My eulogy for Genuine Risk from my journal tonight:
I always wanted a horse as a kid. I was able to ride a pony now and then, but I wanted a horse totally my own, and even then, as the grade-school perfectionist, I wanted to do things with that horse. Not just ride around the backyard. Not necessarily win the Olympics, either, although I have often from a young age imagined myself there. But I wanted to ride right. My childhood dreams were not of “having fun.” I wanted to give that horse what it deserved, to do it right. I had no doubt, even as a very young kid, that there was a right way and a wrong way to have horses, as there was in almost all other things in life. Doing it right, for me, was having fun.
But horses were not just other things in life, they were living beings, and they had a romance, a mystery, a majesty to them that household pets didn’t approach. I wanted the partnership, to share in that mystery, to dance the dance together, and to do it right. I wanted to know my horse and be worthy of it.
All of this in abstract, since I did not have a horse of my own until my mid teens. Once I started lessons at age 12, I dreamed of buying my favorite lesson horse someday. But the first specific horse that I fell in love with, for that individual horse, not just as a representative horse, came a few years before those lessons started. Her name was Genuine Risk.
A big chestnut filly who was a tomboy, she was undefeated up until her final Kentucky Derby prep in 1980, and she did well enough there that even though she didn’t win that one, she went on to the Kentucky Derby. A filly had not won since Regret way back in the early 1900s, but Genuine Risk’s encourage were not just going for historical or gender interest in the race. They really thought their horse, on her merits as a racehorse, not as a filly, could win.
And win she did. I was watching on TV in my grandparents’ living room, actually the first time I had ever seen a horse race. I still remember the announcer’s call in the stretch: “It’s Genuine Risk, and she’s genuine!” She powered on defiantly, claiming a decisive victory over the colts. Two weeks later, she finished second in a controversial Preakness Stakes in which many, myself included, thought she should have won by disqualification of the sole horse to finish ahead of her. I had tripped across the Derby broadcast by accident; I specifically looked for the Preakness two weeks later. She continued to the Belmont Stakes, the third race in the Triple Crown, and ran well to place there. Tough as nails, never backing down from a tussle. That was Genuine Risk.
It wasn’t the filly over colts angle that made me a fan. It was THAT filly with her muscular chestnut body, her blaze (to this day my favorite marking for a horse), and her attitude. I followed her career. I dreamed in my childhood naivety of someday buying her as a broodmare for my eventual stable. I followed her own trials at being a broodmare - many, many tries, only two successful births. I even named a small, sort of golden (among other colors) kitten with a sort-of-blaze and socks Genuine Risk when I rescued her early last summer. Jenny, as she grew to barncat-hood, amply demonstrated the tough-as-nails philosophy that made her namesake a champion.
This morning, Genuine Risk, age 31, the oldest living Kentucky Derby winner, was turned out into her paddock as usual. She took a few bites of grass, and then she lay down and, a few minutes later, died. Like her races, her passing was done on her own terms.
Farewell, champion of my childhood.