Disclaimer: Iay on'tday nwoay hetay lackBay. Pig Latin for, "I don't own
the Black." Pig Latin, where you take the first letter of a word and put it
behind the word, then add '-ay'..
So to all readers: " opeHay ouyay njoyeay eadingray!"
Chapter 7
February passed in a flurry. I'd filled out over the winter; I'd also developed the tucked-up, sleek look of a racing-fit horse and I was now sixteen hands tall, and still growing.
At least, that was what Chaya had told me when she measured me that day at the paddock. It was near evening. The air was bitingly cold, and I was the only horse who had trotted to meet her at the fence when she'd whistled.
The others were standing in a huddle, stamping their feet and blowing out great misty breaths of air.
"Thanks, boy." Chaya rubbed the blanket over my withers and sent me on my back to the herd. The rebuilding had begun at the burned barn, but we were still standing out in the cold.
Being at-pasture was fine with me if it was summer time. Not winter time.
I'd never felt this cold before, because the winters back home had always been much milder, with more sleet, and not with biting winds like this. I shivered and wished for sunlight.
It came. It was as if something hot was being poured down from the top of my head; at any rate, the warmth spread throughout my body and I was soon as warm from the tip of my nose to my hooves as a wild rabbit curled up in its winter den, sleeping the cold away. I pressed myself against the warm huddle of bodies and fell asleep.
At the track, we were worked harder and pressed to faster times than ever, in preparation for our first races and our introduction to the racing world. The distances in the afternoon trail rides were built up too.
I first noticed something strange when I was turned out in the paddock after an afternoon trail-ride. There were several new humans standing outside the fence with Sims and another man I'd learned to recognize as our owner. They were talking in low voices, making gesture with their hands.
They turned to watch as Steele, Sandstorm and I filed into the paddock. Sims let himself in after us and took Moon's halter. He led her over to the visitors, who looked her up and down and shook their heads. He let go of her and turned to get another two-year-old. He led us all one by one over to the humans, and each time, they shook their heads.
I watched, curious. They were discussing something. One of the visitors, a female, lifted her arm and pointed at Rapunzel. They were still talking as they walked away.
The visitors were always there the next few days after that. They stood at the rail and watched us gallop in the oval. They walked by the paddock often, watching us when we galloped around. They talked some more in low voices, and watched and watched, their keen eyes observing our every move.
I remember the date exactly; fourteen moons after they first came, Chaya whistled for us and when we gathered around her, Rapunzel was singled out and led away.
We didn't mind it, sure that she would be back by evening, or by tomorrow at least.
We never saw her again.
Sir P said later that she had been sold to an eventing stable. According to him, the master had needed the money, because of the rebuilding of the burned barn, and he had started to sell off the horses he thought weren't good enough to win huge purses.
Those days were terrible days; wondering which one of us would be next, running our fastest at the track for fear that we would be deemed too slow and sold off the same way.
I was with the others; even though what I really wanted was to be free and to go home, I didn't really want to get sold of to someplace else. I was already familiar with this place, and familiarity had always given me security. If I had to choose, I would chooser to stay here. There was a saying, "Better the enemy that you know, than the enemy that you don't know, for if you know your enemy, you will know the outcome of all your battles."
If I was sold off, what if I went to a place with a trainer like Jim?
And besides, there was Moon.
What I'd asked her that night had stayed in my mind. Was she serious? Did she really want to run away with me? I wanted to ask her, but if she was only kidding, she would be horribly embarrassed and our easy friendship would be ruined. If she was serious, it was up to her to say so. Until then, I would wait. And while I waited, February whirled away and March came.
Chaya led me to a mounting block one morning, her step extra-bouncy, and her voice extra-cheerful. She had gotten her apprentice license recently. She could now ride in races, but she would have to have 35 wins to become a jockey. I behaved extra-well that day, part of my congratulations for her, not wanting to make her mad or sad, and spoil her happiness. Oakwood Acres had good horses; not Triple Crown winners, but good enough that she would soon get her license.
It wasn't long after that that Golden Phoenix was led away. We never saw him again either. Fire Phoenix was devastated, spending at least fourteen moons after Golden Phoenix's sale moping and sulking. They'd never been separated before. Sir P said that money was tight around the farm, because it hadn't had any big winners since years ago. Once we were on the track, we would have to work hard to earn back the money. The master was counting on us, because Sims had assured him that there were several fast runners in our batch, namely Steele, Moon, and me.
