I awakened on Friday morning and just stared at the comments. Thursday evening had been spent in a state of distress; a state of overwhelming fear, sadness, and this sick sense of loss. 
I am not good at ignoring things. I am not good at not doing. I am not good at sitting on my hands. I am not good at being still while watching others suffer.

And therefore watching the barns of San Luis Reys Training Center burn was excruciating for a doer like me.

I had been through barn fires before. I had watched as the entire 2yo crop of a farm my partner managed go up in flames. I had watched a trainer need to be sedated as he heard his horses scream. And I had seen the devastation afterwards.

And yet this time it was bigger. It was greater. It was scarier.

But I didn’t know what to do, sitting in Lexington Kentucky. 

So I shared a few Facebook statuses of where donations could be made. I asked my California blog followers and numerous friends which this writing has connected me to to go help. I begged for clothes and toiletries to be shipped. And then I sat on my hands, not knowing what else to do.

Until I saw a Facebook status of a kindred spirit-another horsewoman who felt the same. Renee Dailey had posted that she was in a state of distress watching her fellow horsemen suffer, and wanted to help. She wanted to gather a group of horsemen and women from Kentucky and get them there.

So I called her.

I had worked sales for Renee and her partner Tom VanMeter before, and asked if I was what she was looking for, and she immediately said yes.

She wanted horsemen who could handle a 3yo intact colt, bandage a leg, and triage a case. She wanted someone who could stay calm under pressure, and not be unraveled by the severity of the situation. I made the cut, as did my significant other Luke Sullivan, who needed to do little more than tell his boss Greg Goodman of Mt. Brilliant Farm that he had been offered an opportunity to help the horses in California to be given the time off.

Renee found the people — and quite easily. But what she then needed were the money and supplies, and the way to get us there. 

So she hit the pavement. She and Tom called every connection they could think of. And what started as a simple Facebook plea and a phone call quickly became a thing in it of itself.
Spendthrift offered their private jet to get us horsemen and women to California. Ron and Barbara Perry offered their home in addition to their truck and trailer for once we got there. And countless companies and farms offered their money, supplies, and medications to help us once we got there. Hagyard Pharmacy immediately gathered boxes of meds, KBC Horse supplies gathered bandages and supplies, and we packed our bags with a change of clothes and chain shanks. 

We were off.

And as I looked around the plane flying there, I couldn’t think of a more miscellaneous crew of people from Kentucky. Or a more perfect.

We had a broodmare manager in Luke-but someone who was also skilled in hauling and handling dangerous horses. We had a business manager from PM Advertising in Caroline Walsh, but someone who was a skilled horse handler herself and whom had unlimited connections. We had the Thoroughbred specialist for Kentucky Equine Research (KER) in Erin Hogan, but a woman who had worked as a veterinary technician for decades, and who had triaged countless other disasters. We had Twin Creeks farm and stallion owner Randy Gullett, who had trained countless racehorses himself and knew the backside like the back of his hand. We had bloodstock agent Sean Feld, who knew California racing and had a limitless supply of connections to get supplies and donations. And we met up with Allegra Lee and Renee Dailey once we arrived. Two fierce, impassioned, and driven women who were ready to delegate.

And we had me. Previously a farm manager, currently a scientist, and continuously associated with every entity that is this breed.
Renee was truly the woman in charge, and got us arranged and on our missions.

None of us had a famous pedigree. None of us had a famous last name. No one came for a publicity stunt or for good PR. 

So we simply unloaded our trash bags and cardboard boxes of supplies from the fancy airplane and hit the ground running.

We didn’t know what would greet us at Del Mar Racetrack, and what we encountered was the best greeting we could have dreamed of.

The Racing Office was well organized and knew exactly what they needed us to go hunting for. Horses had already been triaged by the time we arrived and the medical need from our side was limited. 

But what was needed were THINGS. 

Trainers had not only lost horses, but also tack rooms full of supplies. From their own saddles and bridles to their personal medical supplies, blankets, desks, and grooming kits. 

