Buyers made fun of his freakish pedigree, but Prince Cody had the last laugh

I always have wanted to own a racehorse--to race a racehorse. I think anyone who ever has gone to the races or has been involved in any way in racing wants to.

But racing is expensive and the chances are great--maybe even probable--that it will be a money-losing endeavor. For every Cigar or Secretariat, there are a thousand horses that do not meet their expenses even if they are winners.

Today, it will cost an owner $60 to $150 a day just to keep a horse in training. That does not include incidentals such as veterinary, farrier, and vanning bills, which easily can add up to an additional $1,000 a month. Of course, I would not have to worry about veterinary bills if I owned a horse and raced him here in Kentucky, but I am not a trainer and that is the big expense.

And so much can go wrong. One bad step and, all of a sudden, you no longer own a racehorse, only a large--and lame--pet. And I think something like only 54% of registered Thoroughbreds ever win a race. I do not know (but I should) what percentage of horses earn enough to support themselves, but it is low. Real low.

The odds definitely are against the person who has limited funds, but that did not and has not stopped me from wanting to race a horse.

Putting all the cons out of my mind, and without discussing it with my wife, I bought a yearling one day with the plan to race him. We had just bought the farm, so it was many years ago, back when I was still doing a lot of racetrack work.

I had not planned to buy this yearling. As a horse doctor, I faithfully attend all the local sales because there always is the chance someone there will need a veterinarian, and I can make a buck or two. Also, out-of-state horsemen have at times asked me to bid on horses for them.

Freak or superhorse?

For this particular sale, I had been asked by a man in Pennsylvania to look at a few yearlings and give him my opinion. I was there early in the morning of the day they were selling, and while looking at them, I noticed a dark bay colt being groomed by a young woman, and I liked his looks. I asked the girl what his number was.

"One-twenty-one," she replied.

I looked him up in the catalog. It was an amazing pedigree: He was closely inbred.

His sire, West Coast Scout, had been a good racehorse--he had earned more than a half-million dollars--but West Coast Scout's pedigree was borderline, and he had not met with great success as a sire. "Moderately useful" is the best that can be said of him.

The colt's dam, Always a Princess, had been a nice but not outstanding race filly. She had won two races and earned $19,460 in 1975, but here is the interesting part: She was a half sister to West Coast Scout.

This made the colt inbred to the dam of both West Coast Scout and Always a Princess, a stakes-placed winner named Dandy Princess. Many pedigree experts call this "intense" inbreeding, but it is not. Sure, it is close, but that is all.

People associate inbreeding with mutations, freaks of nature, and lack of vigor because it has been drummed into our heads that the closeness of the gene can bring forth deleterious and detrimental characteristics, but the closeness just as easily can bring forth desirable characteristics. Inbreeding to a good performer may very well produce another good performer. I do not know if this colt's breeder had this in mind when he planned the mating or if he just got his wires crossed, but the potential intrigued me.

The colt was very handsome, actually resembling West Coast Scout to a great extent. Maybe, I thought, he would resemble him in performance, too. I called my client in Pennsylvania and reported on the yearlings I had looked at for him, and told him I had seen a very nice colt. Was he interested?

"What's his number?" he asked.

"One-twenty-one."

There was silence on the line for a minute while he apparently looked for hip number 121 in his catalog. Finally, he spoke again. "Good grief, no. Did you look at that pedigree? There's no telling what you'll end up with."

Which was precisely my point. I decided to be present when he entered the sale ring that afternoon. I wanted to see what he brought.

When his time came, people were pointing at him and laughing. The announcer even made a joke about his pedigree.

The bidding on him was slow. It started at $1,000 after the auctioneer pleaded and went up $200 or $300 a crack as the bids were begged. The auctioneer started to knock him down at $2,500, but I thought it was too cheap. I bid $2,700. Somebody came back at $3,000, so I figured, okay, he's yours.

But then someone else came in at $3,200 and the bidding made another slow, tedious climb, finally reaching $4,700. Once again, the knockdown was coming.

"Five thousand. Do I hear $5,000?" The hammer was poised.

Someone near me said, "Who in his right mind would pay that much money for that?"