Fast runners, big purses. So that was what Sims wanted, wasn't it? I was determined, as I had been determined since the beginning, to go against his plans and frustrate his wishes.
I'd come to realize that he wouldn't let me get sold. How was he to get the revenge he had talked about if I was gone?
That realization made me bolder, bold enough to try another plan. I would obey what they told me to do, but defy them at the same time. I went back to my old antics. It worked. Three days later, after a workout, I came out of the oval barely sweating, and saw Sims stomping away in frustration, yelling something about it being my worst time ever.
I swallowed the huge grin that threatened to erupt on my face and followed Chaya to the makeshift shelter they used as the grooming and saddling area.
However, as the racing season approached, I found more things to worry about than annoying Sims or getting sold.
There was, firstly, Steele to deal with. His ego had inflated, partly because he had become Sims' favorite, behaving a total angel at the oval, and running the fastest times among us. His attitude had also worsened; so had his remarks.
His verbal attack against me hadn't worked - knowing that he was provoking me, and that I'd be weaker than he was if I showed my reactions, I'd kept my temper and ignored him. He'd slated of a bit, until sometime ago, when he'd found a new tactic.
He shifted his focus and began attacking my family-my mother, my father, my herd back home-relying heavily on the belief that pureblood horses were so much higher classed and higher born than half-breeds like me. "Half- breed" became my new nickname. Steele whispered it every time we passed each other.
These new taunts would send my blood boiling-I was so mad I could have killed him on the spot-but even though I seethed and raged inside, I never let him see me.
I didn't mind being called "half-blood"; call me any foul name you want and I wouldn't have cared. If he'd sneered and sniggered at me, my anger would be much less, because I was here in person and I could defend myself. But his taunts were against members of my herd-and they far away.
My mother had said that Thoroughbreds were proud. She was right; they were proud of their breeding, of their looks, of their speed.
But now, I could add to that-mustangs were also proud - and they could be prouder than the Thoroughbreds, not because they cared for their looks- but because they were proud of their honor and their freedom.
To a mustang, death was preferable to capture; and if you were caught when you could have escaped, it was a shameful thing, the marks of which you would carry around for the rest of your life.
His insults were against my family-and they were not here to defend theirselves.
But I soon had other things to take my attention away from Steele and the things coming out if his mouth. The burned barn had finally been rebuilt, and we'd finally moved into it. The racing season was near, near enough for me to start worrying whether I would be running in a race against Steele or not.
Training was intensified, until we were in top condition.
Early one morning, before the sun had come up, several of us were loaded on a van-I mean, a trailer and taken to a racetrack. A real one this time, with strange horses and grooms running and scurrying about, and a wide, dirt track with a smaller turf track and real starting gates and real racehorses, not racehorse wanna-bes like we were. Or at least, like Moon and Steele and the others were. I couldn't exactly be counted as a racehorse wanna-be, since I had never wanted to be here in the first place.
We were led down from the ramp while it was still dark and brought to our stalls. The other, older horses went back to dozing almost right away- this was routine to them and they were used to it-but I stayed awake, my head over my stall door, watching everything, much too excited about what was going to happen later that day.
The track was full of excitement, with horses being led out to their workouts and horses being walked in from their workouts; grooms, trainers and jockeys bustled everywhere, and if you were used to quiet places, the noise here was deafening.
We were taken out, groomed, tacked up, and led to the track when the sun was just coming up. I was looking around, my head craned sideways when Chaya swung up and trotted me to the track. We met Dick coming in on Moon, whose sweat-streaked creamy flacks were heaving slightly. He waved at us, and she bobbed her head as we went past.
We started with the same routine as back home - warming up at a canter the wrong way around the track. I threw in a buck, testing her to see if she was ready to play or not. If she didn't react, that would sometimes mean it was alright for me to buck some more, or try to grab the bit and race off with her.
This may seem weird, but I think she sometimes actually enjoyed my running away with her.
This morning, like some other mornings, her fingers on the reins told me that she was serious today. There would be no time for playing, at least for now.
I tossed my head and obeyed. Half-way around, she began to wake me up, urging me on with her voice, squeezing with her calves. I tucked my head and slowly, my strides lengthened.
As usual, I waited impatiently and tugged at the bit to go faster. And as usual, until we passed whatever pole was used as a marker, she did not let me go.
