It was 4am; the sun was still below the horizon and just thinking about rising. Most people and critters were still in their cozy beds sleeping at this time of the morning but not at the racetrack. Stable-workers were busy feeding the racehorses their morning oats, before dashing off to grab a cup of coffee and whatever else was necessary to start their day. The stomping of hooves, loud nickering and whinnying could be heard throughout the barns as the impatient horses welcomed their oats before their morning workouts began..
Strider Dan was a hard-muscled, steel-grey stud horse; his long flowing, thick white mane and tail, broad white blaze running the length of his head, shaped like a jagged bolt of lightening was the envy of many a racehorse. He was standing at the back of the stall by his feed bucket, when his groom, Jimmy Doyle opened the bottom door of the stall and ducked under the nylon webbing, bringing him his daily morning ration of oats. As soon as the tin of whole oats had been emptied into the horse’s feed tub, Jimmy stroked the big stud’s solid neck and said, “There you go Danny (as he affectionately called him). Eat up! You’ve got a big race ahead of you today.”
As the groom made his way back through the bed of thick golden straw to the door, Strider Dan turned his head towards Jimmy’s back and nickered, “If you expect me to win races – you should really feed me more than this pitiful amount of grain – a little more hay spiced up with some juicy alfalfa wouldn’t hurt either. It’s not like I don’t win races around here and fill your pockets with cash. You guys get to celebrate and go out to a fine restaurant after I win a race. Did it ever occur to you to take me too? Noooh! I just get a little extra molasses in my mash and a pat on the ass. In case you didn't know, I'm a big fan of barley – instead of filling my pail with water after the race – the least you could do is fill it with a dozen cold beers; that would go down real nice! Or, if you think all that beer wouldn’t be good for my diet – how about putting that cute little chestnut filly, the one that’s just a few stalls away, in here with me for the night? Now that would be special – and you could be damned sure I’d win a whole lot more races too!”
When Strider Dan finished eating his morning oats, he sauntered over to the half-open door. Flicking his tail at some pesky flies that were buzzing around his back legs, he stuck his big head out and looked up and down the shed-row. He heard the trainer barking orders from the tack room located right next to his stall as he watched Jimmy and the other grooms fetching saddles and bridals; the hot-walkers patiently sitting on bales of hay waiting to start their jobs. Seeing his friend Molten Mercury, a one-eyed bay in the next stall over was also checking out the morning activities he whinnied, “Hey Merc. How’s it hanging?”
“You would ask me that wouldn’t you Dan? I’m a gelding – as if you didn’t know. How do you think its hanging – I mean that’s all it can do – just hang there like a limp snake – and good morning to you too!” Merc sarcastically answered.
“Oh, don’t be so touchy; I didn’t mean anything by it.
“Did you hear Jimmy mention that I’ll be running in a race today? As if I didn’t already know that – just because I can’t speak English; doesn’t mean that I don’t understand it the same as I speak and understand Racehorse. I really should teach that boy a little Racehorse – we’d get on so much better.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really catch what Jimmy said but I already knew. I hear you’re running with the best racehorses on the track and for the largest purse ever. Do you think you can beat them – I’ve got half a bale of hay riding on you and you know how much I enjoy eating hay? I hear Royal Standard is the favourite and Laurel Wreath is expected to finish in the money as well. ”
To be continued...cheers - eh!
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