| 12/28/06
Nothing like a new foal to boost morale. The nurse mare had a very cute baby. She made it look easy. Foaled by the book. Good thing it’s not a Thoroughbred. It would officially be one year old in four days.
12/5/2006
As we were packing up and dealing with the “day after” details, a call came in from home that Tommy Teaser was down. The vet was called and we rushed home. Even though we knew that this day was fast approaching, it was still hard to say goodbye after all these years. The crew suddenly started avoiding eye contact, too proud to admit their tears.
12/4/06
The winter sale was predictably cold and miserable. Fortunately we had great clients and we sold better than we anticipated. Dr. Procter’s BBQ was a highlight. He is now expected to make that an annual event.
Halloween is near
Happy Halloween from Syndney.
Griffin Farm 6/5/06 written by Tara Brigham, intern
The roar is deafening as the rain beats upon the metal roof of the barn. The sun, should it have come out today, would long since have set, and now there is nothing but farm sounds—the banging of a feed bucket, the distant scuffle of barn cats, and the deep, metrical woof, woof of the dog as she does what she does best: keeping the porch safe from coyotes.
Despite the evening’s gloom, the shadowy forms of the horses are still visible, the round bodies now reminiscent of their African cousins as water rivulets spill dark stripes down their necks and backs. One of the darker shadows, a bold white stripe running down her face, lets out a long sigh, shifts her weight from right to left, and settles in for the night.
Raindrops continue to fall from the ebony sky like grains of sand through an hourglass, each one a moment in time, instantly forgotten, the only proof of its existence: a dark freckle on a whiskered, velvety nose. For the raindrop, there is no yesterday, no tomorrow. For the horse it is the same—his day is full of a million individual moments, each new one erasing the one before.
There is the moment when the creaky blue cart comes around the corner, plump with morning grain. There is the moment when it’s time to stand still for the veterinarian, and the moment for a scratch under the mane. There is the moment to nuzzle baby, and the next, to stare with pinpricked ears as the local elk lay down for the night. Finally, there is the moment right now—just the horses, just me, under the same sky, the same rain.
I stand, palms up, letting it beat down upon my face—droplets falling from open lashes—and their lesson reaches me: live in the moment. So thinking not about the past, nor the future, I absorb the moment, letting it soak my hair, my coat, my socks. For this new appreciation I thank the horses, though in a way no horse could have ever taught: eyes closed, and smiling with each little moment that manages to land on my eager tongue.
First Breath: The inspiring moments of a mare foaling on Griffin Farm, written by Tara Brigham, intern
4/21/06
There are several ways to look at the birth of a foal: first, it could be called a miracle, but that’s too easy—everybody calls it that. It could also be considered a calculated, biochemical process caused by the waxing and waning of various signals and hormones. But finally, it could be understood as the single greatest feat of prestidigitation ever accomplished, because comparing the size of the mare to the size of that new baby, you know the only way it fit before was if each part expanded like bread dough on its way out.
Nonetheless, there he is—laying right there on the ground where a minute ago there was nothing but straw. Steam curls rise from the wet, brown hair and into the black night. For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of frogs chirping in the distance grasses.
The silence is broken when an urgent rainbow of towels attacks, drying his mouth, nose, ears—rubbing circles, circles, from the little forehead swirl to the mismatched white socks. He lies there, pink nostrils flaring—a future connoisseur tasting his first breath of oxygen.
It is an exciting thing to watch, especially because for weeks now the Griffin Place monitors have only been filled with pacing mares, bulging bellies pendulous and cumbersome. Now, finally and at long last, after many nights in sleepless anticipation, the screens contain the twitching tails and the ubiquitous, spidery legs of the neonates. In short time, however, the screens will show more expectant equines, and the wait will begin anew to pull that bread out of the oven.
Griffin Farm 4/1/06 written by Tara Brigham, intern
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| Intern Tara Brigham pictured with Campanita and her filly by Slewdledo. | Oh, what a royal breed, the Thoroughbred—every muscle and tendon a living history, in every movement the tale of his ancestors. Unchanged for centuries, prehistoric winds blow within his spirit, this knight of horses. What secrets lie in those quiet black eyes?
What fortuitous journey across time brought these animals from the gilded stables of kings to the humble fields just outside this door? Transcending the shores of every ocean, they are bound by blood, each one casting the same ancient shadows.
The horses at Griffin Place are no different—each one a picture of such beauty as to make even Aphrodite blush with shame. Cast from pure gold, there is treasure in those swollen brown bellies. Babies here are born with the past in their veins and the future on their backs.
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| Intern Tara Brigham finally getting a chance to rest with Sydney. |
History, however, is not just found in the veins of these horses. It is there in the walls of this farm, in this earth. It can be found at the bottom of a well, or in the crinkled, crayon drawing by a child long since grown. There is harmony here between past and present. And the future? They’re out in the fields right now, happily chewing the evening’s grain.
Griffin Farm 3/20/06 written by Tara Brigham, intern
It is a beautiful, sunny morning here at Griffin Place, with air so fresh and clean even the grass seems to breathe it in. Small birds play amongst the pine boughs, and occasionally—if we’re lucky—a beautiful, bright yellow plane sweeps the skies above, joining in the game.
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| Intern Tara Brigham pictured with Mary Lou giving a shot. |
The horses stretch out their necks, soaking in the sun like cats on a windowsill, lower lips hanging slightly askew. There is no movement—the world takes a collective sigh and settles down for a nap. Even the babies seem to understand the importance of this moment as they stand quietly next to their mothers, eyes half closed, swaying slightly.
