Poor Thing

Waited several hours to watch the running of the Preakness this afternoon. With great anticipation and allegiance to my favorite, the race was about to begin when Barbaro broke through the gate with a false start. I hated to hear the announcers with their gloom and doom comments about what this could mean to the race. Then, they were off. Not even past the main stands, Barbaro pulled up with a serious injury. The remainder of the race was insignificant at this point, my favorite was out. Watching the people attend the injured horse was difficult. I couldn't believe I had that lump in my throat and a tear in my eye, just as if the horse were a person. I get this ability to be emotional from my mother. When dad and she were first married and with little money, he used to take her to the airport for entertainment. (Now that was back in the early forties.) She would cry right along with the others as they watched a loved one get on the plane. And she didn't know them at all. I used to make fun of her for weeping so easily. Not a good idea, because I have definitely inherited the flowing tears.