A n Y t I m e is G o O d

[S u N f r O s T ~]

Y5 Breeder's Cup Filly & Mare Turf Workout
Horse// Little Miss Innocent
Focus// RUN

The muscled three year old had just set foot on the turf, and already she was prancing happily. My hands were already firm on the reins, so she was reasonably under control, but she till danced sideways. Under cue from my legs, she broke into a fast canter, one which would warm up her already loose muscles. We would lap the track once, then start a six furlong breeze - something awkward for the ten furlong Breeder's Cup Filly & Mare Turf that awaited us.

Little Miss Innocent was suddenly all seriousness as we rounded the first turn at the canter. She pulled on the reins impatiently, increasing her pace till she was at the point of breaking into a gallop. My gentle hold hold her in, until we rounded the last turn and passed under the wire. I then suddenly pushed her forward, like we would if we were breaking from the gates. Immediately Missy responded, her legs stretching out to touch and lift up from the ground in steady rhythm. Her pace was enough to run on the outside of the pack, which she did as she rounded the first turn, keeping to the outside. We weren't breezing, not just yet, until we were at the beginning of the backstretch.

Now we opened up. The filly accelerated smoothly into the desired pace, her ears pricked as she found a drive that she liked and pushed forward. Her sprinter muscles were used less often, but now she roared into the pace that would lead the pack, like she always would in the middle of the race. She was right, too - we had covered three furlongs. Her sweat was light, as she could take heavier work, but I didn't notice this fact. I didn't notice that her mane was whipping into my face, blinding me till I was shaken into reliability on the filly's current direction. All I noticed was how fast we ran, and how fast we could go.

With another furlong left and two to go she accelerated once more. Now we would be catching up to challenge the front runners. She was still on the outside, but her speed was enough to still work her way past the horses in front at a reasonable pace. And as we turned for home, my hands responded to her constant, roaring pull to run and let her go, the reins dropping uselessly. And now Missy flied like a cheetah, dazzled me senseless, and no doubt clocked an excellent, track-record time. We flew past the finish wire, no doubt in first, and then Missy slowed and instinctively turned to the winner's circle, head high as she looked for the roses. My throat was so dry from the wind that I could hardly laugh as I turned her away ad trotted her off the track. Her sides were steaming from the heat that we had not felt as we galloped, and I quietly led her in the direction of the wash stalls to give her a reward, and to rest her for the Breeder's Cu, the biggest race of her career.

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