Saturday, November 2, 2013

‘Sex and the City’ horse retires next year

The horse had his head down in a dreary stall in the back of a shadowy Pennsylvania barn. The year was 1999, and I was 31. The horse in the stall was much younger, just 6 years old, but he appeared ancient and gaunt.


“I need to drive him,” I said to the Amish farmer beside me. The small horse — malnourished, abused, signs of neglect clearly upon him — turned to me. His chestnut coat, which should have been a bright gleaming russet-red, was dusty and dull. His hooves were ill-shod. Between his ears, his forelock was a dirty yellow, like straw.


As I gazed at the poor animal, I saw his ribs. He was covered in open sores from the harness, and there were deep cut marks — probably from a whip. When the horse looked at me, I saw sadness in his eyes.


The Amish farmer told me he had bought the horse, who stood about 15 hands, from another Amish farmer in Ohio. They said the horse had once run wild with mustangs. Nobody knew how he wound up on an Ohio farm. He was a Morgan mixed with an American Saddlebred, and my friend, the Amish farmer, had bought him during his last visit to Ohio. But if I didn’t buy him, he was headed straight to auction the following day.


I had already bought a horse that day, a strong draft horse who was really suited to pulling a carriage loaded with people up the hilly inclines of Central Park. This little guy, as much as he tugged at my heart, wasn’t up for the job. He weighed maybe 900 pounds, which meant he was at least 500 pounds underweight.


When we harnessed him up, he stepped right into the traces. Instead of driving him on the easy road, my Amish friend steered him into a plowed field — that made it much harder. The small chestnut horse, ribs heaving, put his head down and pulled. He pulled us all the way across the field, and when he was done, I’d seen enough.


I didn’t buy him.


He was too small for a carriage horse, I told myself, as we unhooked him and put him back in his stall. He turned away and wouldn’t meet my eye, looking like a horse who knew he’d failed. He was headed for auction, and the slaughterhouse. I said goodbye.


Fifty miles later, as I was headed north on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I stopped the car. I couldn’t get the image of the poor, forlorn horse out of my mind. I drove back to the farm.


“I’ll take him,” I told my friend, pointing to the dispirited animal. And I forked over $1,400.


That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. For the past 15 years, Roger and I have worked together in Central Park. This January, he will retire.


We named him after my mother’s first horse, who lived on a farm outside Dublin. Roger has seen me through snowstorms and windstorms, tragedies and celebrations, and the birth of all three of my children.


It took me more than a year to get Roger right. He needed several months on a quiet farm just eating and healing. Then he needed a slow acclimation to living in a stable, inside the city, and drawing a carriage. When I brought him to Manhattan, nine months after I found him, I only took him out a few days a week, carefully letting him see and smell his new home. He was still skinny and small compared with the other carriage horses.


Roger gradually gained weight, and his coat got that healthy shine. He started showing an interest in the people around him, especially kids. I worked him only once or twice a week, because a horse needs a job, and a purpose, just like humans. He had been abused his whole life, and I’m the first human he ever trusted. And when he was able to trust me, he fell in love with me, and I fell in love with him. Now he’s the most famous horse in Central Park. He has that star quality.


When Roger and I drive home at night, at 5 p.m. — and believe me he knows what time it is — he’ll go down Ninth Ave., but he won’t go past 49th St., because he knows his stable is at 48th St. and 11th Ave. Roger knows exactly where he’s going.


Roger got his first big break courtesy of “Sex and the City.” One of its producers was walking through the park one day looking for a horse, and of course, fell in love with Roger. They wanted him for an episode where the star, Sarah Jessica Parker, goes on a ride with Mr. Big, and Miranda goes into labor. They didn’t want the carriage, mind you. Just Roger.


That was his start, but he was also on “Law & Order.” Once, Jerry Orbach came to investigate a dead body in Roger’s stall. But for that show, Roger had to act like a mare named Grace while Orbach stroked his nose outside. Ever the professional, Roger played along.


Roger will go to a private farm on Long Island after he retires in January, so me and my family can visit him. My kids don’t know life without Roger. They know I love all my horses, but every day when I come home they ask me, “How’s Roger?”


There are at least seven families in Manhattan who stop by the park on weekends to visit this horse. He has always loved children. And he’s going to miss his daily carrots, delivered to him at noon by a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton on Central Park South. The doorman brings his snack on a silver tray while wearing gloves, and Roger loves the attention.


The sad truth is that many horses die every year from abuse and neglect. Roger should have been one of them. He should have been dead 15 years ago, but instead he got a chance to be a New York City carriage horse — and now he’s famous the world over.


It’s hard for a carriage driver to say goodbye to any horse. But Roger has a special spirit, and he recovered from terrible abuse. All of us love our horses, but I love Roger more than most. All of New York City is going to miss this horse.


Ian McKeever emigrated from his family’s horse farm near Dublin in 1985. He started driving horse carriages in 1987 because he was “a very bad carpenter. ”


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