Raja, Story of a Racehorse (24 page)

As I sniffed the early spring air, I knew that something was about to happen. Two sets of footsteps creaked on the wooden barn floor.

“I have a surprise for you, Dee. Come, have a look.”

Even though it had only been two months since I had seen her, Dee looked taller, more grown up, as she peered into my stall. A chin-length haircut that made her chestnut hair swing as she walked replaced her unruly long braids. Her shaggy wool sweater was gone, too, I noticed. She looked at Paddy, astonished, then threw herself at him, hugging him.

“Where did you find him, Uncle Paddy?” She burst into my stall and hugged me tightly, smiling a wide chip-toothed grin.

There's the Dee I know.

“Sasha! I thought you were at the retirement farm. I went by the barracks and Officer Rob told me you'd been sent upstate.”

“There's a story and it'll be told at supper,” replied Paddy. “Now, then, these horses need some supper of their own. We can ride tomorrow.”

“I'm going to ride bareback,” Dee announced the next day as I was finishing my breakfast. “Yuri said that riding without stirrups is the best way to develop a good seat.”

“I suppose that's all right. We've been riding him every day; he's been perfect.”

Dee rode me every morning that week. We explored the countryside as the meadowlarks and song sparrows sang spring forward and endless clouds of black dots, rivers of high flying birds, crowded the sky. Rabbits and groundhogs roamed the fields, sunning themselves and looking for mates. The world had suddenly woken up.

Dooo…Dooo…Dooo…Doo doo doo doo doo.

That sounded like a bugle, like the call to the post.

It was around suppertime, four o'clock, when we heard it. Dee was riding late. Along with the sharp, quick, urgent notes of the horn, came the stirring sound of dozens of dogs crying in unison.

“Ah, listen to that hound music,” sighed Paddy. “It sounds like they're on a good run. If you hurry, you can see them come through.”

At the edge of the field we saw an amazing sight. It was a big race, led by dozens of hounds running and baying. A man wearing a red coat galloped with them. Two men in red coats flanked the pack, followed by another, leading a thundering herd of galloping horses toward the post-and-rail fence surrounding our pasture. Fanning out, each rider picked a panel and jumped into the big field.

This must be the hunt!

A teenage boy with his stirrups jacked up, jockey style, on a handsome black horse galloped past easily, with a girl in pigtails on a grey pony at his heels.

Was it? It's Holzmann and Prism! I can't believe it!

I broke into a gallop and started running along with the other horses.

I have to find out what they're doing. I'm not stopping, Dee.

After trying to pull me up, Dee changed her mind and decided to enjoy the ride as we rolled up and down the hills and through the woods, jumping coops and post-and-rail fences in our way.

“Hello, Raja!” cried Holzmann as I passed him. “Isn't this fun?”

Holzmann! What are you doing here?

“Foxhunting — come on, this is a good run. I'll race you to the top of the hill,” he shouted, taking off with a spurt of energy. He looked great — better than I'd ever seen him — all muscled up and fit. It was hard to believe that he was 19. He looked six.

I'm so happy to see him again!

Dee and I galloped with Holzmann, then moved closer to the leaders. Down a steep hill, over a big muddy stream and then up another big hill, passing more horses.

It feels so good to run. I like this kind of race!

The man in the red coat galloped easily toward a huge four-rail fence at the top of the hill and jumped it in an effortless leap. The next three horses refused. We were next. I measured the fence, gathered myself and flew it while Dee grabbed my mane, following perfectly.

That's fun!

The hounds went silent and the man in the red coat stopped to listen for them. No one else behind us jumped the fence.

“Some fence, eh?” The man grinned at Dee. “I'll bet it's almost five feet high — and you're riding bareback. Nice job! This horse I'm riding, Inquisitor, has won the Maryland Hunt Cup. If I were sitting on any other horse, I wouldn't have attempted it.”

He laughed with triumphant glee. “My name is Rick Dunlop; pleased to meet you.”

We heard another horn call. This time it was different — long and mournful.

“That old fox has gone to ground. He always gives us a great run whenever we come over here. I guess we should pick up hounds and call it a day. Today was our last hunt of the season. What a great way to end it.”

Dee patted my neck as she spoke, a little out of breath. “Thanks, that was really fun. I'm Dee and I live in New York. Paddy Murphy is my uncle.”

“Paddy Murphy's a good man and great horseman. He does my horses' teeth. He rode a couple winners for me back in the day when he was still riding races. I'm a steeplechase trainer,” he explained. “By the way, I like your horse.”

What's ‘steeplechase'? It sounds like racing. Why don't I know about it?

Rick opened a gate and we joined the other horses.

“We're a good way from your uncle's farm. Why don't you hack back to my barn? You can clean up your horse and give him some supper. Then we can figure out how to get the two of you home.”

At that moment, the boy and girl riding Holzmann and Prism trotted up to us.

