Coumeenoole

Coumeenoole had not been raced for two years when he died at Newton Abbot this week. Temperatures soared, and while other horses slowed, he was whipped into continuing. He was only 7 years old when he fell and died - all for a potential prize pot of £10,000.

My name is Coumeenoole and it’s too hot today. Only two horses have been pulled from races because of the heat, but the rest of us are being made to run. It’s my eighth race of the year already and I’m not used to this. Last year I only ran 4 times, the same the year before. But everything is different now and I feel like it will never end.

I’m only seven years old. That’s pretty young for a horse, but I’ve been through a lot in that time. I’ve been trained to run and jump, I’ve been castrated, and the people around me are always finding ways to interfere with me. One of their latest tricks is to tie my tongue down when I run. People seem to think it makes me able to breathe better so I can run faster, but all I know it hurts my mouth and I’d rather they didn’t. It’s just another thing I get no choice in. That’s the life of a horse in racing.

As we line up at the start, I can feel the sun beating down on me. My desperate need for a drink of water is made worse by the band tying my tongue to my jaw. I know what’s about to happen now though and it’s not a cool drink of water in the shade – it’s a long run. I’ve never been here before and I don’t know how long they’ll make me run for, but I guess it’s time to find out.

As we start, I instantly know that the heat is going to make this so much harder. I can feel the sweat pouring out of my skin as the first hurdles approach. All I know is that I have to try. I’ve fallen twice before and it hurt. I’ve never been allowed to stop though. I know I need to keep going – they tell me that with the whip.

I have no idea how many jumps I’ve done so far, and I have no idea how many are left to go. Some of the other horses aren’t next to us anymore, there’s just me and one other left, and the men on our backs have brought up their whips. They strike us on the sides as we approach the next hurdle, so I do my best, but my legs are weak and my head is swimming from the heat. I can barely lift my hooves and I clatter over the hurdle and come crashing down on my head. Pain shoots through my whole body and I try to get to my feet but it’s not working. My tongue still strapped to my jaw I try to take in air but it’s harder than ever.

Everything goes dark and I think maybe the sun has gone down, maybe it won’t be so hot anymore.

My name was Coumeenoole. I was someone.

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Main image credit: Horse Racing Exposed