When I was younger, just before I left for College, my father made me promise him that I would return to take over the family ranch after his death. Unfortunately, I am now keeping that promise.
Though Stephan is not interested in -read terrified of- horses, he has come with me to our childhood home to help run the ranch. We managed to work out a deal where I am the only one with contact with the horses. We decided that he would put his Degree in finance to good use and handle the money side of the business, and I would ignore my Art degree and take care of the horses.
My father was well known for breeding champion jumpers, the occasional racehorse and his penchant for the horses stable-names to be whichever famous horse they looked at. Over the years we've had Arkle, Ruffian, Desert Orchid, Secretariat, Bold Ruler and many, many more. Due to my father being ill for so long he had to dramatically downsize his herd to one colt. Named Red Rum.
Originally, I had thought it would be a simple task to return my fathers ranch to its former glory. I thought I would only have to train the colt for racing/jumping whichever he had an affinity for, buy a good filly, breed them and the ranches line would be restored... I have never been so wrong in my life.
Unfortunately, for poor Red Rum, my father overestimated how much he could still do. The last time he was lead or touched was when my father put him in the small paddock next to the barn, six months ago. The stable-hand that was supposed to look after the colt, as my father started to struggle to look after himself, never truly did his job. According to our neighbours all he ever did was throw sections of hay and food over the fence. Our watering systems for the horses are connected to the main water supply, this was purposely done back when I was a small child as my father wanted to have automatic troughs so they never run dry. This means that worthless stable-hand never needed to even enter the paddock to fill it up, and I doubt he cleaned it out judging by the colour of it.
At only a year and a half, Red Rum has gone from a feisty but tame colt to an aggressive, wild colt.
My brother found my father notes on Red Rum when he was sorting out my father's old, dusty office. As I read through them, I quickly noticed that my father had thought that he was going to be one of his few racers, had his Sire's temper – who was named War Admiral, after my fathers favourite racehorse- and was a red ribbon horse, which means he had a tendency to kick people even then.
After I read his notes, I had decided to see the condition that the unfortunate colt was in.
As I walked up to the only paddock left on the ranch and stopped at the fence, Red Rum caught sight of me. He charged the fence, in my direction, and for a moment I thought he was going leap over it. Instead he slid to a harsh stop and reared up towering over the meagre fencing and pawed viciously at the air. Cautiously, I stood my ground and remained at the fence, when he didn't calm down I backed up a few paces. Deciding he was content with the space I had given him, Red Rum went back to the other end of the paddock to continue his business. As I studied him I noticed, that though his feet definitely needed to be trimmed and he needed a good brush, he was actually in pretty good condition. He was, from what I could see a stunning golden-red in colour with an almost black mane and tail. He had proud arch in his neck and a regal stride, that promised he would be one of the most stubborn and difficult horses I would ever have the luck to train.
When he was once again tame, he would definitely be a magnificent racehorse...
This is also going up Tumblr, where there shall pictures! If it gets popular enough I will post the link on here so you lovely people on here can see them too.