Crimson Stag
by Emily Hufford
"This horse here? He sold for a million dollars at auction," the young groom, Fernando, told me with a deadpan expression.
It was my first day on the job at Dallas Stewart's barn at Churchill Downs, and I was apt to believe anything. "Really?" I gasped, eyes wide. "Who is he by?"
"Glitterman," Fernando said, nodding seriously. "He's a Louisiana-bred."
"Wow," I breathed, jiggling the shank to get the horse's attention. I wasn't sure why anyone would spend a million dollars on a Glitterman, but I could already sense that this horse was special. He was already big but full of baby fat. Fernando affectionately called him "Bambino," for "baby." He was the only two-year-old in the shedrow, and despite his size, the colt was the gentlest and one of the most professional horses in the barn. He walked with an easy, rolling stride, and never tried to pull me over to sniff other horses or drink from other water buckets. After a night of researching who this million dollar colt could be, I realized Fernando had been lying, and returned the next morning ready to confront him. Upon hearing my discovery, Fernando just laughed. "Alright, so he wasn't bought for a million, but he's going to make a million." Just then we heard frantic rustling in the stall down the aisle, and we hurried over to discover the colt had gotten his blanket from his back up onto his neck. The son of Glitterman stopped moving when he saw and seemed to curiously say, "Did I do that?" |
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The "Bambino" became our project. Both of the barn's exercise riders claimed he was too big and fat to be a good two-year-old, but he was gentle, kind, and unique. Some mornings he would lay down in the stall and refuse to stand up when it was time to be tacked up for exercise. Other days he would dig a rectangle in the straw around his body so that he would be standing on the mat in the stall with the straw piled around him. It never failed that his blanket would only last minutes before he'd managed to work it to be around his belly or hanging dangerously between his legs on the floor. He had two raised bumps on his forehead, like horns that never fully sprouted, and he certainly had a mischievous streak inside.
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Despite the antics, he was so calm and quiet to work with that I was taught to groom on him. Every morning I would help saddle him, then after hotwalking I would learn to wrap his legs. Fernando had me wrap and unwrap them several times until I got the bandages exactly perfect. In retrospect, I could have done some major damage on his legs as a novice, but the colt stood, unmoving, and let me learn. I used to meander around the shedrow with the big colt at my side, telling the assistant trainers that he was going to be a Derby horse. As one would expect, everyone laughed. It didn't make sense that a Louisiana-bred son of Glitterman would go on to do great things. In the end, it wasn't the race record that set the colt who would be named Crimson Stag apart from his peers, it was the people around him who loved him. |
His owners would visit him and fawn over him, lavishing him with attention and often receving a big, open-mouthed yawn. A popular running joke in the Stewart barn was, "Those West Point people, they want every set of shoes and every saddle towel that comes off that horse!" I hope the effort was worth it; I hope that everyone connected to this colt got something.
Crimson Stag has died, and the hearts he has touched beat heavily now. His race record was nothing to scoff at: He made $265,410 with four wins in 12 starts. A maiden win at Saratoga set him apart immediately. A string of three Louisiana-bred stakes victories, where he displayed talent, determination, and heart all at the same time, etched his name in people's minds. A playful romp while recovering from injury took his life.
I will never forget sitting on the wall in Stewart's shedrow at Keeneland. One of his assistants, Brad Cox, was watching the colt cool out after finishing second. "Would you look at that?" Cox said. "He refuses to wear a blanket, but he has the nicest coat of any horse in the barn." I shook my head and sighed, "I guess I was wrong about him being a Derby horse."
Cox looked back at me and half-smiled. "Well, at least he has surpassed all expectations."
Thanks, Stag. Thanks for surpassing expectations, and more.
