The Champion Jet Master
I am angry at life today. I had my story for this week drafted well ahead of time. I’d done my research, I’d invested time with the parties involved. I’ve phoned and emailed and visited and got to know everyone. I went to Drakenstein on Friday evening to meet the team. I got to meet Jet Master and he allowed me to stroke his beautiful big head. I got up early on Saturday to make sure I was there to watch the surgery. I took notes and recorded it all meticulously. I sat with the team watching Jet Master come round from the anaesthetic. I did a detailed write up, telling you all about the hospital, the fantastically brilliant medical team, the ground-breaking operation that was performed and the legacy Jet Master has left to South Africa.
So it breaks my heart that I should be writing ‘happily ever after’ and instead I’m sitting here trying to write his obituary.
It is not fair.
Although he seemed to make a good initial recovery, he collapsed late on Sunday morning. Despite all the efforts of the team, Jet Master died at 3:30am on Tuesday, 15 November 2011.
I’m sitting here in a ridiculous puddle of make-up in a total mess over a horse I’ve met exactly twice. And that does not seem fair either. Quite how he managed to get so far under my skin in such a short time I have no idea, but ‘big’ horses seem to do that somehow.
After chatting to his connections I had built a certain picture in my mind, but meeting him on Friday, he was not what I expected. If anything, he was even bigger and larger than life than he’d been described, but what struck me most was his incredible air of peace and dignity. You just felt you were in the presence of someone special.
I did not know him long or know him well, but moments from our brief association stand out in my memory. I remember standing with Dr Andrew Gray in the half light of the observation room on Friday evening, marveling at Jet Master’s incredible proportions through the glass.
I remember watching him being prepared for theatre on Saturday morning. The hospital staff washed his throat to make sure it was clear of any obstructions for the breathing tube. They also scrubbed his feet to prevent any foreign matter from contaminating the operating theatre. I was sitting a little way back watching it all and noticed how tight his hamstring muscles were from the strain of trying to keep him stable. From the wash bay, Jet Master had to take a few steps forward and then negotiate a 90 degree turn into the padded knock-down room. He slowly and gingerly took a few steps, not quite able to trust his legs. It struck me how tragic it was that those wonderful hindquarters, the source of all his speed and power, could now let him down so badly.
Halfway into the 90 degree turn, his coordination seemed to desert him. I think the image of the team rallying round, literally supporting and carrying the great horse is one of the most vivid in my mind and the one which summed up the situation most poignantly.
I know how hard they all worked and how hard we all hoped…..
The mess of make-up and mascara I am at the moment doesn’t compute with the short time I knew him, but I guess we don’t always get to choose who and why and when we pledge our affections. Suffice to say he made an impression and there is a horrible Jet Master-shaped hole in my heart right now….
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
-W H Auden
