Taking Chances: Kayla's Chance

He was right. The next morning before Bo, Mik, and I headed off to the track, my father pulled me and my mother aside. “They suspended my license for thirty days. I’m pulling Centerfold out of his race and shipping him to Del Mar tomorrow. Tommy’s coming up here to handle the rest of the horses. Mik’s taking three horses home in a few hours and Tommy’ll take a few back up with him. Kay, you can ride home with Mik or get on the plane with your mother tomorrow.”
We both stared at him. The only positive thing I could pick out of the mix was that I could go home and see Silver.

Nearly twenty-four hours later, Mik finally pulled into the driveway that led to the barns. It was early morning. Mik and I had alternated driving throughout the journey, but I had gotten more sleep.
“Someone’s happy to see you,” Mik chuckled, motioning to his window with his head.
I glanced over and saw my gray filly galloping alongside the fence. Her coat had lightened slightly and her mane had turned to a shiny black. She bucked once and slowed, shaking her head. I followed her though the back window until she was out of sight.
We pulled into the stable yard and Mik shut off the engine. Horses were being hot walked after workouts so only a few grooms were available to help unload the three horses we’d brought back. One groom went to every horse except Dingo, whom Mik and I had the privilege of unloading.
We’d given him a tranquilizer before leaving New York, but it had long since worn off. Maybe the etorphine reacted oddly with the other medicine or maybe the stimulant was still in his system.
Mik backed the colt off the trailer with a stud chain over his nose. I helped him feed the chain through Dingo’s mouth and attached another chain to the other side of his halter.
Together we half dragged, were half dragged by the colt to the stallion barn, where the stalls were sturdier and he wouldn’t disturb the younger horses in training. The training barn had dutch-style doors made of just wood with metal bars running the length of the stall. The stallion barn’s stall fronts were all mesh metal with metal bars and wood reinforced with metal to separate the stalls. Stopwatch boasted a ten-stall stallion barn with half of them in use. They owned over thirty stallions and sent them to various stud farms to keep the tension at its lowest. The mellower stallions got to stay on the property. Dingo was anything but mellow.
He pinned his ears at Enforcer and tried to lash out at the stall. The bay stallion snorted a warning and we dragged Dingo away before he could do any more damage.
We put him in the last stall and took off both leads, not even attempting with the halter. As soon as we were clear, the colt started his assault on the stall. The stallion closest to him, two stalls away, kicked the wall in irritation.
“How long does it take etorphine to work out of their system?” Mik asked.
“What do I look like an expert?” I retorted. “He looks like he’s gotten worse.”
“By a lot,” Mik agreed.
As if to agree, Dingo reared up, pawing the air and slammed his front hooves against the metal bars on the side of his stall. As they slid back down, one edge of his hoof slid between the bars, twisting his leg at a sickening angle.
The colt panicked, twisting away, pulling his hoof with him. A front shoe went flying and hit the colt in the back leg, causing him to shy and buck. But putting weight on the front hoof caused him pain and his right foreleg crumpled with the rest of his body following.
I heard a crack like a gunshot as Mik and I threw open the stall door to calm the colt. But it was too late. Dingo tried to scramble to his feet, but the broken leg refused to support him. He whinnied in pain and crumpled again. This time Mik and I were there to hold him down.
“Get the vet on the phone,” Mik snapped. He hesitated. “And my father.”

The only positive note was that it was a clean break. The colt was calmer now; the tranquilizer the vet had given him working its magic. I found it odd because one of the grooms had given him the exact same thing before we’d left the track.
Upon Mik’s request, the vet was also analyzing a blood sample and doing a brain scan. The blood test came back with enormous amounts of etorphine in it.
“This horse has enough drugs in him to kill a dozen or so full-grown men,” the vet commented. “I’m surprised it didn’t kill him. But I guarantee if we look at the brain scan, we’re going to see a whole lot of black where brain cells have been killed the repeated abuse.
Mik was quiet for a moment, staring at the dark bay colt. Then slowly, “your recommendation?”
The vet didn’t speak for a moment. “If it were my horse, I’d put him out of his misery. He’ll never run again with that leg, and he’ll be totally screwed up in the head. Once that tranquilizer wears off, he’ll probably go around trying to kill people again until the etorphine is out of his system which could take days. In that time he could damage the leg even more.”
Mik swallowed hard. We hadn’t been able to get a hold of Luke or the farm’s manager whom was at Churchill Downs. This was going to have to be Mik’s first executive decision.
I didn’t say anything as Mik walked over to Dingo’s stall where two grooms were holding the colt. My heart went out to him and I had to force myself to keep my mouth shut. This was Mik’s decision.
After nearly five minuets of just staring at Dingo, he turned to me. “Try my father one more time Kay.”
Just by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, I knew what Mik’s decision was going to be if we couldn’t reach Luke. I picked up my phone and dialed the familiar number, wiling him to pick up.
One ring…two…three…four…five… “Hello you’ve reached Luke Anderson and Stopwatch Stables.” He then listed the farm’s office number, the manager’s number, and my father’s number for their various services. Then the tone. Only this time, instead of hanging up, I left a message.
“Luke…its Kayla. Dingo broke his right front cannon bone and nearly overdosed on etorphine. We can’t get in touch with you or Carl so Mik made the decision…” I hesitated, looking over at Mik who nodded at me. “…to put him down. Uh…call us back when you get this.” I choked up a little as I pressed the button to end the call. I told myself to suck it up. Mik was probably already going through hell; my bawling wasn’t going to help.
I tried to direct all my sadness into anger. Someone had given Dingo a shot of etorphine; not a tranquilizer, which meant someone was on the inside trying to kill or seriously injure the horses.