My favorite saying, because it’s true, is ‘man plans and the universe laughs.’ (My second favorite is courtesy of my Papa Harry, “Everyone in the world is crazy except you and me, and I’m not so sure about you.”) But I digress.

The first was made clear this past weekend. Most people have favorite sporting events, the World Series, the FIFA World Cup, or the Olympics. The day after the Super Bowl, the US practically comes to a standstill because so many people call in sick with hangovers.

For me, the event of the year is the Breeder’s Cup. The Breeder’s Cup has been around now for 36 years. I’ve watched and/or been to the last 20 years. It’s two days and 14 races of absolutely spectacular competition. It’s the best of the best from all over the world.

Over the last decade, six of my friends, all women who I’ve ridden with, so they pass the crazy test, have watched  or gone with me. We’ve gone to Churchill Downs, where I cried when Zenyatta lost to the aptly named Blame in her second Classic, to Del Mar, and always to Santa Anita. When we couldn’t travel (Kenneland you were too damned expensive) we watched at whoever’s place had the best TV.

When it’s possible, I go watch the horses work in the mornings at least twice. I pretend it’s to watch and size up the visiting horses, but it’s more than that. It’s amazing. Disneyland for horse people.

This year I really needed some fun. Two weeks prior was my screwed up trip home, and on Monday morning as I was driving to the works at 5AM I heard about the Getty Fire. Wednesday, I got up to go, turned on the television and there was helicopter filming a fire surrounding the stable where I board Mickey. Okay, they were zooming in on the Reagan Library. That matters to me not at all, but at the base of the Library’s hill is my heart and soul – Lavender Creek Ranch, and it was literally surrounded by fire. Circled.

I ended up hitching up my trailer and helped evacuate some of the 1000 horses nearby. (My barn didn’t need my help. They make the Army look unorganized.) I’ve been in a lot of active fires, but this was among the worst. Eventually all of the horses, even those that were let loose to flee from active fire, were saved. A few goats and pigs weren’t.

 When the Ventura County Sherriff’s’ Department sent us all home, I collapsed and called my mom. Her ancient little dog, Monty, who lives with me often, had gone missing the night before. As we were talking they found his body.

Good times. Not.

So I really needed some fun. Luckily, it was Breeder’s Cup 2019.

I had the weekend planned down to the moment. Friday, is the shorter program, with a handful of decent stakes on the undercard, and home to the Future Stars races: the Juveniles.  It was a glorious day at the track, and I even won a little (very little) money.

Everything was set for the next day. The whole card was fantastic, but the race I was looking forward to the most was The Mile. It was set for the 6^th. One of my favorite horses, Omaha Beach, was going out as the odds-on favorite.

On Day Two, because racing starts earlier and lasts later, I decided to bring Jasper to Kathy’s homes to play with her dog, Damali,  while we were gone. The dogs have known each other all lives and play together often. I hadn’t left Jasper there in almost a year, but he’d visited there just two weeks ago when we were evacuated. (See my disastrous trip to New England.)

The yard where we left them has a ten-foot wall, and we opened the guest house so they could get away from the sun. There were three or four buckets of water, since Jasper likes to stand in it, and Dalmali follows his lead. It was kind of a spa day for dogs. Or so we thought.

The dogs were the farthest things from my mind as we made our way to the Santa Anita betting windows for the first race at 11. I placed my bets and noticed that Kathy was on the phone, and Lise was quietly calling my name.

                “Ah, Sharon,” she said in her best super-calm therapist’s voice. “Kathy’s neighbor just called. Jasper is loose and is running around the neighborhood. They can’t catch him.”

                It took me a moment to process, but then we running through the parking lot. As we ran to the car (Kathy, poor thing was dressed for the day in heels and a big beautiful hat. I was in combat boots and a dress).

 I heard her say to her phone. “His name is Jasper. He’s’ big but very friendly. Don’t chase him.”

It’s important to note that her street is just off a major cross street – Laurel Canyon Blvd. And Jasper had gone around the block, with several people in tow at least once.

                I am very good in crisis. It’s later I fall apart. Instead of blacking out at the thought that Jasper Johns was running into traffic trailing a bunch of well-meaning people, I stepped on the gas. Hard.

We made it back to Kathy’s place in Studio City in less than 20 minutes. It’s usually about 35 minutes and change from Arcadia.

During that   time I was calm. Kathy was not, and for some reason kept apologizing. It most obviously was not her fault. We were trying to figure out how he got out. The only thing I could imagine was that he climbed on top of a garbage can and jumped over the gate.  It kind of seemed plausible.

Nope.

As we flew down the exit ramp to her house Kathy spoke to her neighbor again. Apparently Jasper ran back to her house, with the Good Samaritans following. Then he slithered under the gate. Like a snake.

The space between the gate and the driveway is less than five inches. Jasper is a full-grown, 135+ pound Great Dane. Okay then.

I started to laugh manically as we shoved them in the guesthouse. Jasper was shaking a bit, but otherwise thrilled we’d come back. We literally locked the door to the guesthouse with the dogs inside, and booked it back to the track to try and see the 6^th.

I predicted  that we’d be pulling into the parking lot as the 6^th went off. It was one of the few things I got right that day. But Kathy got the race on her phone, and just as I parked, we watched  , Omaha Beach fail to rally and lose.

The whole trip took about an hour. We missed three races.  I had a couple of bourbons, maybe more. It helped.

Planning is overrated.