Every morning at dawn, at his “home” racetrack of Belmont in New York City, or at whatever track he happened to be, the Thoroughbred racehorse named Secretariat would stick his head out the stall and wait for his pal. The stall had a strong door, of course, but the usual way of keeping horses in their stalls is to slide the door back into its slot and attach strong, foot-high webbing into bolts on either side of the door set at the horse’s chest height. This allows a curious horse to stick his head out, look down the hallways and watch everything. If a horse hears human footsteps or the clip-clop of another horse, he can check it out. Maybe say hello. Racehorses spend most of their time in stalls, and an open door helps relieve boredom. Early every morning, with sunrise still hours away, groom Edward “Shorty” Sweat would walk down that long hallway to begin his day’s work, and every morning he saw the same thing. Secretary with his head out, watching for, waiting for, his best friend.
Secretariat was a kind horse, and playful. Eddie would toss the horse’s halter into the corner of the stall. Secretariat would pick up the halter with his teeth and drop it at Eddie’s feet; it was a game they played. Secretariat would try to steal the brush from Eddie’s hand, and he would pull on Eddie’s shirt like a pup playing tug-of-war.
Eddie was Secretariats groom, the man who cleaned his stall, gave him his food and water, put on his bridle and saddle, picked the dirt and stones from his hooves, put on his blanket, loaded him in the van and drove him to the next track and the one after that. This was Eddie’s job, and he did it better than anyone, according to many people long familiar with horses and grooms and racetracks. But looking after Secretariat was more than a job for Shorty Sweat. For him, that horse was like a son, brother and best friend all rolled into one.
Eddie knew, for example, that Big Red – as many now called him – hated to have his ears touched. He knew that the horse slept standing, facing a corner. At night, when the barn was quiet, the horse would lie down, but not on his side. He would fold his front legs beneath him and listen for strange sounds. When he heard one, he would quickly stand up. ready to run if called upon.
When Eddie would arrive before dawn, Secretariat always stuck out his tongue. Eddie would grab it playfully and shake it as if he were shaking another man’s hand. Ron Turcotte, the horse’s jockey, or rider, started this by one day reaching into Secretariat‘s mouth and grabbing his tongue as a greeting. The horse must’ve thought this was another good game, because every morning after that, Big Red would stick out that big pink tongue of his, and Eddie would shake it.
“Hey, Eddie,” Secretariat was saying.
Hey, Red,” his groom would reply.
This was their routine morning greeting through late 1972 and into 1973, when Secretariat was The Reigning King of Racehorses.
~By Lawrence Scanlan
THE HORSE GOD BUILT
We love secretariat page.
