War Feather was born in Florida horse country. At 4 years old, he made his debut on a racetrack. It didn’t go well.
By Justine Griffin
The new horse floated across the pasture, shining like a copper penny in the sun. He was sleek and athletic, just off the racetrack after a four-year career.
The farm’s owner intended to sell him as a show horse or pet. But he had a warrior name — War Feather.He was wild-eyed and easily spooked, a thousand pounds of muscle ready to explode in any direction if you flinched the wrong way.
He couldn’t stay at this Bradenton lesson barn, where pony-loving girls learned to ride.The last thing I needed was another horse. I had trained my beloved Thoroughbred thoroughbred gelding Mikey, another retired racehorse, to compete in equestrian events. Dozens of ribbons Mikey had earned hung in my home office in St. Petersburg.
But Mikey’s career was clouded by a brutal ligament injury below his ankle. It gutted me. Mikey and I worked in a way that is almost impossible to describe. I’m a journalist, not a professional rider. Mikey made me feel like anything was possible.
There was a good chance I’d never again capture that feeling, and it sent me into a year–long funk.Now in the barn on a crisp winter day, here was this enormous challenge, staring at me with suspicion. War Feather needed to be blindfolded before anyone would dare mount him.
When he reared back on his hind quarters, I sensed his power, and his vulnerability.
His hooves were in dire shape — dried goops of tan-colored glue licked all the way up them. And his brain needed a reset. Training this animal would test all my years of horsemanship. But I found myself drawn to him. So without telling my husband, I bought War Feather for $2,500.
The minute I got into my truck to drive away, I worried I was in way over my head.