That offended me. There was nothing wrong with him or his pedigree. I raised my hand. The bid spotter made his sound--something between a shout and a burp--signifying he saw me, and the hammer fell.

"Five thousand dollars," said the auctioneer. "Billy." He nodded toward my spotter. Billy, in turn, nodded at me. I had bought a horse.

The new racehorse

When I got home, my wife's less-than-overjoyed response to my announcement was, "You did what!?" I sensed displeasure.

A discussion ensued, most of which centered on my lack of responsibility and "money-grows-on-trees" mentality. She pointed out that we recently had committed ourselves to a large mortgage on a farm, that a $20,000 barn was being built in "our backyard," and that I had just bought a $15,000 broodmare eight months earlier in January.

"Where is the money all going to come from?" she asked. It was a reasonable question.

I mumbled something about the veterinary account having enough in it to pay for the yearling (which I had already done), but she reminded me that the veterinary account was merely a stopping-over point for the money we needed for our everyday existence.

She was right, of course. I agreed we'd sell him as a two-year-old in training in the spring sale.

When he arrived at the farm the next day, I found he was a nasty booger, so I gelded him, then turned him over to a woman trainer I knew who agreed to give me a break on her normal rates. Also, I arranged for an exercise rider who owed me a couple hundred dollars I would never see to get on the horse. He was a good rider, if not financially solvent.

The now-gelding, which I named Prince Cody, was a handful, but he broke and trained uneventfully. One day I asked Bonnie, the trainer, if he looked as if he had any ability.

"No," she answered. "He's just another horse. And hard to work with."

I still wanted to race him, but her opinion made me feel better about the agreement to sell him. Bonnie repeated her opinion later and added that she hoped I would get back my initial investment. I did not relay that to my wife. She would have killed me.

The weekend of the two-year-olds in training sale arrived. By sale rules, the entrants were paired randomly to perform on the track for prospective buyers. Prince Cody was a one-horse consignment, and he was assigned to work with (against?) a well-bred colt from a 16-horse consignment.

Preston, the exercise rider, asked, "What do you want me to do with him?"

"Just take it easy," I said, "but do not let him be embarrassed."

"I'll talk to the other horse's trainer and see what he plans to do with his horse and I'll just stay with him," Preston suggested.

He came back to see me a half hour later. "He said he just wants the buyers to see how his horses move. He's going to take it easy, so I'll just keep Cody alongside him."

The horses went to the track in the designated pairs. The onlookers were betting among themselves as each duo performed.

Finally, Cody and the other horse came onto the track. A guy standing next to me said to his companion, "Hey, look at this. We got a freak!" He showed him Cody's pedigree.

His friend laughed. "Who would do something like that?"

The two horses moved around the track to the gate. "Who do you want?" asked the first guy.

"I'll take the freak," chuckled his buddy. "It's only 20 bucks."

Cody and the other horse entered the gate and a moment later they broke. Preston came out easily on Cody, but the rider on the other horse was flat down on his mount and whipping him. He zoomed out ten lengths ahead of Cody and Preston.

Preston sat down on Cody and began to ride him. He gained on the other colt, but that horse's rider was really getting into him. With about a sixteenth of a mile of the three furlongs left, Cody caught him. By the end he was a length ahead and pulling away. His time turned out to be the fastest of the entire sale.

I went back to the barn where Preston was fuming. "The (expletive) said he was going to take it easy. I could have aired if I would have known." He mumbled on about "nobody makes my horse look bad."

The next day, Cody sold for $12,000. After expenses, I made about $4,000 profit.

20/20 hindsight

Bonnie had been wrong about his price and wrong about his ability, too. Later that summer, Prince Cody won a $16,000 maiden claiming race easily by 21/2 lengths. He eventually won 17 races and even ran in a few stakes, but was well beaten each time. During his best season, as a five-year-old in 1982, he won five races, was second eight times, and third eight times in 31 starts and earned $62,095.

Cody finally settled in as about a $20,000 to $30,000 claimer, and distance did not matter--long, short, or in between, it was all the same to Prince Cody. He switched hands numerous times over the years. The hard-knocking gelding finished his career at age nine with earnings of $171,585 in 145 starts.

I sure wish we would have kept him.