five meals a day, plenty to look forward to though they are smaller than your average stallion portions. A few years ago, he had a colon operation so for his own well-being he has a special diet of five reduced-size meals rather that the more normal three. Horses this valuable have nutritionists too. On the stable floor are wood shavings, not the favoured bedding of Coolmore as they can be dusty which gets in the lungs. Most animals have straw but Galileo would eat it – a tender colon and roughage-rich straw has all the potential for disaster. But he won’t go hungry by choice; there is always a pile of home-grown hay in the corner to pick at.
Like any horse he gets his exercise. Noel, his groom, lunges him each day in his paddock, trotting him in a circle controlled by a lunging line that is about 10 yards in length. Round and round they go for twenty or thirty minutes like some kind of human/equine whirligig, burning off energy until the pair have had enough. A bit later on, weather permitting, there will be a two-mile power walk. In the end, it is a toss-up who is the fitter – Noel or Galileo.
Galileo, along with the other five leading Coolmore stallions, live apart from everyone else. Their stables, two blocks of triple stalls, stand at right angles to each other overlooking a courtyard with a little park beyond. Each individual stable is big; if you are familiar with horse stables think at least twice the usual size. If not, think one half of a tennis court. The walls are whitewashed, the barrel-shaped double-height roof lined with cedar wood, with a large, half-moon-shaped window in the end wall with about a quarter of the roof given over to two enormous skylights. In the ceiling are water sprinklers and smoke detectors, no doubt the requirement of some ultra-cautious insurance company who carries the risk of these super-valuable residents. An infrared heating lamp hangs down ready to take the chill off a cold night.
For the top half of the stable door is never closed. Horses like the comings and goings of stable life. They must see the same things a thousand times or more. Still they stand and watch, those brown eyes tracking every small movement. Familiar figures confirming all is well. Strangers the subject of particular interest. At night, they are mostly awake; horses only need about three hours’ sleep in every twenty-four and largely do it while standing up. But at night there is still plenty going on. Mice scurry about gathering stray corn seeds, often shadowed by the stable cats never shy of spotting an opportunity. Occasionally, a fox pads on through, sliding through the shadows, curious but furtive. Bats flit. Owls hoot. The darkness provides a soothing blanket. Every hour a human figure appears, the shielded beam of a torch checking the occupants of each stall. And they’ll tell you that on a clear night, Galileo stands for hours staring up, his skylights a window to the stars. Maybe like his namesake, the father of astronomy, he sees things in the galaxy that are beyond our knowing?
The clatter of food bins brings all six residents to their doors. Night is over. It is day again. About the time when Nosey was slipping off Kind, Galileo was chasing the last few oats around his feed bin. The bolts of the door clank. He turns to Noel, slightly inclining his head, allowing the head collar, with brass chain and leading rein attached, to be slipped on. The pair head for the door, across the yard, down the hedge-lined path between the stallion paddocks before turning left up the short incline to the covering barn. With well-timed precision, as the doors of the barn slide open for Galileo, Kind and the foal enter from the opposite doors. The foal is peeled away, stiff limbed in the restraint of two stable hands who gently hold him up close to the wall, far enough away but still in sight of the soon to be coupling pair.
Jutting out from the wall, in direct line between the two entrance doors, is the teasing rail. It is here, for the first time, that Kind and Galileo come together. The rail isn’t a rail at all. It is a barrier. A reinforced, padded board that is 5 feet high and 12 feet long. In other words, about the height (to the neck) and length of a horse. Just enough to allow division with the opportunity for union.
