Requiem For A Champion
By Larry Palmer
F
ive of us sat in the beautiful arena of South Point Hotel in Las Vegas on a Friday night prior to Labor Day. It was to
be the first horse show for our two grandchildren and their father, our son. We were all excited. Horseracing, horse shows – they are not my real passion. The horses themselves are what drive my love of them. But I knew one way to trans- fer some of my passion to my grandchildren was for them to absorb the magic of these highly schooled athletes perform- ing their art of dressage in the show ring. The show celebrat- ing the Spanish Horse began. For an hour, we watched these highly talented and educated equines display their wonder- ment.
Then two large Andalusian stallions entered the arena, one black, and the other white. Ravel, the white one was seventeen hands of perfect horse. Both were awesome. Ravel, I knew was a gift to Henry Gutierrez co-owner of Gutierrez Andalusians from a friend to replace one of his favorite stallions which had died a few years ago. Andalusians have been a part of human history for thousands of years carrying warriors into battle, even helping to explore the new world. Only in the last couple of hundred years have we discovered how important these equines are to our own psyches and how these special animals seem to put us in touch with the source of what is good in the world. The human kills everything at one time or another; for one reason or the other. The horse has survived and thrived over fifty million years with- out finding it necessary to ever kill anything. This dichotomy is per- haps the magical binding agent that brings the two vastly different species so close together. There is no other animal so widely admired by every society, so written about, so revered by humans in every culture in the world. The Andalusians are the epitome of why horses are so unique and wondrous. Extraordinary beauty, magnificent strength and talent togeth- er in an unsurpassed mix the human finds irresistible.
The two, the white and black, the champions danced around
32
the arena like ballerinas performing their choreography flaw- lessly. We were spellbound at their ability to move together as one. The finale came and they both bowed, then bowed again. On his second and final bow, Ravel gracefully, sank to the ground on his left side. So smooth was his fall that at first I believed it was part of the show – as in western shows – and that he would get back up with rider still aboard to thunderous applause. But, they stayed down – horse and rider. It wasn’t a show, something was wrong.
Gently, I took the binoculars from my granddaughter, Natalie, and looked more closely. The rider, Lupe Cardona (son of Ravel’s trainer), was attempting to free himself, his left leg being pinned under the big stallion. Help began to arrive. Lupe’s leg was freed and the saddle pulled off. This magnifi- cent horse, winner of many national ribbons in halter, driving, saddle seat, and dressage struggled unsuccess- fully to get up. Someone vainly but valiantly tried to give Ravel CPR. That told me he was losing his bat- tle. The magnified picture coming through the binoculars was more clear, more detailed than I wanted to see but found it impossible to break away. The big horse took his final breath and seemed to accept his fate. His respiration ceased, his lips froze open over his teeth, and his eyes stared a thousand miles away – perhaps at eternity.
Per his owner, Ravel was a “magnificent ride.
” “He had a wonderful piaffe and
Spanish walk. He especially loved to passage, and in the parades he would show off the entire 5 miles if I let him.
”
Ravel was twenty years old, owned by Henry and Maureen Gutierrez of Gutierrez Andalusians in Nuevo CA. According to his vet, he was in per- fect physical health. No drugs were found. Maureen Gutierrez wife of Henry Gutierrez, Ravel’s owners told me, “We never paid a vet bill.” Apparently, he had an undiag- noseable leak in an artery. His heart just quit – but not until this spectacular champion had per- formed his entire routine and made
his final bow. He left us as the star he was, doing what he was meant to do. Wish that we all could have the same fate.
My wife bled tears of pain and frustration. “Where is the vet? There should be a vet. We must help him.” But, there was no vet and none could have helped anymore than we could. My son held his mother to comfort her and little
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73