Farewell Dessie!

O my childhood hero. I remember the shed in our backyard, the cranky old radio, and me listening to your progress. A beautiful white stallion, one commentator described you. The embodiment of scuttling cloud in the racecourse, another said. There, in the cold, damp, away from my boisterous mother, I listened as you strode. I could hear the crescendo of the crowd in the background, the commentator increasing nervous, blabbering quick succession of nonsense – it’s Dessie, leading by a length. Dessie, Dessie, Desert Orchid, Dessie, a furlong to go – he’d shout. His voice high, trilling, up and up. I clenched my hands, waited, with beating heart. You seldom let us down. That’s why you were always my hero.

I remember running up and down my garden after your Cheltenham cup victory. Punching the air, leaping to extraordinary height. But sadly, in my house, I didn’t have anybody to share my joy. My mother, with her friends and social life, didn’t have a clue. My nerdy father and sister just stared at me blankly when I told them of your triumph. My brother was too young.

When you retired, I remember I was dating Sabine. I remember talking to her continuously for thirty minutes about you. I told her I loved you. She couldn’t believe it. How could I love a horse?

Well, we didn’t date for long.

I saw you once after you retired when you were paraded in Ascot. I was just five yards away from you. You were so beautiful. Damn…I’ve never really seen a horse like you, strong, fast, and really beautiful. Even now, when I recollect after a decade, every hair on my body raises.

But today, when I came home from work and heard of your passing away, I nearly choked. I’d forgotten you for over a year. Even your framed picture was collecting dust in my parents home.

They said you were 27. You died peacefully. You’ll be buried in your favourite racecourse. I’ll make sure I’ll pray for you, and lay a wreath.

Bye Desert Orchid.