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;void(0)) The sun eeked through the dusty film of the window in Dr. Claude Studowski's cramped office. His desk was piled high with files and papers surrounding his desk-top PC. The walls were lined with bookshelves and old photos of race horses, carnival horses, old faded black and white photos of horses pulling fish carts through old Manhattan neighborhoods, and regal horses pulling elegant carriages near Central Park. Most prominent was an old faded black and white photo of the good doctor sitting on a stool in a horse stall with pen and pad in hand, having an apparent therapeutic session with race horse Pal Joey. "A classic case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Drove his trainers crazy." He said gesturing toward the photo. I went to the university to try and make some sense of the tragedy that took place at the Belmont Stakes on the previous weekend. Dr. Studowski is one of a dying breed of psychoanalysts who specialize in the field of research and analysis of the equine subconscious, or as some may call it, "horse sense." Dr. Studowski has studied several horses over the years. His research goes all the way back to his analysis and treatment of the famous Seabiscuit. It is said that his erudite therapy with the legendary horse helped Seabiscuit to get over his intimidation of running against War Admiral. It is said that the breakthrough came when he got Seabiscuit to accept his resentment toward his father, Hard Tack, and his womanizing ways. "Coprophobia," Dr. Studowski said as he leaned back in his soft-leathered chair lighting up his elegant pipe. "There was a time when the opposing jockeys or trainers would concoct all kinds of schemes to sabotage the other horse. This was not the case here," he said referring to Big Brown and his dismal failure to capture the Triple Crown. He was holding a video tape in his hand. He placed it in a small TV/VCR on top of a bookshelf. "Let me show you some video I have of horse races over the years." We sat and watched various tapes of horse races throughout the past few decades. Most interesting was one race held on the West Coast in the '70s. "There was no sabotage in that race, nor in this one." The announcer's voice exclaimed, "And they're off!" his voice rattling off horses' names in rapid staccato like a seasoned auctioneer: "Aaand looks like Big Ace has taken the lead. As they round the first turn Little Luigi drifts back and trails behind in second place." I watched as Little Luigi ran directly behind Big Ace, then something happened. Little Luigi reared his head back and almost seemed to throw his rider. At that point Dr. Studowski paused the video and pressed a button that enlarged the area between the lead horse and Little Luigi. "There's your answer." He exclaimed. "What. I didn't see anything." I responded. "What you may think is dirt flying around from the hoofs of the lead horse is actually ---." I looked closer and there it was. As Big Ace's tail raises up there appears to be a spray of something coming from under his tail. "You don't mean!" I said. "Yes sir. That's no bouquet of roses eminating from Big Ace." There it was. Brownish, greenish chunks of matter shot out of the lead horse's rear end. It was feces. Horse feces. He pressed the PLAY button and we were able to see the rest of the race. Little Luigi pulled back while struggling with the jockey. Coming toward the finish line he threw the jockey and had to be restrained by the track staffers. "Yes, I've seen it before. You'd be surprised how often this phenomenon happens in races." "You mean horses suffer from diarrhea during races?" "Yes, that too. I've seen it all. However, what I'm talking about here though is Coprophobia - the fear of feces! Didn't you see that? Little Luigi became totally flustered after getting a spray of it in his face. His handlers took me out to see him after the race and after weeks of therapy, and some hypnosis, he never had the problem again. It is my professional opinion that something similar happened to Big Brown." "Amazing!!" I said. That's probably exactly what happened at the Belmont Stakes. But then I caught myself. Psychoanalysis is known as the - - - "talking cure." The old scientist anticipated my question as if he were reading my mind. He leaned back in his chair, puffed on his pipe and blew out a plume of sweet, aromatic smoke. He peered at me from behind his thin bifocals. "Free association, my good man, free association.” Please e-mail me and let me know your thoughts on this matter. Oh yeah, don't forget your autographed copy of “The Ackee Chronicles”. Tony VanSluytman - the Author  Newsletter Directory The Aton Project - Home Page Tony VanSluytman info Tony VanSluytman - the Author | Return Home | The BOOK DOCTOR | The BANYON NETWORK | The Banyon Buzz Newsletters | The Aton Project Newsletters | Contact Us | |
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