Finally, I felt the reins loosen, and sprang forward. The surrounding scenery became blurs. My hoofbeats pounded in my ears, and the air rushed past my face and blew back my mane into Chaya's face. I felt her weight leave the saddle and felt her knees pressed against my withers.
She used her inside rein to keep me at the rail. We pounded up the track, my huge strides gobbling up the ground, and drew alongside another horse, an older gelding.
We were beside them for an instant, then Chaya gave me more rein and we drew away from the gelding and his rider. My neck was barely lathered and I'd hardly started to blow when Chaya slowed me to a trot, and finally walked me out of the track.
Sims met us, clipped another line to my bridle, and started talking with Chaya. He kept his hand on my nose, probably to keep me from biting him in case I ever decided to. Bad luck to me; I'd just decided that I was being too nice to him. The smell of his hand, warm and sickeningly sweaty filled my nose. I shuddered as I felt his fingers move. There was something repulsing about them, something revolting in the way he was scratching me.
I'd been scratched lots of times before, but then never by him. And as I had said, it was ironic, the way he scratched and patted and boasted of my times at the oval while at the same time, his cold eyes told me that he would have loved the chance to strangle me. He was, as what we horses call, "plastic." Meaning, he was only a pretender.
Men like him were cruel. And cowards. They would take offense and revenge at the smallest wrongdoing of their inferiors, but they would never do that to their superiors. They would simper and fawn over their betters, while treating those below them with incredible harshness.
And I was, of course, way below him, both in the ranking in species and in the food chain. At least, that was what he thought.
I was jerked back to reality when Chaya urged me into a walk. She brought me to a shady area not far from the racing stables and cooled me off. Then, I was doused with water, dried, groomed, and returned to my stall.
I spent the next several hours gazing alternately at the wall and out the stall door. The stall walls were thick too thick for me to talk to the horse next door. But even if we did, I doubt that we could have heard each other over the noise.
The grooms at Oakwood Acres did good, preparing us beforehand. The Oakwood Acres horses stood calmly in their stalls, not the least bit scared or disturbed. I pulled back from the stall door as a bright chestnut filly barged past, her eyes wild with fear at the noise, dragging her hapless trainer with her. I cautiously shoved my head out again a few moments later. The aisle was wide enough, but still, I didn't want any could-have- been-prevented accidents. Like bashing head to head with a terrified horse going full tilt. That would have been ouch.
A tacked horse was led past me. I began to get excited. And tense. Being part mustang, I wasn't as temperamental and easily excited as the other Thoroughbreds, but still, I was part Thoroughbred. By the time they came for me, when the sun was high in the sky and just beginning its descent, I'd broken out into a cold sweat.
I was led out of my stall and into the hosing down area. Dick scrubbed me down, then walked me until I was dry, since Chaya, who was riding me, had gone to get dressed and weighed. I was taken back to my stall and groomed until my golden coat gleamed. They left me and came back a while later to put on my bridle, and the socks used to protect my feet from clips and scratches. The sweat came again, and darkened patches of my neck, until I looked almost like a pinto-a dun pinto, with patches of deep gold and patches of bronze, where the sweat had been. But then, who had ever heard of a dun pinto?
The nervousness mounted. I wasn't afraid; what was there to be afraid of? I was.eager. And tense. And a million things more. And from the looks of the other horses in my race, who were being led into the paddock just as I was, they were feeling butterflies in their stomachs too.
A human female was walking around, lifting our lips, checking our registration tattoos, and clipping on numbers to our bridles. I would've craned my head upward to try to see mine, but I was too busy staring around wide-eyed.
Dick walked me around the paddock, then headed for our saddling stall. Sims was waiting there, and he put on the blanket and slid the saddle on my back. His fingers were so deft that I hardly felt them doing the buckle on the girth.
Chaya came out wearing the green and gold racing silks of Oakwood Acres. Goggles were perched on top of her helmet, which had a green cover. She waited quietly, watching while Sims checked my tack for the last time. I wriggled a bit. In the sun, the blanket felt hot uncomfortable and stuck to my back.
The track official came. "Riders up!"
Sims cupped his hands and Chaya swung up on my back. Dick clipped a line to my bridle and led me off. We lined up for the post-parade.