At first, the pair start head to head. There’s a brief shaking of heads, a meeting of eyes, but like the teaser Padraig, Galileo’s interest lies elsewhere. As Kind is held parallel to the rail he turns towards her tail end. His head slides down her mane, his nose then rubbing against her spine, sliding up, then down her rib cage, inexorably moving rearwards, nipping at her flesh. Snorting in appreciation of what is to come. Kind stands rigid, all four legs slightly splayed. As Galileo reaches her rump she lifts her tail to expose herself. He lets off a deafening retort as he sniffs and licks and nips her vulva. Kind’s tail rises further, fully posed. Galileo kicks and thumps at the teasing rail. It is not natural and it should not be there. He lets his displeasure be known. Kind quivers as a stream of hot, odourful urine waterfalls out of her. She is staling, proof that she is ready.
As the two are backed to the centre of the barn the pheromones from her steaming urine reach Galileo, triggering the Flehmen response. This is really quite frightening to behold; the German origin of the word flemmen that means to look spiteful is not far from the truth. Here’s the side of Galileo rarely seen. A horse defined by what he now is. A stallion ready for his mare. His otherwise placid face contorts as he stretches his head high in the air, curls back his upper lip, exposes his front teeth and white gums, narrowing his nostrils to suck in the smell of Kind. When the scents hit his nasal organs in the roof of his mouth he holds the pose for a few seconds, as if he was a sommelier savouring the bouquet of a rare vintage. As he lowers his head the handler leads him, erect and ready, towards Kind.
She sees nothing of this; Galileo is away and behind her. Her movements are restricted by not only two handlers at her head but giant soft felt boots that engulf her rear hooves. Her hobbling gait looks uncomfortable but it’s necessary; a single kick can inflict great damage on both horse and human, so the boots are put on soon after she arrives in the barn. Like at the teasing rail Kind stands legs splayed. Braced. At her head one handler takes the reins, while the other stands by with the twitch in hand, which is nothing more than a stout broom handle with a loop of rope at the end. A few yards away the foal looks on, eyes fixed on his mother in a scene that must be totally incomprehensible, leaning hard against the handlers as if to take comfort from their grip.
Kind is allowed to look around to see Galileo is approaching; it is important she is not caught unawares. The twitch is applied to her upper lip, the rope loop twisted around to cause a certain amount of pain. At first, this is both a distraction and a restraint. Then a rush of endorphins kicks in, dulling the pain before creating a feeling of calm. The moment has nearly arrived. Galileo is ready. Anyone can see that. But Kind’s signals are more subtle. She lowers her rear in a very slight squat before raising her tail and winking to her stallion, the vulva turning outwards to expose her clitoris.
Galileo raises himself up on his hind legs, pausing for a moment in mid-air before, with remarkable poise, he lowers himself slowly down, his front legs sliding either side of Kind’s back before gripping at her belly. He doesn’t slump over. He uses his colossal strength, aided no doubt by pumping adrenalin, to hold himself above her. Beneath, his rigid penis sways from side to side. The stallion manager steps forward, guiding Galileo into Kind. At the moment of penetration Galileo arches his back, leans forward to bite her on the neck, gripping her mane and a roll of flesh in his mouth, the combination of legs and teeth giving him enough purchase to start thrusting into Kind.
The mating is not as violent or as animalistic as you might imagine. Kind is ready. Compliant. Relaxed, even. Galileo by contrast is the picture of concentration, his tail stretched downwards to the ground in perfect alignment with his back, his neck and head curved, his eyes gone to another place. While he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. There is very little noise. Some deep sucks of air. Hooves readjusting on the floor. The smack of flesh on flesh. Spittle trails appear down Kind’s neck. A patch of her mane becomes matted wet. Nobody talks.
It doesn’t last for long. I didn’t time it, but I counted the seconds in my head. Maybe twenty-five or thirty from penetration to ejaculation. Everyone turns to the stud manager who nods. It is over. He has felt the sperm pulsing through the urethra at the base of the penis. It is important to know that it has truly happened. Galileo pauses for a few seconds further over Kind to allow his engorgement to subside before he slides back, off and away.
Relieved of the pressure, Kind straightens her legs and stands upright again. She pricks her ears at the sight of the foal, the two led on converging