Ten minutes later… it’s raining. Oh, and hailing. The horses, resigned against the flurry, put their heads down and amble their way to shelter. The cats are already there, angrily cleaning water from their paws, while the dog is out getting mud all over hers.
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| Trouble. Tribunal colt out of Order Up Molly and Katowice colt out of Wanfastprincess |
Feeding, mucking and teasing momentarily stop as hats and hoods go up in synchrony all over the farm. And with the rain comes the reminder of two very important lessons: never to take anything for granted, and also, never to underestimate the smell of wet horse.
3/15/06
The following entry is written by Tara Brigham, our intern for the breeding season.
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| Intern Tara Brigham pictured with 2006 Lady Beverly filly, and Lanny Fairbanks |
Griffin Farm. This place is nothing short of incredible, and for those who think that playing the stock market, fire-jumping, or working the night ER shift are the only exciting, cutting-edge jobs, they have obviously never been around here.
This farm is a machine that never sleeps—literally. Even as the sun slips into its bed of distant blue mountains, the activity here continues on into the night. There is always somebody to feed, somebody to clean, or somebody to watch—and believe me, someone here is always watching.
That is because this is breeding season, and for those who may be unaware, that carries the same import as harvest time for the vineyards, or June for wedding planners–each has an expiration date, and until it arrives, there is a race to beat the clock.
That means there is always something to be done, but not all is work; those employed here really enjoy what they do. Despite the early mornings and chilly weather, they happily don three layers and continue with their business—colored marshmallows against the chocolate earth.
This place really is a beehive of activity, and when at times it seems a crazy flutter of wings, the best thing to do it catch hold of one and tag along for the ride. It will never disappoint.
Tara Brigham, intern
 3/5/06 4:00 AM
Just took the muzzle off our NI foal. Baby and mom couldn't be happier. It has been a long 36 hours. Neonatal Isoerythrolysis is not common, not easy to say and not easy to remember either so everyone refers to it as NI. The UC Davis website is a great resource if you want to read about the condition: http://www.vmth.ucdavis.edu/vmth/clientinfo/info/clinlab/ni.html. Son Devin got in on the bottle feeding. He enjoyed doing it and we were grateful for the help. An anxious nicker from a newborn can make even those 2:00 AM feedings fun.
2/24/06
As I showed the visitors around the farm, I felt a little like I was playing hooky. It’s so much fun to talk about horses especially with people who are new to the business and trying to learn. And it’s good for the ego to have someone other than the farm dog listen. Besides it’s a good excuse to show them the win tape so I can watch it one more time myself.
2/15/05 I remember our veterinarian telling us that nine out of ten mares will foal normally and if anyone could tell him which one that tenth mare was, he wouldn’t watch the other nine. Guess this was that tenth one. We’ve had “red bag” deliveries before. They are always a bit scary, but until now, we have never had a problem. We would rather not see another one any time soon.
Day One. Foal born. Things are not quite right. The mare is two weeks early and doesn’t have a full bag. We have to break the placenta. It’s detaching from the uterus and being pushed out with the foal. The foal is in trouble. No oxygen until it’s delivered. We pull hard. Exhausted, we know we have taken too long. Foal is most likely oxygen deprived. Wish we had access to a hyperbaric chamber. Foal is treated within the hour with anti-seizure drugs and IV fluids. She seems OK for now. Time to get a little sleep. This could be a long ordeal.
Day Two. Foal treated again with IV fluids and a transfusion. She seemed to perk up. She still goes a little longer between feedings than I’d like to see, and she scares me to death if I try to wake her. She’s limp as a wet noodle and hard to rouse, but once she wakes up, she seems normal. She nurses and bucks, but then she goes into such a deep sleep it seems like she’s in a coma.
Day Three. Foal crashed. Within 3 hours, she went from getting up and nursing in a pretty normal fashion, to having trouble waking up on her own and not nursing much when she did get up. We’re clinic bound.
Day Eight. Happy Day. We’re off to pick up the mare and foal from the clinic. They’ve been up there over a week but are doing fine now. Hate to think of the bill, but sure glad to have an emergency facility when we need it. We hope we can send them a win photo for their bulletin board one day.
2/12/06
With one mare on deck, restless, dripping milk and rubbing on the wall, we have already set a farm record. One foal yesterday at noon and three last night. Thank goodness for good help. All went well. It will be a day to remember. The euphoria of a homebred stakes winner yesterday, kept the adrenaline flowing. No problem staying awake.
2/11/06
Atoyac's colt wins the Turf Paradise Derby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Crew gone for lunch, husband in the middle of a snow storm on the east coast, I find myself watching TVG by myself. Farm dog looks at me like I've gone off the deep end while I jump up and down and yell at the TV. Keegan is 10 lengths behind at the ½, moves up coming around the turn and then blows by the Baffert colt to win. Yes!!!!!!!!!
2/6/06
I called the training farm in Florida. Our syndicate colt is training well. He is through with his breaking and has started legging up. He is smart and doing everything right. Just what we owners love to hear.
2/1/06
We're wrapping up the final details for our racing syndicate; LLC, business license UBI number, bank account, signature pages. With the mundane behind us we can concentrate on the fun stuff. This is a great group of people. Some are new to racing and some have been in it for generations. It is a shot at the big time for all of us. Hall of Fame trainer. Book one Keeneland pedigree. ""A"" throat. Clean x-rays. My hope is simply that we all have a great time.
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