The patches of sweat darkened on my neck. I pranced in place, mouthing my bit. The outrider on her pony came up beside me and clipped her line in place of Dick's which he had taken off. I swiveled my ears and turned my head immediately, studying the track pony. What were they doing here? Were they going to run the race with us? I snorted at the thought of me galloping past the other racehorses, dragging the rider and her pony after me. The pony snorted back. That was friendly. Somehow, I felt calmer.
Chaya clucked me into a walk. The outrider led us until we could see the starting gates, then unclipped her line and waved as she trotted away. Oh. So they weren't going with us the whole way after all.
The gates loomed ahead. We'd practiced in them dozens of times at home, so why did my nervousness mount again? I pinned back my ears as the track officials came and tried to lead me into the stall. Chaya waved them away and I walked in by myself.
The moment I felt the gates close behind me with a bang, and felt the metal against my hocks, I immediately regretted what I did. I was trapped. I threw up my head and tried to back out. I couldn't. So I panicked. But there was no room to buck, no room to kick, no room to back away, no room to go forward. Then, somebody grabbed my bridle and I had to stay still.
Chaya wove her fingers on my mane. I quieted down. I had drawn, or rather, Sims had drawn, the fifth position. There were seven horses on this field, six older, stronger, calmer, horses. They had all run in other races before, but had never won. And I may be faster than them, but they had more experience. While I sweated and pranced uneasily, they stood calmly, every action of theirs telling me that they were used to this, that they had done this before.
The bell rang, and the starting gates opened. Six horses surged out on the track. Six older horses sped away. One horse, the novice, was left at the gate. Me.
I hadn't been paying attention, and I was left behind. It only took a moment for me to realize that the race had already began, but that moment had already cost us several lengths to make up.
All my racing career, I never made that mistake again.
If Chaya wouldn't take charge, I would take over for her. I grabbed the bit in my teeth and raced out of my gate, running frantically after the other horses. Up on my back, she was jolted back to her senses. She tried to pull in more rein, to slow me down a bit, but as I had said, the bit was in my teeth, and I wasn't about to let her get it.
A few more strides and we caught up with the last horse. I went faster and we were soon running on the outside of the pack, with the leaders several lengths in front.
The pounding noise filled my ears. My nose was just inches above the churning hindquarters of the horse in front. I pulled back a bit, not wanting to get a mouthful of dust.
This was just like the exercise rides at home, only here, there would be a winner. And I was determined that I would be that horse.
Chaya crouched on my back, her weight on her heels, and gave me a bit more rein when I asked. Being on the outside, I ran the widest distance, and had the most lengths to make up. She slowed me a little when we were at the head of the pack, and guided me over to a narrow slot just behind the leaders. I'd finally let her take the reins, and she was telling me right now that this speed was just right.
How many turns we rounded past, I didn't bother to count. All I knew was that we were suddenly on the homestretch. I flicked an ear and tugged some more on the reins. She told me to wait. But this was going to cost us the race. So, I grabbed the bit again, and put on more speed. We swept past the leaders as if they were standing still. I was elated. I was going to be first!
Until I saw the horse in front. There had been another horse, but we just hadn't seen him before. And with just a few more lengths to go before the wire, we wouldn't have enough time to cover the distance.
I tried anyway, sure that it would do no good. I went full tilt and we flew down the track, my giant strides eating up the distance between us and that one horse. Everything became blurs of color, and I couldn't really see clearly where we were. I just ran, and kept on running, hoping not to crash into him.
Above the roar of the wind, I could hear Chaya saying whoa and felt her pulling on the reins. I slowed. My vision went back to normal. We were past the finish line. I looked back and could see the pack still running. Then, I looked ahead and couldn't find the first horse. Where was he/she? Surely they would have been ahead of us.
But we were the only ones past the finish line. Then that would mean.?
Just then, the second placer swept past us and was pulled up. It was the horse who had been ahead of us. The rest of the pack caught up and were slowed down.
The race. We'd won it!
I felt Chaya engulfing my neck with those strange human arms of hers, felt a line being clipped on my bridle, heard Dick's and Sim's voices yelling something. The now-familiar smell of the track pony who had first led us in the post parade filled my nostrils.
I was led into a circle, with Chaya, Sims, and my owner. Humans surrounded us, yelling. There was clicking everywhere, and blinding flashes of light. Something big and gleaming was handed to Sims, who handed it to Chaya, who lifted it up high.
