Disclaimer: Longtime readers…you guys must have read this (or varied versions of this that all say the same basic thing anyway) a hundred thousand times already(maybe even a few million times…)…new readers…don't worry, you'll get tired of it soon…here's the hundred-and-one thousandth time (or the million-and-first time) …I don't own the Black …Actually, there are many other different versions…please feel free to pick whichever you like… J
A/N: Chapter 13…the unlucky chapter…(I really hope not) …
Ok, I'll shut up and get on with the story now…
Chapter 13
The next day after the Derby, we were brought home. 3 days rest, and we were back to training.
Traditionally, there is a two-weeks gap between the 3 races. I had 11 days, give or take, left before the Preakness. 11 days to think up something. I'd been lucky the last time. Steele had started the sprint too late; he wouldn't do it this time. And I'd heard that Conquistador was finally running in this race. Galilean…I don't know what happened to him, but I was sure that after this loss, he would come back alert and ready to take us on. And I wasn't about to depend on something that had happened last time and might not happen this time.
My Sweet Lucy was out of it. Sir Peppero, (the ever-eager informer) had said that after the Derby, her trainer had declared her too burned out. She wouldn't recover in time for the Belmont, much less the Preakness. And even if she did recover, she would probably be retired and put to stud.
Then, it started to rain. Just a bit, a few drops here, a few drops there, a slight drizzle everyday. Just a slight drizzle. It had been hot and too warm; I even forgot when it was the last time it rained.
And the humans had said that it was likely to continue raining like that for the next week.
I didn't mind drizzles when running. As long as the track was not too wet, that was all right.
I wasn't a mudder, a horse who loves, or at least likes running on a muddy track. Back at home, whether it rained or not didn't really make a difference in our running, aside from the grass being a little extra slippery, because the ground and the grass soaked it all up, and we'd never had any reason to go running in the canyons' dirt floor in thunderstorms.
Here, I'd never actually run when raining, but I'd been at a race where the ground was wet. And I can tell you, it's not easy. You have to work harder to go faster, and…no traction. It was like you almost had to scrabble to keep running, and it's messy. Real messy. When we'd come out of the race and Chaya dismounted, I wouldn't even have recognized her if I hadn't known she was there. She was coated head to foot with mud.
Great. Just great. Just when I was beginning to have some hope. Now it was squashed flatter than a mosquito when stepped on by an elephant.
At least Galilean didn't like the mud either. That was to my advantage.
As the week went on, the rain intensified. But as long as it didn't rain on Preakness day…as long as…
Great. Just great.
Today is Preakness day. As usual, we'd been vanned here several days before.
And today is also Rainy day.
It was pouring outside. It wasn't a thunderstorm, but…well, compared to he slight drizzles of last week, it is pouring.
At least, when Galilean's owner, Carter, saw the weather, he pulled him out.
That was the good news.
The bad news was much worse.
Steele was a known mudder.
I'd seen him run when the ground was wet; so wet that at places, the water sloshed up higher than our hocks. I'd seen him running, stretching out smoothly, his legs snapping backward and forward, running with ease, and while the rest of us had come out panting, he'd come out grinning.
I sighed and began hoping feverishly that at least the rain would stop before the race. At least we could run without having the rain pelting our backs and necks, and sometimes even our eyes, if that was the direction the wind was blowing.
The stable roof was still dripping when I was led out, even though the rain was now a drizzle again. It was like that today, pouring, drizzle, pouring, drizzle, each lasting only a few minutes or seconds; sometimes, it even stopped raining. But two minutes later…wow…
I drifted through the saddling and checking of everything worrying, worrying. Chaya mounted and we headed out.
For starters, the sky was already a dull gray. But the color of the sky had absolutely nothing o do with conditions of the track right now. Maybe later…
The wind wasn't strong. That was good.
Then, I saw the track. That was bad.
Worse, Chaya was strangely nervous today. Of course, she was nervous before every single race, but that was race-nervous. This was scared-nervous. Plus race-nervous.
