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Originally Posted by DerbyCat
Brian, I'm sorry for your loss, it's never easy losing one we love  
So, what was this horses name? My favorite horse is a 4K claimer in Northern California, Proud Patrolman - he's approaching double digits in age but that boy sure can run...
The horse dying in front of you reminds me of a friend who went to the races with me and she really liked the looks of one of the horses, he was a beautiful bay and was wearing four "pink socks" (her words, not mine) and she fell in love with the races during post parade just watching him strutting around - - that is, until he broke down at the 16th pole and and thrashed on the ground until they put the tarp up and drove him away in the van... she never went to another race again 
I hate it when they die in front of us
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The worst thing was that I was working at Starbucks at the time and we had an employee with us who was there for her first job and had just turned 18. I waited until the horse was running, and then invited her to the track for her FIRST time. We both lost our money, and had two races before my buddy ran, and so we stuck around just so she could see him because I would talk about about him work all the time. I loved him for whatever reason when he was running in Northern California. I latched onto him. I nearly crapped my pants when I saw him entered at Portland Meadows one afternoon. Literally a dream come true. He was the favorite, and he broke down right in front of us while he was struggling in mid-pack. I watched him flail around and was on the verge of tears. They brought out no tarp. They stood him up and they euthanized him right on the track in front of us in clear view. It sounds so morbid, but I can't remember many worse moments than watching it take effect and watching him just collapse on the track no more than fifteen feet in front of us. All the courage I had, it took, to not get into it with the guy next to me who shouted "on the glue factory." Worst horse racing day of my life, period.
His name was Comprehensively. Since you asked, I shared. Totally the wrong thread for it, but the second I got home that day I wrote in my blog about it. At the risk of sounding like a stupid idiot, I'm going to paste it here, because it was a day that still affects me.
This is what I wrote just an hour later after I got home:
He was midpack in the stretch, he wasn't going to threaten for the win, or maybe he was, but something went wrong. He stumbled, fought with all he had to stay up, took another step and lost it. Twyla went flying off of his back and onto the track, he flipped and twisted on the ground. He got up. I silently prayed, as fast as I ever have, that he would run off like I've seen so many times before. He stumbled. He couldn't stand up straight. He made his way inside the 16th pole, fighting to walk, seemingly unaware of what had happened or how it had happened. There he was being the horse that he is, giving every last bit and trying to find the wire, unburdened of his rider. He came right in front of us, and I saw his front right leg. Shattered. Flailing in all the wrong ways. I almost cried. And I started to as my friend looked at me, trying to understand how this horse meant so much to me. She had heard about him all day long, and I was so excited to share him with her. She caught on quickly from the look on my face and the tone of my voice that she caught during the few words I could manage to say. Mostly, "I'm going to cry." The man next to me shouted "on to the glue factory!" and it took everything I had to not lose it. For Twyla and the others risking their lives every second out there for his kicks. For these animals who love what they do. They do it for him.
His trainer stood with him, his right arm underneath his neck, patting the opposite side, as the boy refused to give up. Refused to lie down. Refused to be anything but the winner. Not believing that somehow his leg didn't work anymore.
I don't care if he runs in Portland. I don't care that it was a 3200N3L race. I don't care that he bankrolled only 13k in his career. I care that he gave me something to be excited about. I care that he gave every ounce every time. Gamely. I care that he was a beautiful animal and a beautiful racehorse and that meant something to me. I care that every time I knew he was running I would find a way to get to the track to see him, it was a dream come true that he came to Portland to run in front of me, instead of on TV.
He was the 8-5 favorite.
So at least, if anything today, he was loved.