A surge of pride flared within me. I'd won the race, beaten the other horses!
I would never forget that day for the rest of my life.
So to all readers: " opeHay ouyay njoyeay eadingray!"
Chapter 7
February passed in a flurry. I'd filled out over the winter; I'd also developed the tucked-up, sleek look of a racing-fit horse and I was now sixteen hands tall, and still growing.
At least, that was what Chaya had told me when she measured me that day at the paddock. It was near evening. The air was bitingly cold, and I was the only horse who had trotted to meet her at the fence when she'd whistled.
The others were standing in a huddle, stamping their feet and blowing out great misty breaths of air.
"Thanks, boy." Chaya rubbed the blanket over my withers and sent me on my back to the herd. The rebuilding had begun at the burned barn, but we were still standing out in the cold.
Being at-pasture was fine with me if it was summer time. Not winter time.
I'd never felt this cold before, because the winters back home had always been much milder, with more sleet, and not with biting winds like this. I shivered and wished for sunlight.
It came. It was as if something hot was being poured down from the top of my head; at any rate, the warmth spread throughout my body and I was soon as warm from the tip of my nose to my hooves as a wild rabbit curled up in its winter den, sleeping the cold away. I pressed myself against the warm huddle of bodies and fell asleep.
At the track, we were worked harder and pressed to faster times than ever, in preparation for our first races and our introduction to the racing world. The distances in the afternoon trail rides were built up too.
I first noticed something strange when I was turned out in the paddock after an afternoon trail-ride. There were several new humans standing outside the fence with Sims and another man I'd learned to recognize as our owner. They were talking in low voices, making gesture with their hands.
They turned to watch as Steele, Sandstorm and I filed into the paddock. Sims let himself in after us and took Moon's halter. He led her over to the visitors, who looked her up and down and shook their heads. He let go of her and turned to get another two-year-old. He led us all one by one over to the humans, and each time, they shook their heads.
I watched, curious. They were discussing something. One of the visitors, a female, lifted her arm and pointed at Rapunzel. They were still talking as they walked away.
The visitors were always there the next few days after that. They stood at the rail and watched us gallop in the oval. They walked by the paddock often, watching us when we galloped around. They talked some more in low voices, and watched and watched, their keen eyes observing our every move.
I remember the date exactly; fourteen moons after they first came, Chaya whistled for us and when we gathered around her, Rapunzel was singled out and led away.
We didn't mind it, sure that she would be back by evening, or by tomorrow at least.
We never saw her again.
Sir P said later that she had been sold to an eventing stable. According to him, the master had needed the money, because of the rebuilding of the burned barn, and he had started to sell off the horses he thought weren't good enough to win huge purses.
Those days were terrible days; wondering which one of us would be next, running our fastest at the track for fear that we would be deemed too slow and sold off the same way.
I was with the others; even though what I really wanted was to be free and to go home, I didn't really want to get sold of to someplace else. I was already familiar with this place, and familiarity had always given me security. If I had to choose, I would chooser to stay here. There was a saying, "Better the enemy that you know, than the enemy that you don't know, for if you know your enemy, you will know the outcome of all your battles."
If I was sold off, what if I went to a place with a trainer like Jim?
And besides, there was Moon.
What I'd asked her that night had stayed in my mind. Was she serious? Did she really want to run away with me? I wanted to ask her, but if she was only kidding, she would be horribly embarrassed and our easy friendship would be ruined. If she was serious, it was up to her to say so. Until then, I would wait. And while I waited, February whirled away and March came.
Chaya led me to a mounting block one morning, her step extra-bouncy, and her voice extra-cheerful. She had gotten her apprentice license recently. She could now ride in races, but she would have to have 35 wins to become a jockey. I behaved extra-well that day, part of my congratulations for her, not wanting to make her mad or sad, and spoil her happiness. Oakwood Acres had good horses; not Triple Crown winners, but good enough that she would soon get her license.
It wasn't long after that that Golden Phoenix was led away. We never saw him again either. Fire Phoenix was devastated, spending at least fourteen moons after Golden Phoenix's sale moping and sulking. They'd never been separated before. Sir P said that money was tight around the farm, because it hadn't had any big winners since years ago. Once we were on the track, we would have to work hard to earn back the money. The master was counting on us, because Sims had assured him that there were several fast runners in our batch, namely Steele, Moon, and me.
