By Catrina Godden

“That old horse over there, what sort of horse is he? And what’s that white mark on his neck?” The horse I was referring to was standing in the shade of an old willow tree trying to beat the heat and the flies – a battle he was losing on both counts.

“Why, that’s his brand. He’s an ol’ trotting ‘orse, Aces and Queens I think his name is, or something’ like that. Doesn’t matter anyways, he’s off to the knackery that one. And youse was after a ridin’ ‘orse wasn’t ya?” the old gentleman replied as he turned a dusty heel and started moving away from the poor old horse and his miserable piece of willow shade.

Well, that was our introduction to Jack as we called him, a Standardbred gelding bound for the knackery. We did buy the pretty grey pony for the kids, but as we were loading her onto the float something made me look back towards the small yard were the “ol trottin’ ‘orse” was fighting a losing battle with the heat and the flies, a battle that was going to be his last. Then a sweet wise voice said to me, “we have plenty of grass and four kids with plenty of love John, and there’s an empty bay on the float, let’s load him up.”

Fate of the knackery

I think if my wife Debbie hadn’t spoken, I would have stood transfixed, gazing at that old horse forever, wondering about him and the life he must have had, or what he had done to deserve the fate of the knackery. True, his coat didn’t gleam like the little grey’s did, his was dirty and shaggy, and the way his hip bones stuck out made him look as if he may be related to a coat rack! And he certainly looked like a good feed wouldn’t go astray. But the proud way he held his head and the intelligence and kindness that shone from his eyes is what held my fascination, and my heart. So we paid the “doggers” price for Jack, and a lot more for the grey, and headed home.

The kids chatted excitedly on the way home, tossing around names for the grey and contemplating how high she would jump, how fast she would run, and how many ribbons she would win at pony club. While our second eldest, Karli’s slightly exaggerated the ribbon count at “a million” and our eldest Rick’s reason why the grey would go as fast as a car, “cause that’s why they say horse power when talking about engines,” was slightly from left field, Debbie and I were pleased to hear the kid’s excitement.

While the kids enthusiastically planned the rest of their lives with their new pony, Debbie and I talked about Jack and how we were able to save him from the knackery, even we probably couldn’t ride him, “him bein’ an ‘ol trottin’ ‘orse and all” as the old fellow had sagely told us, he would be good company for the grey.

A new look for Jack

Several months passed and Jack’s dirty, shaggy coat was replaced with brown velvet and his bony frame padded out with muscles that implied latent power and speed as he’d stride out across the paddock during play with the grey. Quite often his mane, now coal black, would tote ribbons lovingly placed there by Karli. Jack would stand patiently for Karli as she clambered up on her bucket to brush and braid his mane, the grey would fidget and often nip.

Jack not only looked younger now, but he actually was! Debbie and I followed the advice of our local vet and wrote down his brand and made trip to the Harness Racing board to find out about Jack.

Turns out Jack’s real name was Aces High and he was only 10 years old. He’d been a promising young horse until an horrific race fall saw his career cut short. He had then passed from stable to stable, each new owner trying to reclaim the promising young champion, but to no avail. His injuries just couldn’t stand up to the rigors of racing. He finally ended up where we found him, battling the flies and the heat under an old willow tree.

We didn’t have a willow tree, but an ancient mango tree was where Jack now chose to battle the heat. Most afternoons we’d find Jack and four kids lazing under that tree, telling each other the news of the day and slurping mangoes, the juice running down their chins and Jack rolling the big fruit around in his mouth and spitting the unwanted seed, depleted of mellow flesh to the ground.

The grey didn’t figure in the kids grand dreams of competition and great heights jumped anymore, she was hard to catch and inclined to be a little stubborn, and on occasion would buck the kids off. Jack on the other hand would seek the kids out, following them around on their afternoon chores and then joining them under the shade of the old mango tree.

It must have been during on of these afternoon reprieves from the summer heat that the kids decided to ride Jack. They were all a year older and a year bolder and had become so comfortable in Jacks company that in hindsight I think it was inevitable. As is so typical with children, nothing being done in half measures, the ALL climbed on Jack’s back after strategically placing him next to a bale of hay. Debbie and I came upon this new adventure just as Eric our youngest, was hoisting himself up, with Rick securely holding the back of his shirt.

Jack just stood there calmly; munching from the bale of hay when the kids called to get our attention, Jack pricked his ears and carefully walked towards a very nervous Debbie and myself.

Jack of all trades

That summer Jack joined pony club. Karli won “a million” ribbons and Rick travelled as “fast as a car” upon his broad back. Shane was carried safely over jumps by Jacks sturdy legs and Eric played Cowboys and Indians with his “brave injun stallion”. Debbie and I even enjoyed the occasional trail ride with Jack. We seemed to have picked an apt name for that poor “ol trottin’ ‘orse” we found beneath the shade of a willow tree, because he was certainly a “Jack of all trades.”

More than ten summers have passed since we paid the doggers price for Jack, and the night he laid his head down for his final rest, I swear I heard the roar of a crowd and an announcer’s excited hum – a final cheer for a promising young champion to some, but a real champion in our hearts.