From the Philadelphia Inquirer:

It's wrong to breed animals for human pleasure, unless, of course, it's for something to grill.

The news of Eight Belles' demise after the filly's second-place finish
in the Kentucky Derby darkened last weekend. It had been a gallant run
for a young filly in a colt's world - a run that ended once she
crumpled to the ground immediately after the race had ended.

The poor horse, which had broken both front ankles, was euthanized on
the track even before her own trainer knew she'd been injured. And it
all happened right before our eyes.

Our three sons asked why she had to be put down. I did my best to take
my time and offer a full explanation. I really wanted them to know of
my concerns that human exploitation had played a role.

I was grilling while we simultaneously played a game of family soccer.

Four hand-molded ground sirloin patties simmered on the flame alongside
four all-beef hot dogs. The smell of dinner wafted through the
neighborhood as we staged a match between "Man U" and "Chelsea." It was
a day to savor. The forecast hadn't been for such nice weather, or
maybe we would have gone fishing and eaten trout instead.

Checkers, our 13-year-old Labrador, was sniffing around the fire hoping
to steal a burger. Our miniature dachshunds, Mr. Lucy and Floyd, were
digging holes nearby looking for frogs. Our Norman Rockwell scene
wouldn't have been complete without them. We treat our dogs like family.

And there I was, pontificating to my sons as to how the cause of Eight
Belles' death might actually be the way she was treated by the humans
in charge of her.

I told them that Eight Belles was the only filly in the race and that
she had outperformed expectations with a heroic stride. The boys asked
what a filly was, so I explained it to them. They wanted to know why horses injured
like Eight Belles were so readily euthanized, and I tried to help them
understand.

In the meantime, the hot dogs were getting crisp, so I reduced the heat
and put cheese on the burgers. Checkers was alternating between sitting
in her monogrammed bed and circling the grill, all while staring at me.
She really is a member of the family, I thought - just like Winston,
the wily cocker spaniel that stuck by my side for almost 20 years until
his death in 2006.

"Some people think that the breeding practices are to blame," I told my
sons. "See, there was a horse named Native Dancer back in the 1950s,
and this horse, Eight Belles, is one of his descendants. In fact, every
thoroughbred in the race had Native Dancer in their family tree, which
suggests in- or over-breeding. It's just not fair what the humans do to
those horses," I said.

"In a lot of ways, it's nothing but exploitation," I told them. "They
just breed them so fast and race them so young. And in this instance,
it finally took its toll."

There was more I wanted to say. But my wife likes her burgers fairly
rare, the hot dogs were getting even more crisp, and it was time to get
inside and eat. Checkers was beginning to drool, and I wanted to keep
her on schedule. I really love the old girl.

I bit into my burger and, mouth full, announced: "This just isn't right. Somebody's got to stand up for the horses."

Michael Smerconish's column appears on
Thursdays in the Daily News and on Sundays in Currents. He can be heard
from 5 to 9 a.m. weekdays on "The Big Talker," WPHT-AM (1210). Contact
him via the Web at http://www.mastalk.com.