Fast runners, big purses. So that was what Sims wanted, wasn't it? I was determined, as I had been determined since the beginning, to go against his plans and frustrate his wishes.
I'd come to realize that he wouldn't let me get sold. How was he to get the revenge he had talked about if I was gone?
That realization made me bolder, bold enough to try another plan. I would obey what they told me to do, but defy them at the same time. I went back to my old antics. It worked. Three days later, after a workout, I came out of the oval barely sweating, and saw Sims stomping away in frustration, yelling something about it being my worst time ever.
I swallowed the huge grin that threatened to erupt on my face and followed Chaya to the makeshift shelter they used as the grooming and saddling area.
However, as the racing season approached, I found more things to worry about than annoying Sims or getting sold.
There was, firstly, Steele to deal with. His ego had inflated, partly because he had become Sims' favorite, behaving a total angel at the oval, and running the fastest times among us. His attitude had also worsened; so had his remarks.
His verbal attack against me hadn't worked - knowing that he was provoking me, and that I'd be weaker than he was if I showed my reactions, I'd kept my temper and ignored him. He'd slated of a bit, until sometime ago, when he'd found a new tactic.
He shifted his focus and began attacking my family-my mother, my father, my herd back home-relying heavily on the belief that pureblood horses were so much higher classed and higher born than half-breeds like me. "Half- breed" became my new nickname. Steele whispered it every time we passed each other.
These new taunts would send my blood boiling-I was so mad I could have killed him on the spot-but even though I seethed and raged inside, I never let him see me.
I didn't mind being called "half-blood"; call me any foul name you want and I wouldn't have cared. If he'd sneered and sniggered at me, my anger would be much less, because I was here in person and I could defend myself. But his taunts were against members of my herd-and they far away.
My mother had said that Thoroughbreds were proud. She was right; they were proud of their breeding, of their looks, of their speed.
But now, I could add to that-mustangs were also proud - and they could be prouder than the Thoroughbreds, not because they cared for their looks- but because they were proud of their honor and their freedom.
To a mustang, death was preferable to capture; and if you were caught when you could have escaped, it was a shameful thing, the marks of which you would carry around for the rest of your life.
His insults were against my family-and they were not here to defend theirselves.
But I soon had other things to take my attention away from Steele and the things coming out if his mouth. The burned barn had finally been rebuilt, and we'd finally moved into it. The racing season was near, near enough for me to start worrying whether I would be running in a race against Steele or not.
Training was intensified, until we were in top condition.
Early one morning, before the sun had come up, several of us were loaded on a van-I mean, a trailer and taken to a racetrack. A real one this time, with strange horses and grooms running and scurrying about, and a wide, dirt track with a smaller turf track and real starting gates and real racehorses, not racehorse wanna-bes like we were. Or at least, like Moon and Steele and the others were. I couldn't exactly be counted as a racehorse wanna-be, since I had never wanted to be here in the first place.
We were led down from the ramp while it was still dark and brought to our stalls. The other, older horses went back to dozing almost right away- this was routine to them and they were used to it-but I stayed awake, my head over my stall door, watching everything, much too excited about what was going to happen later that day.
The track was full of excitement, with horses being led out to their workouts and horses being walked in from their workouts; grooms, trainers and jockeys bustled everywhere, and if you were used to quiet places, the noise here was deafening.
We were taken out, groomed, tacked up, and led to the track when the sun was just coming up. I was looking around, my head craned sideways when Chaya swung up and trotted me to the track. We met Dick coming in on Moon, whose sweat-streaked creamy flacks were heaving slightly. He waved at us, and she bobbed her head as we went past.
We started with the same routine as back home - warming up at a canter the wrong way around the track. I threw in a buck, testing her to see if she was ready to play or not. If she didn't react, that would sometimes mean it was alright for me to buck some more, or try to grab the bit and race off with her.
This may seem weird, but I think she sometimes actually enjoyed my running away with her.
This morning, like some other mornings, her fingers on the reins told me that she was serious today. There would be no time for playing, at least for now.
I tossed my head and obeyed. Half-way around, she began to wake me up, urging me on with her voice, squeezing with her calves. I tucked my head and slowly, my strides lengthened.
As usual, I waited impatiently and tugged at the bit to go faster. And as usual, until we passed whatever pole was used as a marker, she did not let me go.