And worst, her scared-nervousness was trickling down her hands, flowing down her arms, and pouring into me. I became more and more uneasy by the second. What was wrong?
We lined up. She was still…unfocused, which was really unlike her.
If she was not concentrating, I would have to focus for both of us.
The last horse was in.
I was out the moment the gates shot open. In this slop, we would have to get away early.
The good thing was, I was in the lead.
The bad thing was, Chaya wasn't cooperating.
Fine.
She wanted to follow the dry-track method, fine.
I took matters into my own hands.
The track was even worse than I imagined. Within a few lengths, my black socks were soaked, and I had water trickling down my legs.
The sky was now darker.
I rolled back an eye. The others were in a pack, with Steele running at the head.
It started to rain again before we were even to the first turn. Oh man…
Right now, we were in a precarious situation, where one single little thing could tip the scale and lose us the race. And those tiny raindrops were large enough to do it.
I grabbed the bit, tucked my head, and increased my strides.
Faster, faster…
I lengthened each stride.
Faster, faster…
I was going faster. So was the rain. My water-logged mane clung to my neck, and no matter how many times I flung up my head, it wouldn't come off.
Better to get the race over with before the rain got stronger.
I poured on speed. Reach forward, mud under your hooves, water in your face; push with your back legs, your hoof sinks, (and makes a nice loud squelch when you yank it out); mud and water flying behind you, the slop under your hooves slippery, no traction, forward, forward, faster, faster, run, run, run…
I glanced back. Steele was gaining. His head was almost to my flank.
Sometimes, it felt as though we were not running, not moving at all, as if I was running on a treadmill, where no matter how fast you run, no matter how quick you try to get away, it makes no difference…no, not one single bit…
Then, I felt a tug. I ignored it. Another tug.
All right, all right…
Chaya was steering me out to the middle of the track. Was she crazy? We'd lose ground…
On second thought, she was right. The ground on the middle was drier than by the rail, because all the water had drained off into the spot where I had been running before.
Now, this was easier. I put my head down and ran, Chaya giving me all the rein I wanted. This really is easier. Drier ground, now something like the track I had ran at long ago, the only time I'd run a race on wet ground. I'd won then…and if I'd won then, I could win it now.
FASTER, FASTER …
Here, there wasn't so much water. But the mud was thicker. That was good. More solid ground.
Is there a shade of gray in which it is at its' darkest without being black? Imagine the sky that color…
I glanced back again. Yes! Steele was several lengths behind us, and apparently very furious.
Yes!
I dug in with my hooves. The rain hadn't changed, but the size of the droplets and the direction of the wind had. The raindrops, previously like…well, one raindrop…were now the size of three raindrops. The wind was blowing them in silvery horizontal sheets. And I wasn't wearing blinkers.
We took the water head on. I narrowed my eyes to slits and tried to go even faster. I was leaning so far forward now that every time my hooves hit a puddle, water was almost flying up my nostrils.
I glanced back every few seconds. A chestnut horse was now running beside Steele, who looked even farther away.
YES!
Too late I felt the tug of the reins and saw the giant puddle lying ahead. Water almost to my fetlock…
Should I swerve? But the puddle was in the middle!
Yes…no other way…
I gritted my teeth. One stride later, my hoof sank into the puddle. Water washed over my socks.
But I was leaning too far forward. Two back hooves and my left foreleg were in the air, and I felt that single hoof in the muddy puddle give way.
The ground slid out from under that hoof and I stumbled. Now my entire right leg from knee to hoof was in the puddle. A back hoof sliced into the back of my knee. I felt pain shooting up my leg.
In a minute, I was up and running again. But that stumble had cost us the lead: Steele had drawn up beside us.
They would win. Steele a mudder, me with the cut…
They would surely win. But if I was going to lose, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.
