I wonder why?
Working too hard on the websites, trying to get all the horse trainer research completed. Feeling much more tired than relaxed.
I don't know.
While I'm contemplating the start of the two-year-old horse racing season, most pundits, punters, backers and layers are getting ready for the Cheltenham Festival. I have zero understanding of the National Hunt. I kind of enjoy the racing to a point, but always feel sad for the loss of any horse on the Flat, National Hunt or gallops at home.
I always remember Clopton. You wouldn't remember him because the only way he would have got near Cheltenham was if the horse box he was travelling went passed the entrance to get to Fakenham.
Clopton was originally trained by M J Ryan. He won a couple of times at Great Yarmouth. Sure he came third in a race when I bet and I remembered him from that day, watched out for him running and one day felt slightly alarmed when I see he was entered to run in a lowly hurdle race. I considered that a hurdle race shouldn't be a problem.
Sadly, I looked at the race results at Fontwell. It wasn't a fall that saw his demise, he pulled up after the fourth fence and must have suffered a bad injury and ''put to sleep''. Reading those words felt like someone had knocked the wind out of my body. I couldn't help but wonder how many people cried a tear for the six-year-old trained by the late Ferdy Murphy. It was back in 1990, so you really would have to have known this chestnut gelding, a son of General Assembly, to have his name in mind.
He was owned by Geoff Hubbard. I can imagine the lad or lass of Clopton had a tear in their eye unless hardened by one too many losses. Perhaps most said a farewell with pathos in their words.
They should have and in my mind, I will consider they did.
Life is often too difficult to put into words. To a point, we are all so very selfish in our ways but conversely caring and kind.
Life goes on, they say. It doesn't pay to dwell. He had a good life.
Man, women or beast. From the bumblebee to great white shark there is a pulse of life, a beating heart and hope that today will be a good day.
There will always be loss. There will always be someone who couldn't care a less. I wonder what happened to those people to be that way? Then there will be those who care. Who sigh with heartfelt emotion. Please get up. One, two, three, four legs all moving in time. You live to run another day.
God bless.