Finally, I felt the reins loosen, and sprang forward. The surrounding scenery became blurs. My hoofbeats pounded in my ears, and the air rushed past my face and blew back my mane into Chaya's face. I felt her weight leave the saddle and felt her knees pressed against my withers.
She used her inside rein to keep me at the rail. We pounded up the track, my huge strides gobbling up the ground, and drew alongside another horse, an older gelding.
We were beside them for an instant, then Chaya gave me more rein and we drew away from the gelding and his rider. My neck was barely lathered and I'd hardly started to blow when Chaya slowed me to a trot, and finally walked me out of the track.
Sims met us, clipped another line to my bridle, and started talking with Chaya. He kept his hand on my nose, probably to keep me from biting him in case I ever decided to. Bad luck to me; I'd just decided that I was being too nice to him. The smell of his hand, warm and sickeningly sweaty filled my nose. I shuddered as I felt his fingers move. There was something repulsing about them, something revolting in the way he was scratching me.
I'd been scratched lots of times before, but then never by him. And as I had said, it was ironic, the way he scratched and patted and boasted of my times at the oval while at the same time, his cold eyes told me that he would have loved the chance to strangle me. He was, as what we horses call, "plastic." Meaning, he was only a pretender.
Men like him were cruel. And cowards. They would take offense and revenge at the smallest wrongdoing of their inferiors, but they would never do that to their superiors. They would simper and fawn over their betters, while treating those below them with incredible harshness.
And I was, of course, way below him, both in the ranking in species and in the food chain. At least, that was what he thought.
I was jerked back to reality when Chaya urged me into a walk. She brought me to a shady area not far from the racing stables and cooled me off. Then, I was doused with water, dried, groomed, and returned to my stall.
I spent the next several hours gazing alternately at the wall and out the stall door. The stall walls were thick too thick for me to talk to the horse next door. But even if we did, I doubt that we could have heard each other over the noise.
The grooms at Oakwood Acres did good, preparing us beforehand. The Oakwood Acres horses stood calmly in their stalls, not the least bit scared or disturbed. I pulled back from the stall door as a bright chestnut filly barged past, her eyes wild with fear at the noise, dragging her hapless trainer with her. I cautiously shoved my head out again a few moments later. The aisle was wide enough, but still, I didn't want any could-have- been-prevented accidents. Like bashing head to head with a terrified horse going full tilt. That would have been ouch.
A tacked horse was led past me. I began to get excited. And tense. Being part mustang, I wasn't as temperamental and easily excited as the other Thoroughbreds, but still, I was part Thoroughbred. By the time they came for me, when the sun was high in the sky and just beginning its descent, I'd broken out into a cold sweat.
I was led out of my stall and into the hosing down area. Dick scrubbed me down, then walked me until I was dry, since Chaya, who was riding me, had gone to get dressed and weighed. I was taken back to my stall and groomed until my golden coat gleamed. They left me and came back a while later to put on my bridle, and the socks used to protect my feet from clips and scratches. The sweat came again, and darkened patches of my neck, until I looked almost like a pinto-a dun pinto, with patches of deep gold and patches of bronze, where the sweat had been. But then, who had ever heard of a dun pinto?
The nervousness mounted. I wasn't afraid; what was there to be afraid of? I was.eager. And tense. And a million things more. And from the looks of the other horses in my race, who were being led into the paddock just as I was, they were feeling butterflies in their stomachs too.
A human female was walking around, lifting our lips, checking our registration tattoos, and clipping on numbers to our bridles. I would've craned my head upward to try to see mine, but I was too busy staring around wide-eyed.
Dick walked me around the paddock, then headed for our saddling stall. Sims was waiting there, and he put on the blanket and slid the saddle on my back. His fingers were so deft that I hardly felt them doing the buckle on the girth.
Chaya came out wearing the green and gold racing silks of Oakwood Acres. Goggles were perched on top of her helmet, which had a green cover. She waited quietly, watching while Sims checked my tack for the last time. I wriggled a bit. In the sun, the blanket felt hot uncomfortable and stuck to my back.
The track official came. "Riders up!"
Sims cupped his hands and Chaya swung up on my back. Dick clipped a line to my bridle and led me off. We lined up for the post-parade.