I bowed my head, fighting with Steele, running, just running, not caring anymore…
We ran, side by side, neck to neck, and it took me a long time to realize that he was just as tired as I was. We were panting, our chests heaving, tongues rolling, sweat mingling with the rain to trickle off our backs and faces and manes and tails.
The other horses had caught up with us now. I could feel someone breathing down my back.
We shouldn't have gone that fast so soon…we shouldn't have taken the lead so early…we shouldn't have run on that specially wet place…I should have seen that puddle and avoided it…
Shouldn't have, shouldn't have, shouldn't have. There were a lot of shouldn't haves.
But right now, I didn't care anymore. Just running, running, keep on running, just to finish the race…never mind winning…just finish and I could get back to my stall…have a nice long sleep…so tired…so tired…
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a black head gain. On my right side, another head, this one brown, streaked even darker with mud. Steele and Conquistador! Not much; just half a neck. But that would make us lose.
A picture of Steele's jeering face came into my mind. No, I wouldn't be laughed at again. I wouldn't lose.
I felt a spark of anger. It was only a spark, but that spark was enough.
I fixed in my mind the picture of my stall with a warm bran mash waiting and made one last effort to get away from it all.
Did we even finish the race?
I don't know.
When did we pull up?
Don't ask me.
Who won?
Don't know, don't care.
Right now, all I wanted was a nice, thick bed of straw and sleep. Never mind the mash…
I don't remember much of what happened after that. Some flashes maybe, but not all of it.
One memory was of pulling up, Chaya finally throwing herself off my back.
The second memory: Someone running past, yelling to someone else on the grandstand "Head-bob finish! But the golden one won!"
"What golden one?" I'd wondered stupidly. My mind felt full of fog. There were two chestnuts here, and he could have meant any of us three. But we were so covered with mud I doubted he would have recognized who was who.
The third memory: Someone lifting up my right foreleg, and applying something to it. There was a stinging sensation .
Fourth memory: Being hosed down, the encrusted mud finally being washed off me.
Fifth memory: Finally being led into my stall. And then…darkness…and sleep.
"Worn out. Yes, definitely worn out."
"But he's had his rest."
I opened my eyes. Someone–two someones–were standing outside my stall door. I was stretched out on the floor.
"He's tired. The fast early pace…the slop…the rain…"
"What did the vet say about–?"
"The cut? Oh, said it was just a little one, really just a scrape, but a long scrape. Three inches, at least. But not deep. Really more like a scratch. He's really lucky. I've seen others with wounds as deep as his is long, if that's possible. Big bloody mess, I can tell you."
But who?
"He will run, then–?"
"We-ell…that really depends on his performance. I'll see if he gets back on his feet before I'd consider pulling him out…"
Ahh, Sims and his trainer friend, the one he had shown us to the night before the Derby.
"Two weeks–do you think he'll make it?"
"He's awake. Hey, boy." They opened the door and came to squat beside me, one on each side. Instinctively, I stiffened." And the vet said there would be no scars; would heal real quick, as long as everything goes fine. He'll be running at the track again in days." Sims reached for my right foreleg, which, I realized, was bound with white bandage around the knee. "And anyway, this one has a reputation of bouncing back real quick. A tough one, this one…"
Too bad Sims was the one behind me. Maybe if I kicked his friend…
His fingers touched and probed the leg. I pulled it from his hands and scrambled up.
They stood up too. "Well, looks like he's gonna make it." Sims' friend scratched my ears. He was gentle. I relaxed.
Sims went out. His friend paused. "Well done…you're more than halfway across already…just one more time boy…just one more win…and you're mine." One last scratch and he too, was gone.
One more win…then that meant I'd won the Preakness.
No way; I saw Steele, he was head-to head with me. But looking back, the human had said "a head-bob" finish.
Whatever that was. I'd ask Sir Peppero later.
It wasn't until later, very later, that the phrase "…and you're mine." drifted across my mind. But I pushed away the uneasy thoughts and settled onto the straw to do the one thing I'd wanted to do once again: sleep.