Racehorse trainers and PETA agree So here’s the windup: I was told to be at the barn around 11:30 A.M. the next morning, the day of the Spinaway Stakes. So there I was, alone, because all the barn chores were completed and the crew had scrammed. I was walking the row, talking to the horses at 12:00 noon when the veterinarian pulled up. “Where’s the horse in today’s stake?” He asked. I pointed. The veterinarian said, "Get a shank and hold her in the stall." He then lifted the back lid of his veterinarian’s vehicle. He carefully selected a small bottle and a needle, and approached. The veterinarian calmly entered her stall. He found a vein on her neck, loaded the needle from the bottle, and injected. He held his hand on her neck for awhile, and I though this would be a great opportunity to ask a vet about this listless two year old filly’s one ankle looking a smooch bigger than the other. So I did! He never even looked down at her ankles, but said, "I don’t do legs." We then left the two-year-old filly’s stall together. I snapped the webbing shut, and the vet walked to the back of his vet vehicle. Then the veterinarian quickly disposed of the needle and the bottle, and closed the back lid of his vehicle. He motioned to me, and I moved towards him. "Don’t let anyone go near her stall. Get some coffee, a chair, and sit outside her stall, here, on the edge of the road. Grab some pebbles. She’ll start dancing in about thirty minutes, and throw the pebbles and yell at her so she’ll keep her feet on the floor.” "Listen," I said, “you’re not going to the Lukas barn are you?” “No,” he said, “It's your turn today.” Copyright © 1999 Robert Kachur
— August 20, 2014 12:52 p.m.

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