The patches of sweat darkened on my neck. I pranced in place, mouthing my bit. The outrider on her pony came up beside me and clipped her line in place of Dick's which he had taken off. I swiveled my ears and turned my head immediately, studying the track pony. What were they doing here? Were they going to run the race with us? I snorted at the thought of me galloping past the other racehorses, dragging the rider and her pony after me. The pony snorted back. That was friendly. Somehow, I felt calmer.
Chaya clucked me into a walk. The outrider led us until we could see the starting gates, then unclipped her line and waved as she trotted away. Oh. So they weren't going with us the whole way after all.
The gates loomed ahead. We'd practiced in them dozens of times at home, so why did my nervousness mount again? I pinned back my ears as the track officials came and tried to lead me into the stall. Chaya waved them away and I walked in by myself.
The moment I felt the gates close behind me with a bang, and felt the metal against my hocks, I immediately regretted what I did. I was trapped. I threw up my head and tried to back out. I couldn't. So I panicked. But there was no room to buck, no room to kick, no room to back away, no room to go forward. Then, somebody grabbed my bridle and I had to stay still.
Chaya wove her fingers on my mane. I quieted down. I had drawn, or rather, Sims had drawn, the fifth position. There were seven horses on this field, six older, stronger, calmer, horses. They had all run in other races before, but had never won. And I may be faster than them, but they had more experience. While I sweated and pranced uneasily, they stood calmly, every action of theirs telling me that they were used to this, that they had done this before.
The bell rang, and the starting gates opened. Six horses surged out on the track. Six older horses sped away. One horse, the novice, was left at the gate. Me.
I hadn't been paying attention, and I was left behind. It only took a moment for me to realize that the race had already began, but that moment had already cost us several lengths to make up.
All my racing career, I never made that mistake again.
If Chaya wouldn't take charge, I would take over for her. I grabbed the bit in my teeth and raced out of my gate, running frantically after the other horses. Up on my back, she was jolted back to her senses. She tried to pull in more rein, to slow me down a bit, but as I had said, the bit was in my teeth, and I wasn't about to let her get it.
A few more strides and we caught up with the last horse. I went faster and we were soon running on the outside of the pack, with the leaders several lengths in front.
The pounding noise filled my ears. My nose was just inches above the churning hindquarters of the horse in front. I pulled back a bit, not wanting to get a mouthful of dust.
This was just like the exercise rides at home, only here, there would be a winner. And I was determined that I would be that horse.
Chaya crouched on my back, her weight on her heels, and gave me a bit more rein when I asked. Being on the outside, I ran the widest distance, and had the most lengths to make up. She slowed me a little when we were at the head of the pack, and guided me over to a narrow slot just behind the leaders. I'd finally let her take the reins, and she was telling me right now that this speed was just right.
How many turns we rounded past, I didn't bother to count. All I knew was that we were suddenly on the homestretch. I flicked an ear and tugged some more on the reins. She told me to wait. But this was going to cost us the race. So, I grabbed the bit again, and put on more speed. We swept past the leaders as if they were standing still. I was elated. I was going to be first!
Until I saw the horse in front. There had been another horse, but we just hadn't seen him before. And with just a few more lengths to go before the wire, we wouldn't have enough time to cover the distance.
I tried anyway, sure that it would do no good. I went full tilt and we flew down the track, my giant strides eating up the distance between us and that one horse. Everything became blurs of color, and I couldn't really see clearly where we were. I just ran, and kept on running, hoping not to crash into him.
Above the roar of the wind, I could hear Chaya saying whoa and felt her pulling on the reins. I slowed. My vision went back to normal. We were past the finish line. I looked back and could see the pack still running. Then, I looked ahead and couldn't find the first horse. Where was he/she? Surely they would have been ahead of us.
But we were the only ones past the finish line. Then that would mean.?
Just then, the second placer swept past us and was pulled up. It was the horse who had been ahead of us. The rest of the pack caught up and were slowed down.
The race. We'd won it!
I felt Chaya engulfing my neck with those strange human arms of hers, felt a line being clipped on my bridle, heard Dick's and Sim's voices yelling something. The now-familiar smell of the track pony who had first led us in the post parade filled my nostrils.
I was led into a circle, with Chaya, Sims, and my owner. Humans surrounded us, yelling. There was clicking everywhere, and blinding flashes of light. Something big and gleaming was handed to Sims, who handed it to Chaya, who lifted it up high.
A surge of pride flared within me. I'd won the race, beaten the other horses!
I would never forget that day for the rest of my life.