Willow Glen Resident
Letters & Opinions
Lost in the Fog is a horse with lots of heart
By Moryt Milo
Have you ever been to a horse race? The experience is a total rush.
The sheer power of these thoroughbreds flying around an oval on legs that look like toothpicks is enough to take your breath away, even if you never place a bet.
When the race ends these magnificent animals are coated in a hot, sweaty sheen that gives off a cloud of misty smoke on a cool day. Their snorting sounds like a runner gasping for air. Some are finicky, rearing on their hind legs at the slightest sound or bump. Others, jumpy and high strung, refuse to go into the gate at the start of a race. Every one of them is proud, and they will stare you down without hesitation when you give them the once-over in the paddock.
The excitement and energy at a racetrack is raw and glamorous, the epitome of the expression "animal magnetism."
When I lived in Ohio I spent quite a bit of time at Thistledown racetrack in Cleveland. My college boyfriend at the time liked to bet. So I learned how to read a racing form, what a claimer and an allowance race were, how to understand the odds and, of course, all the intricacies of betting.
When I moved to California and met my future husband, I introduced him to the sport, and he introduced me to Santa Anita racetrack--a grand facility. He also discovered I was quite a handicapper and thought maybe our unusual first time out of the gate luck--winning eight out of nine races--should become a new line of work.
For me, it has always been about the joy of watching these incredible beasts travel at blurring speed when the gates spring open. It is like holding your breath for a mile. It's why I relished reading Seabiscuit, and why the fate of Lost in the Fog has captured my heart. The 4-year-old Bay Area colt--an 11-out-of-14 race winner--is dying of cancer.
The first time the animal's fate touched me was when I read that his trainer, Greg Gilchrist, was taking the thoroughbred to veterinarians at UC-Davis on suspicion of colic. The doctors gave Gilchrist the bad news as the animal lay on the table--three cancerous tumors, two inoperable. The trainer could have euthanized the colt then and there, but Lost in the Fog did something very human at that moment. He lifted his head up and looked at Gilchrist.
That's when Gilchrist knew what he had to do--bring Lost in the Fog home to his stables at Golden Gate Fields in Albany to live out his last days with those who care and appreciate his magnificence.
Now the colt is surrounded by those who love him, his owner Harry Aleo, his trainer and throngs of well-wishers sending prayers, flowers, apples and carrots. Lost in the Fog's environment is filled with positive energy, and he must be feeling the vibe, because he is eating a little more and acting a little playful.
It's a powerful statement for what a whole lot of good can do. It may not result in a miracle. His situation is certainly a long-shot, but stranger things have happened and longer odds have been recorded.
No matter what the outcome, this animal who worked so hard and charmed so many will have his dignity to the end. That makes Gilchrist and Aleo winners in my book.
So I ask again, have you ever been to a horse race?
Moryt Milo is the editor of the Willow Glen Resident. She can be reached at 408.200.1051 or via email at mmilo@community-newspapers.com.
