Fighting for Dixie

Few things in this world have ever come easy for me. I'm not sure why I thought horse ownership would be any different.

Dixie has been the light of my life since the day we first met in the crossties. She was scrawny, and young, but had such a sparkle to her presence. She stood there like she owned the place, her long legs conveying confidence, as if the humans belonged to her and she were the queen.

The stars aligned when the morning of the deadline to make my decision. She was a descendant of Man O' War, an ode to my grandmother Ruth who passed down to me a painting of the beautiful American Thoroughbred. A painting that still sits above my mantle today.

The day I met Dixie, I couldn't help but think to myself: "It'd take an idiot to not recognize the potential in this beautiful American Thoroughbred."

She had some conformational challenges, sure. Her mother died having her, which meant Dixie had to learn how to navigate this world on her own. She was a brave and quiet soul inhabiting the body of a 3-year-old racehorse that had raced less than 3 times and was sold at a local auction.

Horse racing is not a kind sport. Period.

I have seen enough of their cast-offs and rejects to know that they start horses too young, they push them too hard, and most of them leave the track with soundness issues they will battle the rest of their lifetime.

Dixie is no different.

Footing, timing, training, and this harsh winter were stressors that ultimately got us to a point that her pain signaling was loud, and at times, explosive. I intervened to the best of my abilities, as much as a single working female head of household could.

I had helped Dixie survive two colics, which were immensely stressful events that could also have triggered an inflammatory response, but Pedal Osteitis is a whole new ball game for an amateur owner like me.

I spent roughly a week having made the decision to put her down. I meditated on it, I discussed it with my trusted circle, and I thought I had made peace with it.

But my trainer wasn't ready to give up on her yet. And it took a conversation with her to realize – neither was I.

"She's not done," she said matter of factly. "I've seen what horses look like when they're ready to leave this earth. And that ain't it."

I smiled, eyes swelling with tears.

We both sipped on our Lagunitas IPA by the fire and had a heart-to-heart about what came next for Dixie.

"Do you think we can fix this? To what end? Spending 6 more months of nearly doubling her expenses and there is a chance she never gets sound enough to do anything..." I stated matter-of-factly.

"She's beautful. She's sweet. She's smart. Someone will want her. I just know it."

Though this was my first adventure in horse ownership, I had seen the money-making side of the business. I was well aware I should remain skeptical of anyone who wants to take on a now 4-year-old Thoroughbred with soundness issues. Just one bad sale can take a very bad turn.

There are no good, very bad horse owners out there who would rather make money from the illegal slaughter trade than they would pay for their horses to humanely be put to sleep. Horses that end up shipped across the border for slaughter usually surruptiously disappear one night and are never seen again.

I refused the thought of not sticking with Dixie until the very end, whenever that may be. I committed to her.

"All I know is she's not done. She doesn't think it's a big deal." She said with a shrug and a smile.

Jess knows horses.

"Alright, well...if she's not done I'm not done. But she has to fight. She has to show me she wants to be here. And if that's the case, I'll sink every last penny I have into this mare, goddammit," I said with a grin, tears falling down my pink cheeks.

I went home that night and meditated. I meditated for the right answer, to understand what is best for Dixie as well as what was best for me.

I've always had aspirations to jump at the highest levels. To grace arenas like The Hampton Classic and The Gold Cup. One day, I'd love to compete at The National.

The reality of Dixie's diagnosis is that jumping will forever be outside the bounds of what she can do. A horse with her condition cannot be asked to put the amount of stress that jumping causes on feet like hers.

In the best case scenario, she may be able to one day do flatwork.

In the worst case scenario, she will be an expensive lawn ornament.

But as long as Dixie keeps fighting to be here, as long as she is willing to work with her humans and learn to be a good horse citizen, who am I to not let her fight?

Don't give up on what matters most to you.

Our journey doesn't end here.