Diagnosis: A lifetime of pain.
Treatment plan: Euthanasia.
It’s hard to describe the mixed emotions attached to this news. I’m sure many of you feel the same way. You’re saddened, no doubt, by the death of an amazing animal who’s saga we’ve all watched played out since he won the Kentucky Derby and went on to shatter his leg in the Preakness’s first furlong. But perhaps you’re also compelled to think on his as a cautionary tale, a legend to rival all others in thoroughbred racing history for its long, drawn out nod to the danger of the sport.
What is a hero? Does it take world-class athleticism, gladiatorial injury and months of determined stoicism to meet that mark?
I’d posit Barbaro’s draw for his legions of fans was all of the above and much more. I give his devotees credit for responding to this horse on a much deeper level:
I believe Barbaro drew us in not only for his athletic prowess, his successes and heartrending tragedy; nor just for his magnificent poise in the face of a killer injury. These basic motivations are unworthy of our months-long devotion to this horse’s recovery.
We also loved him for what he’d lost: his promise unfulfilled, his glory denied. But, most of all, we loved him for his innocent suffering. He was the epitome of what we all understand well from living our own human lives: the heartbreak of foregone potential and the crushing pain of a cruel twist of fate.
Sometimes animals are an excellent repository for our own confused feelings on the nature of suffering. The whys that accompany the injustice of random accidents coupled with the innocence of limited cognition makes for an especially compelling symbol of hope and courage.
No matter that what we perceive with our human eyes is not courage but, rather, the baser will to survive; ultimately it’s this raw drive we respond to. Barbaro’s fame has proven that in the hands of the right messenger—one with the spirit and strength of character required to endure life’s inherent unfairness gracefully—the act of survival itself sends a powerful message.
And at least one element of this message, for me, involves the notion of Barbaro as victim. After all, he was made for this sport—by humans. That which made him such a champion in his racing career is also what broke him down: his legs. Were he not bred, raised, trained and raced on legs so poorly predisposed to withstand injury, his act of survival would never have been laid bare for all of us to marvel at.
Viewed simplistically, we humans are ultimately responsible for his death. We laid down the blueprint for his career, his injury and his recovery. Some of us then mythologized him when he followed our plans to the letter—with dignity to spare.
Granted, Barbaro’s supporters and well-wishers might not choose to acknowledge my simplistic analysis—after all, it implicates all of us in his death, whether we loved him or could care less. But I prefer to see it as a cultural wake-up call for all of us who stood a virtual vigil for him:
Do we want to belong to a society that blindly worships our equine heroes for their willingness to fight the obstacles we humans put in their path? Or might we prefer one that recognizes the need to bring these hurdles down for the sake of the intrinsic value we believe all animals possess? I’d like to think that Barbaro’s adoring minions (and I include myself here) would choose the latter alternative; one that respects an animal’s right to a healthy life.
I believe my profession does more to topple racing’s man-made hurdles than any other. Indeed, it’s made this eight-and-a-half month-long ordeal possible through the kind of sophisticated medicine unimaginable a decade ago. But if Barbaro’s story has shown us anything, it’s that veterinary medicine is not enough for common injuries like his. Nor will it ever be, regardless of our science, as long as the racing industry’s goal is greater speed…whatever the cost.
If we are committed to making real strides in animal health and well-being for their sake, it makes no sense to limit these benefits to our pets, our food animals and our wildlife. Our racehorses engage in the most dangerous sport our society enjoys and it’s time we demanded some reform in how they’re treated on and off the track. It behooves us to muster a fraction of Barbaro’s courage to challenge the system that broke him and which continues to create similar conditions for countless others to suffer the same.
I won’t easily forget Barbaro, not only for the unjust loss of a great athlete and a noble animal, but for his widespread effect on a population of people who feel deeply for horses and who respond emotionally to the struggle for survival they represent. Barbaro truly was the personification of valor, endurance and heroism…even if he was only a horse.
(Addendum: Please send an email to your local member of congress decrying the racing standards that lead to fatal injuries in racehorses.)
