the token

Passionate Class was moving up through the ranks of the world. He was one of the best turfers out there, and I was proud to be the person that unveiled his talent after his neglect. He was my boy, and would always be. At four years old, he was in his prime and blossoming even more. He had reached his full height, and was in peak condition, with muscle enough for the distances he ran and the talent enough to make what was already big bigger.

The Breeder's Cup Turf prospect looked graceful as always as he lightly cantered along the stable turf track. His muscles flexed and disappeared in time with the movement of his legs, and a smooth rhythm was easily discernible from his strides. He flew along, warming up at the regular pace, preparing for whatever might lie ahead. Unlike some racers, Classy's attitude towards workouts was indifferent. He just calmly got on the track and went to work. During a race, he would get excited, and if challenged he would fight back - with workouts, however, he just obeyed. He put in effort, but not as much as in races. It was a touch of arrogance that he had developed, but it would be gone at the end of this workout.

I glimpsed halfway down the backstretch the black form of Little Miss Innocent with Amber aboard. I smiled, but at the same time wondered if what we were about to do would work. We were planning to breeze Classy and Missy for five furlongs, and end with Missy a length in front in an attempt to teach Classy to be humble. Hopefully it would be paid off. I accelerated into a gallop when we reached them, and without a word Missy and Amber did the same.

The furlong poles were already flashing by. We had our mounts going at fifty percent, and they were neck to neck. I noticed how tightly Amber was holding Missy back, and then realized why I wasn't doing the same. Classy was a closer. He didn't feel pressured yet to catch up. The turn was finally here, the wire three furlongs away, and now things changed. Classy struggled to get ahead, but Missy went ahead at eighty percent. Classy struggled to break free of my hold, but the problem was that the seventy percent he was exerting was his usual workout effort. He had to learn that this just wouldn't do.

Missy was ahead by a length, and then two, three, four. She was happily running, her strides eating up ground, and Classy's confusion filled me. Why wasn't he being allowed to run? I let him ponder the question as we entered the final furlong. By now Classy was resigned to the pace, and when Missy crossed the wire six lengths in front he followed along sulkily. Finding that my hold had disappeared, he immediately increased his pace, bouncing along and ready for another try. New fire was flowing through him, and I smiled. The tactic had worked.

Did it work? called Amber from her mount. I nodded, my wide grin apparent. Thanks Amber! My employer simply nodded. Anytime. Missy enjoyed that. Affection layered her tone, and I noticed that she was turning away to go for another lap aboard her champion. I smiled, and let her go. Though Missy and Amber had left, they had left a token of humbleness with us.