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This year, the Claiming Crown, an annual thoroughbred racing event held for the “blue collar” racehorses across the country, was again held at Canterbury Park. But before I get into how my Claiming Crown experience went, let me explain to the non-racetrack people out there why it’s called the Claiming Crown and what it means to run in claiming races.

In horseracing, there are several “classes” of races offered at most of the tracks in the country. The type of race any particular horse is entered into depends on the horse’s caliber and ability. At the top are the graded stakes races, on the order of the Triple Crown and Breeder’s Cup races and the various state derbies and handicaps. Below them are the non-graded stakes races, often written for state-breds or run in honor of a particularly influential horse or track personality at smaller tracks. Next come the allowance races, where horses are assigned weights according to their ages, race records and other factors. At the bottom levels are the claiming races, where each horse races for a price. Even within the claiming ranks there are levels: all the way from horses up for grabs for $100,000 down to $3,000 or less. The reason for claiming races is keeping trainers and owners somewhat “honest” about their horses’ abilities. A horse that can win against “$25,000-level” claimers should be able to beat horses running at the $5,000 level, but such a horse, if run for only $5,000, is likely to be claimed. So if a trainer wishes to keep said horse in his or her stable, running it for the “easy win” would be counterproductive.

To clarify further, when a horse in any given race is claimed by another trainer, the claim takes place before the race has been run. The new trainer must “drop the claim” before the gates open, and no matter what the outcome of the race, the horse has a new owner, even if the horse breaks down or runs dead last. In the event that more than one trainer drops a claim on one horse, the trainers “shake” for it (the equivalent of flipping a coin or drawing straws). In summary, any horse in a claiming race may be purchased, or claimed, for the price specified in the race condition, and the amount reflects the caliber of horse.

So anyway, the Claiming Crown was conceived to be a championship day of races for these “blue-collar” runners, as the vast majority of horses in this country are so-called claimers. Each race’s condition includes that the horses entered must have run for a certain claiming amount (or less) since January of the previous year. These races are considered “Starter Stakes” races because they are written for horses that would normally be running in claiming races. Because it is a nationally recognized event, it is considered a prestigious honor for a track to hold the Claiming Crown, and Canterbury has been host for a number of years. In addition, the Claiming Crown attracts some fairly high-profile trainers and jockeys.

On the same day as the Claiming Crown races were held, Canterbury also hosted the Lady Canterbury Breeder’s Cup Stakes, a $100,000 turf stakes for fillies and mares that are nominated to the Breeder’s Cup. This attracted even more out-of-town horses.

I am fortunate to work for a trainer whose father and brother also train thoroughbreds, and who have a lot of friends around the country who ship their horses into his barn for such events. I picked up about 13 out-of-town horses to treat on Claiming Crown day. Most of the horses arrived several days before the actual Claiming Crown, and each trainer had a specific battery of medications they wanted their horses to receive: electrolytes, jugs, Adequan, vitamins, NSAIDs, etc. Keeping track of what everyone wanted and when definitely challenged my bookkeeping skills. Many of the horses were sent to Canterbury with only grooms who didn’t speak very good English, and I was constantly getting phone calls from numbers I didn’t recognize with instructions on how to treat the visiting horses.

(To make things more fun, I was struggling with a loaner cell phone - my regular one had died but was under warranty, which, ironically, meant I couldn’t get a new phone right away - which caused me to hang up on people unintentionally and left me constantly reprogramming my lost numbers.)

The Friday night before Claiming Crown day, I was called to treat a horse in the aforementioned trainer’s barn who had shipped up from Chicago (my client’s brother was the trainer and was in town) and was scheduled to leave for Assiniboia Downs in Winnipeg, Canada the following morning and run in a stakes race on Monday. I treated her with a standard “vitamin jug” along with Adequan. An hour later, I was called back because the filly was acting colicky. Let the fun begin!

To put it tactfully, these brothers are high-maintenance. I think I gained the business of the one stabled at Canterbury mainly because I pay more attention to him than any of the other vets on the grounds are willing to do. He gets upset if I am more than one minute past my ETA, particularly for morning workout Lasix, and generally finds something to criticize me for on a daily basis, whether it is where I am placing my needles for IV injections or the amount of tranquilizer I choose to use for a dental. I have gotten fairly good at either ignoring the comments or giving benign responses, because I have learned that it is certain I will never quite be good enough. That said, this particular trainer is quite anal-retentive about his horses’ well-being, so I have to give him credit for that, and his horses are extremely well-cared for.