Grooms lived in the barns and dormitories and lost even more. These men and women who stayed behind to save and rescue their horses had taken the hardest hit and lost everything but the clothes on their backs. They needed, and will continue to need, everything from clothing to supplies like microwaves, hot plates, food, and assistance.

But if they were lucky and didn’t have their living quarters burned down, they were now tasked with the additional commute from where they lived around SLR to Del Mar, which takes 30 minutes on a good day, and 60 in traffic. Men and women who were accustomed to, and could afford, a 5-10 minute commute are now draining their accounts just to get to the horses that they love and the jobs they need.

And some of those horses were still missing. Still unidentified. Still lost to the world and unknown if they were dead or alive.

So our groups divided and conquered. Erin to help the veterinarians. Allegra, Renee, and Sean to gather and deliver supplies. And Luke, Caroline, and I utilized our donated microchip scanners from The Jockey Club and various Lexington veterinarians to go identify missing horses—3 of which we were able to locate and return to their trainer, which was one of the most emotional and gratifying experiences of my life.

It was a whirlwind few days, and yet we were happy to realize that we were mostly unneeded, and have now begun our return to Lexington and the Bluegrass. The horsemen and women of California had it under control. 

If there was anything that we learned or saw the most of while in Southern California, it was their tenacity and resilience. They had lost almost 50 horses, with a handful still missing. They were tired, they were grieving, but they were strong, and tough, and would be ok.

I also learned other things during my travels up and down the Pacific coast trying to find horses. Trying to relieve owners of their pain. Trying to assess, organize and help the situation. Many of these things need to be discussed on another day, many need to be handled now.

One: Please, microchip all of your horses. We learned in our whirlwind weekend how helpful this was in the identification of them. And this goes for young and old, expensive or cheap, thoroughbred or none. The microchips cost between $25-50 and are invaluable in the identification of horses in scary, extreme, and dangerous situations.

Two: Have a plan. And stick to it. I watched the video of the horses being turned loose and was just in shock and awe of how they ran together and for the most part stayed uninjured and intelligent. It was the best plan for the horses, and the men and women who did it did the right thing, and saved hundreds of lives. So sit down with your staff and talk about these things. What do we want them to do in a fire. A tornado. A flood.

Three: This is the hardest one for me, and I know I will get enraged comments to type it, but here goes. We need a national governing body for thoroughbred breeding, racing, and everything in between. There were so many people doing so many things, and while it stayed relatively organized, there were still moments of chaos and confusion. 

We cannot always rely on donations from farms and owners. We cannot always assume that the racing office will have the time, energy, or ability to alert the troops. We cannot always turn to Thoroughbred Charities of America and ask them to man disasters and problems as if they were the Red Cross. Or FEMA for thoroughbreds. We will not always have a Trifecta Farm across the road from the disaster, or a team of capable horsemen within driving distance. We need a plan in place for ourselves. Our industry. Our horses.

The men and women of California were shocked and appalled that horsemen and women came all of the way from Kentucky. We heard constant thanks and a lot of gratitude, but moreso we just heard their stories. 

Stories of bravery. Stories of heroics. Stories of desperation, and of despair.

We found trainers in a panic that they still hadn’t found their horses, and heard their tears when we called them back to say we had the horses and they were alive.

We saw grooms who were battered and bruised themselves, but were still there at 4am the next morning to do treatments, hand walk, and muck out. 

And we saw an industry that, yet again, came together. An industry that is constantly berated for only being “in it” for the money. An industry that made no profit off of these last few days, and in fact lost tremendously. But an industry that rallied together, raised over a half a million dollars, jumped into cars and planes, and simply HELPED.

That is my take away from this experience. They are battered. They are bruised. They are bleeding. But we, the entity that is this beautiful, tragic, amazing game of thoroughbreds will rebuild. We will be full again. We will be back. 

To donate to the relief of these men, women, horses, and industry, please donate to Thoroughbred Charities of America Horses First Fund.