Heart and Soul

Chapter 2

We spent the next few months in tedious training, always the same: walk, trot, and canter on a line, carry a rider, obey their commands, eat, sleep, and repeat. It was enough to drive an already crazy horse crazier. Finally they broke our routine and took us out to their track to run. I was pumped, prancing and snorting, but it was hard to upset my rider. He was obviously a veteran, sitting quietly in the saddle, I never could get him off. They led us through a gate and I whinnied to Blue when I spotted his familiar roan coat among the numerous bays.

Boss pointed at me, took my temperature, pulse, and respiration, then sent us out onto the track. My rider, called Smith, bent double in my saddle and clucked, urging me on. I was thrilled to comply, eating up the ground with huge strides and snorting with every breath. I've never experienced a feeling like that before, and never since. Smith sat up and tried to pull me up, but I was having fun! I breezed around the track twice before I finally slowed down, but it was of my own accord.

Boss seemed angry, but only yelled at Smith, not me. Grooms took my TPR, the pulled off my light saddle and put on a cooler. I was put on a walker with a few three year old fillies who were back from a race, their muscles rippling under shiny coats. The older fillies were replaced with fillies my age hot from their run. After about half an hour later I was taken off the walker, my cooler was replaced by a light sheet and I was put in my stall. Exhausted and with aching legs I laid down, but the sound of a familiar shuffling gait had me whinnying at my stall door.

Blair came in and I greeted him with an excited snuffle. He chuckled and pushed my nose away, then ran his hand down my legs. I rippled my skin while he kept his hand on me as he went around. He moved slowly but with determination, like he had places to go, but those places could wait if something better popped up, like a horse.

He stroked my silken mane with a wrinkled old hand, then smiled a nearly toothless smile, brown eyes twinkling from his dark face. I nudged him, then nibbled the grey and black hair on top of his head. He laughed and pushed my head away, then opened the stall door and stepped out. I knew better than to follow him out so I just watched him go. As he walked out Blue was led past and I whinnied to him. He whinnied back but couldn't stay as the groom walked him on.

I didn't see him much after that, we were never turned out together again and I found befriending the fillies much harder. They had already formed little cliches while I was playing with Blue so I found myself utterly left out. Thankfully with all the training I had little time to mope or distress about my situation. Smith didn't ride me any more, instead I had a young man named Zach who used his whip too much for my liking. Eventually I began to balk at going to the track, fearing the whip he was sure to use. Boss noticed my uncertainty and told Zach to lay off on the whip, but as soon as Boss was gone Zach whacked me especially hard.

Blair saw it and I noticed him stiffen. When we passed him he called us over and I pulled over before Zach could even ask.

"I saw you hit her, she's smart and hot enough as it is, don't use that whip unless you have to." I felt a tug on my mouth as my rider guided me away, then I picked up my gallop and streaked around the track. Zach didn't use the whip again.

A few weeks later grooms were swarming around me like bees to a hive and as long as no one tried to tighten my girth I didn't mind the attention. Blair stopped in to see me and feel my legs every day before and after I exercised, and those visits were the highlight of my days with Blue gone. I still missed him but I saw him around, sometimes coming off a breeze I would see him going into one, but we never got to speak. Under all the attention my coppery coat shone and my star was always perfectly white. I became friendly with several grooms and whinnied to them when I saw them coming, but Blair was always my favorite.

One morning the grooms all came in early, it was still dark out, and I had been asleep in the shavings. I dutifully rose up to greet them and nickered happily. This morning, though, they gave me a thick mash sweetened with molasses. It was amazingly delicious and I didn't want to eat my normal sweet feed again. In later years I became thankful for even two square meals a day, but that's beyond the point. Anyway, they threw on a heavier sheet than usual and wrapped my thin legs with thick pillow wraps that were then held in place with track wraps.

I was led into a trailer waiting outside and as I was being backed into my stall something hanging from the ceiling brushed my hindquarters and I erupted forward, my chest shoving groom back a few feet. He didn't fall, much to my dismay, but simply backed me in again, making no fuss whatsoever.

The ride lasted a few hours, it was me and two other fillies my age entered in the same race. One, a mare named Mirror Twin, was very vain and had firmly convinced herself she was the fastest, the smartest, the prettiest, the fittest, and the all around best. By the end of that ride I had firmly convinced myself she was a jerk. The other two year old, Angel's Dying Wish, was very timid and sweet, and as much as it pained me I could only think of how badly she would do in a race.

I was, however, very happy to hear she'd won when she returned to our cluster of stalls that night. She described the entire event in such detail I knew exactly what to expect tomorrow, except the gates. The gates were horrifying, tight spaces, and I was not a fan of horrifying, tight  spaces. They tried to lead me in, I reared. They tried to push me in and I kicked. Finally they got me in and I stood there, snorting and trembling, for the deafening silence that followed, then the bell's shrill ring. The gates flew open and I shot out, but so did the horses next to me, and I found myself tossed around, then boxed in.

I was annoyed, I had to shorten my stride so I wouldn't clip the heels of the horse in front of me. I knew I wasn't doing it right, but I really couldn't do it at all what with the slow horse ahead of me. A bay next to me bumped into my side and I swung my head around so fast the reins were ripped from my jockey's hands. I gave the horse a vicious nip and he skittered sideways with a squeal, losing placement. My jockey grabbed my reins and smacked my real hard with the whip, causing me to pin my ears and throw up my head irritably. 

But with the horse beside me in the back I moved over and starting moving up on the outside, gaining rapidly as I opened my stride. Unfortunately the horse in the lead was too far ahead for me to catch up in time but I made third place. Boss was mad, my jockey was mad, the grooms were mad, and I knew it was because I'd gotten mad and snapped at that horse. I heard Boss say that if I didn't 'clean up my act' for the next race I'd be sold. Now I had no idea what that meant so it didn't strike terror in my heart or anything.

That night I got a sweet mash but the sliced apples were noticeably absent and greatly missed. My legs were wrapped to keep any swelling down, support the tendons, and help the blood flow and my dark purple sheet was on, buckled snugly around my barrel. I laid down that night promising tomorrow would be better, but it wasn't.