From Foal to Racehorse: The Touching Saga of Fair Archer

Thousands of Thoroughbred racehorses hit the track every day; the work behind these athletes is often never told. Each two-year-old ships into a barn with high hopes. Every horse’s owner thought out which sire would be best for their beloved mare. How could they produce a good racehorse? Everyone’s goal is the same.

Many horses have gone through difficult births, sickness as a foal, surgery as a yearling, etc. The work on a breeding farm is frequently underappreciated and kept quiet from the general public. Whether you’re winning the Kentucky Derby or a claiming race, the pride a breeder feels is second to none. Let me tell you the inspiring story of a very special orphan colt.

My morning started like any other. It was Sunday morning, February 15, 2015. Snow blanketed the ground in upstate New York. It had been a brutal winter so far, it was zero or below for over a month.

I had just started working at a thoroughbred breeding farm a few weeks prior. My boss had asked if I could come in early; the second foal of the year had been born, and the mother wasn’t doing well.

When I arrived at the farm, I got out of my car and began walking to the foaling barn, the wind already stinging my face. My heart beat quickened as I saw all the cars parked by the barn.

I opened the door to a heartbreaking sight. The mare was laying on her side in obvious, terrible pain. Her large, almost jet black colt lay under a blanket, shivering.

I could barely wrap my head around the situation. I had been around horses all my life, but this was my first experience foaling. I understood this type of stuff happens, but it did not make me anymore ready for that day.

My boss filled me in, the colt was born around 2 am that morning, and it took the vet a very long time to get him out. He was a large foal, and he was positioned upside down, a foaling attendant’s worse nightmare. It was a miracle he was alive.

I jumped in and took my boss’ spot helping with fluids and getting colostrum from the mare. I knew we were going to lose her. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. My friend and coworker was alongside me helping, and gave me a weak smile, as if to say sorry.

The next few hours, seemed like days. I packed the top of the stall with straw to keep the heat in, and wrapped him in a blanket as he laid down. I tucked him in like a parent would do with their child. He was the cutest sight. He was unlike the rest. He was black, much different than the usual bay I was used to seeing. He had a white stripe down the center of his face. He was beautiful, endearing, and made my heart explode.

He was incredibly gentle, and not afraid. I could do anything with him, and he did not put up a fight. I bottle fed him every half hour, looking forward to feeding him and seeing him get stronger each time.

I laid down, putting my body over his, trying to keep him warm. I was smitten, and felt responsible for taking the best care of him I could.

It had been a terrible day, but he was a bundle of joy, a miracle. He brought so much light to an otherwise painful day. My heart felt full again.

We referred to him as “Fairest” his mother’s name, as most farms call the unnamed foals by their dam. Fairest barely had a hiccup in his fight through life, very strange for an orphan to adapt so well. I spent six nights a week with him, feeding him, grooming him, even cuddling him, until foaling season was over and he didn’t need to be fed milk anymore.

He then went out in a pasture with other weanlings, he was as mild mannered as they come, never separated from his “sister” a filly who had also lost her mom. He let me pick up his feet, lead him, etc., without a fight. It didn’t take me long to get him used to it.

After eight incredible months, he began his journey to Kentucky, to get ready for a sale. The last day I said goodbye to him he laid his head in my lap, as he often did since he was a baby. It was almost like he was consoling me as I held him and cried. I was determined to see him again someday, and that optimism helped ease the pain.

He went through the sales ring in Kentucky, then ended up in Ocala for the OBS sale, and finally back to his home state of New York.

New York attracts thousands of fans on Belmont Stakes day to see the best three year olds in the country; but I was most excited to see an unraced two year old colt by Arch, named Fair Archer. He is unknown, but he is my “Fairest”.

Saturday morning, I showed up at his barn, and was graciously greeted by his assistant trainer who led me to his stall. He nickered when he saw me and laid his head on my shoulder as I pet him and hugged him, hot tears of joy streaming down my face. He remembered me. A horse’s memory is second to an elephant.

His black coat gleamed the picture of health, his strong body rippled in the sunlight. He pricked his ears forward the whole time while playing with me, and basked in the attention from my friends and I.

All that hard work, which I must say didn’t feel like work, paid off. No day off when he was just born, the blood, the sweat, the tears, it was all worth it, and I’d do it all again.

I left Belmont Park Saturday, not thinking of Tapwrit, but of an unknown colt I still refer to as Fairest. Seeing him brought me a sense of pride and happiness. That’s why breeders put in long hours and endure some of the most difficult things in the horse business.

Fair Archer is doing very well, and his team is very optimistic about his chances as a racehorse. Whether he wins big or small, I’ll be happy just the same.