Back to the colicky horse: I was instructed upon arrival to administer Banamine (thanks for the tip) and “listen to the guts” (again, thanks, wouldn’t have thought of that on my own!). But I did as I was told. The horse had decreased gut sounds in each upper quadrant and absent gut sounds in each lower quadrant. Her temperature was normal, but her heart rate and respiratory rate were both elevated, and she was pawing the ground uncomfortably. I suggested tubing her with oil and electrolytes as well as performing a rectal exam. The trainer refused to let me rectal her, and passed on the oil and electrolytes. Only then did I realize they had been calling their “regular” vet in Chicago, asking him what instructions they should give me. This was half aggravating and half amusing, as I have consulted with their regular vet and he has become part of my support network. I was then instructed to administer xylazine (I love how with some clients, I don’t get to appear as though I am making my own decisions.) Although I would have done things in a different order, I considered the filly’s condition, and I did not think this was necessarily a wrong suggestion, so I gave her 2 ccs of xylazine. She quickly became more comfortable, but eventually began pawing again. At that time, I was informed I should tube her with oil and electrolytes (presumably according to the vet in Chicago). Oh goodie! I love tubing tranquilized horses! *sigh*

I agreed and got everything ready. Of course, being tranquilized, the filly didn’t really want to swallow my NG tube, but a few neck flexions later we had the fluids down without incident … until I pulled the tube out. I always do this the same way, generally without making a mess, but wouldn’t you know it – the floodgates opened and the poor filly had a very ugly nosebleed.

The fact of the matter is that every veterinarian gives a horse a nosebleed with an NG tube once in a while. I had, actually, tubed four other horses that weekend without incident, but that didn’t matter. You’d have thought I put a bullet in the horse’s head by the way the trainers reacted. Apparently, in 25+ years of training horses and two lifetimes of being around horses in general, neither had ever seen a nosebleed after passing an NG tube. So, either they had incredibly wonderful luck with hundreds of veterinarians, or they weren’t paying attention. Either way, it was pretty much impossible to console them. Despite my best, tactful, calm efforts to explain why nosebleeds happen and that they are in no way life-threatening, I had committed an unforgivable sin. The nosebleed was amplified by the fact that they refused to let the horse be for 20-30 minutes as I recommended: They insisted on trying to mop up the blood with a soaked sponge and bucket of water, which made the blood appear to be twice as voluminous as it actually was. And of course they needed to complain to, you guessed it, their vet in Chicago. The funniest part happened next.

I got a phone call from … yep, their vet in Chicago. He was extremely sympathetic, explaining that he was calling to give moral support. I explained the situation, and implored him to maybe mention something to his clients about how I wasn’t completely incompetent (he assured me he would). Apparently my client had told him that I had “ripped apart her nose” and there was “a gallon of blood in the stall.” The Chicago vet tried to explain to him that this was not the case, but it clearly didn’t matter. Of course, both trainers assumed this incident would drastically affect the filly’s performance in her upcoming race, so in the event that she ran poorly, I would surely be to blame.

I stuck around for about half an hour after the incident, when, right on schedule, the nosebleed was gone (somewhat miraculously, considering the trainer kept removing the clots with a towel). Also ironically, the filly’s colic was apparently relieved. I made sure to be extra diligent about checking on her and giving the trainer updates for the rest of the night. She made it to the morning and onto the trainer without further ado. Two days later I learned that she ran a very respectable second place in her race. The Chicago vet even called me with the good news, in an effort to make my day better. God help me if she hadn’t made it to the test barn!

Just as a note, I have only been out of school less than two years. In reality a recent graduate probably does give more horses nosebleeds than a twenty-year veteran, but I have seen it done by many vets in my experience, and my experience also tells me that, while ugly, they are not dangerous. Unfortunately, I learned that MY experience doesn’t mean much when it isn’t the same as my clients’ experience, because to them, my experience doesn't really count yet. (Hopefully in a few years it will.)

With my traumatizing night behind me, I made it through Claiming Crown day in one piece. Unfortunately, my truck could not say the same. Were you aware that 2003 Suburbans are equipped with fuel pumps that die like clockwork at 100,000 miles? Well, they are, and the fuel pump is conveniently located deep inside the fuel tank where it costs a lot of money to access. Luckily (???) it died at the end of a Lasix run, in very close proximity to my most diligent trainer’s barn.

With our vehicle on the fritz, my assistant and I had a grand time tooling around in a borrowed groundskeeper’s golf cart for the rest of the day – of course, every time we forgot to load something into the small bed, we had to putter back to the truck at a top speed of about 5 mph to pick it up. We made the best of it, especially as we had to use it all day Sunday as well.

The day was full of Lasix runs and writing health certificates for horses returning to their home tracks. I treated horses trained by top trainers. I wrote health papers and sent horses on their way. I refrained from giving anyone else a nosebleed. I somehow managed to get all my work done out of a golf cart on Sunday (even with Jodi driving). I had my truck towed Monday morning and, $800 later, had it back by Monday evening.

All in all, it was a weekend I don’t really wish to repeat. But to be honest, we still kind of miss the golf cart.

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