so we’ll have to work on that. But no wonder people race on Thoroughbreds! It’s crazy fast.”

For the rest of our training session, we took it slower and Grace did calm down.

The next day we had another incident. While lunging her in the courtyard by the barn, there came a bang! from somewhere in the distance. It wasn’t too loud, but it set something off in Grace. She bolted. Jerked the lunge line from our hands. Took off. There was a small gap between the barn and the fence, a spot with just enough space for a person to walk through. And that’s where she was headed. But we never expected her to go through it, but that’s exactly what she did!

Panic surged through Thomas and me as we raced to catch her. By some miracle, Grace was unhurt. The stirrup on the saddle she was wearing was almost completely torn and the fence post cracked beyond repair. But Grace didn’t have a scratch on her! It still doesn’t seem possible. Only because of the Lord! We were confused by her behavior but did the best we could to help her work through it. 

And in the next few days, she took some great steps forward -  mostly due to Grace’s intelligence and willingness to learn. Even with the wild ride, Grace was a joy to work with, watching her trying so hard to please. We rode patterns on her, did small jumps over logs, and worked on being able to speed up and slow down. It was thrilling to see her improvements.

That evening, we got a call from Craig.

“Um, how’s it going with the horse? Because I, uh, just got some info on her… She’d been on the track - out the gate 26 times.”

So Grace had been a racehorse? She’d been raced twenty-six different times! That explained a lot - why once she started running she had a hard time stopping, why she’d gone through that gap in the fence: it had resembled a racetrack starting gate! We'd later learn that most people don’t want an off-the-track racehorse if it’s been raced more than eight or ten times… 

“You’ve done a lot in your life already, haven’t you, Grace?” I murmured to her at feeding time that evening. “Do you like being just a riding horse?” 

She lifted her head and nuzzled her nose against me. I began to stroke the white star on her face. “You’re really good at it, you know. You’re so easy to work with, to groom, to saddle. You’re such a good girl.” Grace blinked her eyes and sighed, warming and relaxing under the praise. “Such a good girl.” I crooned.

Our week with her was over too fast. When Craig came to pick her up, he told us he’d already lined up a buyer - a great stable where many people would get to love on her and learn from her, just as we had. And he said Grace would be keeping her name. That warmed my heart.

As I waited for Craig’s arrival that last day, I stayed in the barn. I stroked Grace’s face as I talked to her. 

“I’m going to miss you, Grace. You did so, so good. We both learned things, didn’t we?” I whispered. “I’m just so glad you got to come here.” 

She turned her giant, brown eyes to me. 

“You know what the best part about you is, Grace? It’s your big, gentle heart. Thanks for sharing it with us.”