Ruffian

I won't repeat Ruffian's history here. You could look it up (or Google it, in the modern form).

I'll say this: that I was fourteen years old and that she was beautiful, bigger than the colts, and maybe faster. I was bigger than the boys and had some reason to think that I did some things better than they did. But this was 1975 in Middle America. The fact that she was a filly brought out things in people who discussed her. Could a filly beat a colt? More to the point, if she could, what did that say about my future?

They arranged a match-race between her and the Kentucky Derby winner Foolish Pleasure. I ached to watch her win. The match was set for a Sunday afternoon. Generally, TV was off on Sunday afternoons, but my parents knew this was important to me.

Church was at 6:00. Church was an obligatory twice-on-Sundays event. Both services were a lot alike, except that in the evening they didn't repeat the ten commandments and the prayer was shorter. The race should have been over in time for church, but the start was delayed. Missing church for a sporting event was a slippery slope and avoiding slippery slopes was our speciality. The time edged closer to when we should be leaving but the race had not started! My parents agreed to my way out. Dad went to church with my sister and Mom stayed home with me to watch the race. We could go to a 7:00 service at a neighboring congregation.

So, I watched TV at 6:00 Sunday evening. The race was very close; Foolish Pleasure was the fastest horse Ruffian had ever run against. I don't remember who was ahead when she pulled up, lame. She ran her leg into a fracture and Foolish Pleasure finished alone. I had imagined many possible outcomes - mostly how the outcome would go down among the neighborhood boys and girls - but Ruffian breaking a leg had not been among them. Anyhow, Niekerk Church was starting at 7:00. We flipped off TV and left. I remember that I didn't get much out of the service. Mom was also shaken. Ruffian fought all attempts to help her and during the night they put her down. Mom woke me up the next morning by saying, "Honey, they had to put your horse down."

The race might have given me bragging rights, as a girl. If she'd run well and lost, at least I'd take pride in that she was in the race. But for the girl to die in the attempt was just dumbfounding. I put the clippings in my scrapbook and mourned her along with Amelia Earhart.