Never mind the bollocks
Removing a chap's testicles is not something to be taken lightly. I've always felt bad when I've cut them off. The guilt lingers, stabbing you whenever you look into the poor fellow's soulful eyes. But the bollocks must go, I've been told.Recently I faced the distasteful business once more. Like a Roman emperor in the Colosseum, I was called upon to give the thumbs-up or down on the gladiator before me - though it was just his knackers, not his life, on the line. Indeed, he might have a better life sans knackers. So I've been told.Making this episode worse than usual was the fact that this guy was the apple of my eye. I'd even lent him my name.Duzi Moon is a juvenile thoroughbred colt, the son of my only broodmare, who whiles away her days on a pretty farm in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands. His father is Brave Tin Soldier, an imported stallion standing at Summerhill Stud.From the moment he was born, Duzi Moon had admirers.However, from early on, his cojones looked in peril. At two days old he attempted to clamber on top of me as I patted him in a paddock. It might have been youthful playfulness, but it did seem a tad over-friendly.And, as he grew, it became clear he wasn't only precocious as a racehorse, but also in the testosterone department. This is not necessarily a bad thing, you understand. There's many a bolshy, horny colt out there, performing brilliantly on the tracks. But with some it can become too much: an eye for the ladies or a yen for a punch-up with other blokes can put them right off racing.Another consequence of burgeoning manliness is that they can develop very heavy shoulder muscles - the front-ranker body-type - which hinder a smooth, elastic gallop.So, for the good of a horse's racing career, gelding is often necessary. And when an owner has already spent a small, or sometimes large, fortune on the beast, tender feelings about gonads are quietly put to one side.You feel like explaining all this to the horse - preferably in an e-mail or SMS, in case he takes the news badly. But you can't. So you just hope the vet has a nice bedside manner and a steady hand as he executes what racing people like to call "the unkindest cut of all".The sense of guilt hanging over it all can undo an empathetic mind. One chap I knew agreed to the snip but insisted it not be done on a Friday, so he'd be consoled by the fact that his colt had enjoyed one last weekend with 'nads intact.My boy's mind is now on the job. Uh, the job of racing, that is.He's made the journey from the sticks to Randjesfontein and has taken up lodgings in the luxurious, five-star stables of a former national champion trainer.Hey, the blighter deserved something nice after what I'd done to him.Turffontein, tomorrow: PA - 1,4 x 1,2 x 3,11,13 x 4,8 x 6 x 2,4,14 x 1 (R72)..
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