“Wow! We saw you jump that four-railer with Uncle Rick. That was amazing! I'm Sam and this is my sister, Harper. I'm riding Holzmann and Harper's on Prism, ‘the wonder pony,' as everyone in the hunt calls her, ever since the little squirt beat all the big horses to win overall champion at last year's hunter trials. Thanks, Uncle Rick. That was an awesome day. I jumped all the big fences except that last one,” exclaimed the boy happily, cheeks flushed and glowing from his day. His sparkling blue eyes peeked out under unruly straw-colored bangs. “Are you going back to the meet?”

“I am indeed, shall we hack back together?”

“Raja! Fancy seeing you here,” bubbled Prism as she jigged up to me. She looked fitter, and a little whiter.

“How about that? Was that fun, or what? This is so much more fun than short stirrup equitation. Holz and I are having a blast. In the fall and winter, we foxhunt and in the summer we do Pony Club. Harper and I do Pony Club games, which are hysterical. She's so cute, I adore her; she gives me birthday parties and plays circus with her friends. She even brings me inside her house.” She nodded with emphasis, shaking her perfectly white mane. “It's true! Inside the house! Isn't that funny?”

She took a breath, “Sam's 14 and wants to be a steeplechase jockey, so he jacks his stirrups up and gallops Holz all over the place and finds big jumps to jump. You love it, though, don't you, Holz?”

“Sam's a good kid,” Holzmann agreed, grudgingly. “We get along well.”

As we hacked back to the meet, I told them my story, all of it: Gabriella DeVito and her crook of a dad; Mr. Smith; the auction and Beth; New York City and Yuri; the kill truck and my escape and the lucky meeting with Paddy Murphy.

It seems a lot longer than three years.

“Wow, that's incredible. How lucky that you ended up here. Paddy Murphy does our teeth. I hope Dee does Pony Club with Sam and Harper so that we'll see you.”

Holzmann trotted up to keep up with me. Sam laughed. “I think my horse likes yours,” he beamed at Dee.

Is foxhunting a race?

“You know, all they're interested in is chasing the fox,” Prism explained. “They get all dressed up, take the hounds out and spend a couple of hours finding and chasing a fox across the country. Some people like watching hounds work and others just like to run and jump. The foxes are so much smarter than the hounds that it's sometimes funny,” she chortled. “I know their tricks. If they want to get away, they just go up a stream, or run through a herd of cows, or along the top of a fence line to throw the hounds off the scent. I see them sitting on top of a hill watching the hounds, laughing at them. We usually run around in big circles and then the fox finds a den and goes to ground. Galloping with a big group of horses is fun. It gets your blood up.”

“Good night, Sam and Harper,” Rick waved goodbye when we reached the trailers. He glanced at his watch. “We'd better keep moving. It's getting dark.”

“Thanks, Uncle Rick. See you around, Dee.”

Soon we reached a tidy green bank barn.

I'm starving.

“There's the wash stall. You can put him in the corner stall after his bath. Here's a wool cooler for him. I'll make up a couple bran mashes after I clean up Inky. What a great day! I think your horse should stay here tonight. I'll bet he's tired. I'll give you a ride home after you're done and Paddy can come and get him tomorrow.”

Dee gave me a drink of water and nice warm bath, turning on the heat lamps in the wash stall and rubbing me dry with a towel, speaking to me all the while.

“Sasha, you were awesome. Wasn't that fun? I loved today. I think you did, too.”

Mmm — I feel cozy and warm and good. Those heat lamps are wonderful!

Dee and I definitely bonded today, I reflected contentedly as I struggled to stay awake. That must be why those horses and riders like hunting. It's a way to share the fun of running across country.

Better together, I mused, sleepily.

Dee led me to a stall bedded thickly with straw and I dug into the warm, wet, bran mash hungrily, not noticing the other horses in the barn.

Delicious!

“Raja, what are you doing here?” came a voice from the stall next to me. Startled, I looked up from the mash. My gaze met a familiar set of eyes smiling at me.

Shaddy! What are YOU doing here?

I can't believe it. It's soo good to see you!

“I live here. Rick trains me. I'm a steeplechaser. I race over hurdles.”

“And he's very good,” piped up a horse with an English accent. “You're looking at the champion hurdle horse for the past two years.”

You like to race? I knew you had the talent, but I thought you didn't like it.

“After I left Alex, I came to a trainer in Maryland. I ran at all of the Mid-Atlantic tracks but, you're right, I wasn't interested and didn't really win much. He put me in a claiming race and Rick claimed me. He said I was very well bred and I wasn't running to my potential and maybe I'd like running over jumps. He was right, I do like it. I've been steeplechasing ever since. The jumps keep it interesting and I really like training across country instead of around and around the track every day. It turns out I'm a really good jumper.”

That's funny. I'm a really good jumper, too.

“I heard about Max. He's a big stud — that's great. Hey, ask that young buck in the corner stall his name.”

Excuse me, hello, can you please tell me your name?