I’m sure I’m not the only one breathing a sigh of relief that winter is over. Retired racehorse Larry certainly seems glad to see spring arrive too.

Winter Larry: the retired racehorse in his scruffy outfit

Despite being bundled into heavy turn-out blankets and coming in to a warm stall every night, my pretty ex-racehorse Larry turned into a bushy bear this past winter. His belly-hair got long and thick. His legs got shaggy. Even his ears got fuzzy.

Winter paddock

The huge paddock where he hangs out with is friends also changed. Most of the year, Larry wandered grassy hills getting lots of exercise with another retired racehorse, Sunny; Jack the Quarter Horse; and 32-year-old Dave, once-dressage horse extraordinaire. But after the snow came, they were happy to stay where the hay was, not far from the gate. The field calmed into an expanse of undisturbed white, marred now and again by a track carved out by a neighbourhood coyote. The fences grew shorter as the snow-cover crept higher and higher. Gates had to be dug out after each heavy snowfall, and a path had to be ploughed to lead the horses to their daily turnout. New hay had to be spread out when the old hay got covered with snow. Winter was hard work for the human caregivers.

The Shedding Begins: the retired racehorse in transition

But finally, the snow began to melt and the days grew warmer – and Larry began to shed. I never knew a Thoroughbred could have so much hair.

You know what it’s like. You use your currycomb all winter, and nothing comes out. When you brush, you get static electricity for your trouble. Larry stands patiently because he knows there are some mints in it for him, after which he licks your coat hoping for more, and breathes minty breath in your face. You put him back in his stall and he dives into his supper, and another long winter’s day comes to an end.

Then one day, a bit of hair comes out in the currycomb. Hardly enough to notice. Ditto the next day. But suddenly, the currycomb is stuffed with hair, even though Larry doesn’t look any different. Within a couple of days, the currycomb isn’t up to the job anymore. You have to remember where you put the shedding blade. When you find it, though, the day was warm enough for Larry to have gone out naked, and he comes in with his coat cemented down from rolling in the mud.

So, it’s back to the currycomb to loosen the mess before you can use the shedding blade. Soon you’re in an ankle-deep explosion of Larry-hair. This goes on for days. The hair in his armpits gets matted – I mean, seriously? He stands patiently while you pick it out. Finally he starts to look patchy, like mice have been chewing on his coat. A bit of dark summer coat peeks out from the ratty-looking mess, and the Thoroughbred begins to emerge.

Summer Larry

Instead of furry, rounded contours, there are muscles. The legs shrink back to their familiar, slender black elegance. His belly doesn’t look quite as enormous. Spring has arrived.

Another year has been added on, though, since Larry was a racehorse, fifteen years in all since his final start. The muscles aren’t as taut as they used to be, and the belly sags a little. But the birds sing and the spring rains wash the land in warm promise. Larry and his mom look forward to another summer filled with sunshine and the memories of pounding hoofs and wind in our hair.

The running’s just a little slower, that’s all.