though the horse may leave us; their memory never will.

​The death of Shishkin last weekend has left a mark. Watching a recording of the Punchestown Gold Cup yesterday evening, the first thought that came into my head was that Shishkin should have been there. It was not that his absence left Fastorslow a lucky recipient of his Nicky Henderson’s tragic loss, just that fate can choose to be so damn mercurial and unkind at times.
In terms of British steeplechasers, Shishkin was important, even if he was rising to the veteran stage as he was one of the very few top-class horses we had in this country. Nicky Henderson does not have a ready replacement and I doubt if Paul Nicholls has a horse in his stable that will be challenging the Irish for honours in the Gold Cup next season. He may have become a little eccentric as he grew older but Shishkin was, perhaps, the best chaser in Britain and his loss will be keenly felt, not only at Seven Barrows but throughout the no doubt coming barren years for British trainers in Grade 1 chases.
For a horse to lose his life in its own stable is infrequent, yet in recent weeks two top-class horses have suffered that fate, with John Quinn’s Highfield Princess also dying after being cast in her stable. Usually, a horse that rolls completely over in its stable so that its hooves strike the stable wall, can get enough purchase to free itself. The accident to Shishkin must have happened after the staff had gone home, otherwise his predicament would have been heard and someone would have quickly fetched a rope and two people would have heaved the horse gently away from the wall. Some horses will just accept their plight and if not found in time will die of suffocation as the lungs of a horse are compromised when it lies down for too length of time. It is why you will often see a horse dozing standing-up. They will sleep lying down but not for long periods.
The horses who do themselves damage while cast are those that panic and I can only assume this was the case with Shishkin, his plight only recognised too late to save him from the self-inflicted injury that caused his demise.
No one should downplay this tragedy or accuse the people who worked with and around Shishkin of not caring, of carrying on with their lives as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. Henderson’s staff will be heartbroken. Jaden Lee, the employee fortunate to care for both Shishkin and Constitution Hill, will be bereft. He loved Shishkin and like hundreds like him, he lived for the horses in his care. He will never get fully over the loss of a horse who will forever reside in that special place in the heart for those who are no longer there to love.
I can guarantee that if a journalist asks Nicky Henderson to remember Shishkin next season tears will form in his eyes and his voice will tremble. Nicky Henderson is a softie; he cares deeply for the horses in his care. If anyone watched the video of Barry Geraghty riding Sprinter Sacre on the Seven Barrows gallops before this year’s Cheltenham Festival and on returning to the stables Nicky Henderson greeting his greatest-ever horse with the words, “Welcome, old friend,” will know that his passion for his horses exceeds his passion for the sport.
Life always goes on as it must, yet that does not infer that the heart beats the same as before. Tragedy leaves scars and the stable in which Shishkin met his fate will forever be associated with his name.
One aspect of a horse dying in its stable that is never talked about, and I assume Shishkin was attended-to in his stable as if he was too injured to be saved, he would have been too immobilised to be sedated to get him to an equine hospital, is the ugliness of removing a half-ton horse through the confines of a stable doorway. To have to imagine, let alone watch, a horse you loved and cared-for, pulled by chains or rope onto a knacker-wagon is the stuff of nightmares, far worse, I believe, than the actual euthanizing of the horse.
There is nothing as numbingly sad as a horse that you would empty your bank account to save but for whom the vets offer no hope. Life is not a box of chocolates; at times, life is a bastard!