The prospect of slogging through mud apparently didn’t dampen the enthusiasm of those who contributed to the second straight year of record attendance at the Preakness this past Saturday. Wide brimmed hats, fascinators, stripes, polka dots, bow ties, and general decked out gaiety were undeterred. As I get the paper first thing every morning and read every word I can bear to in my subversive effort to put off having to get ready to go to work, I started to see the buildup to this hallowed Maryland tradition about a week or so before the big day. And yet I found myself passing over the articles about who the favored horses were, what entertainment was lined up for the infield, the luminaries expected to attend, etc.. I finally had to pause to analyze my avoidance of what is, apparently, a source of genuine excitement and much anticipated revelry for not only Marylanders, but out of towners as well. What, exactly, was making me uncomfortable?

It was, in short, the horses. Disclosure here—I am an animal lover. As I mentioned in my last post, I cannot look into the eyes of an animal (wait now….maybe not a snake) without seeing a glimmer of something that connects us, even though we may be quite a few levels apart in terms of consciousness or evolution, or whatever the measuring criteria would be. And zoos and aquariums and (with much pressure) even circuses are more and more concluding that even the noble excuse of educating and the not so noble excuse of entertaining do not justify depriving animals of their natural inclinations. This is a movement that has been growing in strength over the years, and I am all for it. Our family went to the circus exactly one time when our sons were little, and I was uncomfortable and (no pun intended) felt like a fish out of water the entire time, looking around at other families laughing hilariously at the antics of the clowns and performing animals. Creepy is the word that came to mind….maybe tawdry, too.

So as I read in this morning’s paper about the two horses that died at this year’s Preakness-- unbeknownst to most of the attendees-- and about the 24 horses that die on average each week at racetracks across the country, I’m wondering when it is that we’ll start looking at the racing of horses for our entertainment and—oh, that’s right, enrichment—in a more thoughtful way. I can’t help quoting Joseph DeFrancis, who when interviewed for the Sun article said, “What both these accidents do underscore is that athletes, as in any sport, are at risk.” Yes, indeed—as former pro football players are finding, as they suffer a range of brain injuries resulting from years of slamming into each other with all their might. The difference is that our horse athletes do not choose to go into the sport of racing.