stretching legs.

[S u N f r O s T ~]

A whinny echoed around the track, and I smiled as coaxed the mare onto the turf. Little Miss Innocent was my pride and joy, a newly turned four year old, and one of my top hopefuls for the Dubai World Cup in December. Of course the World Cup was run on the sand, and today's work was on the turf, so it was completely irrelevant. Today Missy was exhibiting high spirits, prancing in place, happy to be moving onto the track again. I held her in tightly, fully aware that, as an older racehorse, she would have the strength now to run away, and I would not be able to overcome her.

Missy danced over the track surface, shifting her legs as if doing dressage, then made for the silver rail. It was a wonder of how she could spot it through the early morning's mists but I took it in good stride and coaxed her, loosening my hold and letting her stretch her elegant legs. It was a relief to not be training for anything bigger then the Turquoise Sprint in the early part of the season - last season had been a cause for grief.

The black cantered along the rail, completely relaxed, edging into a slightly faster pace as we entered the backstretch. I knew she was instinctively getting ready to run, and I might as well let her do it. Today was nothing more then a simple bonding work, so we were together and ready. I planned for a sand work in a couple of days, as I was really hoping to get her in to the World Cup. Enough of this World Cup nonsense! I ordered myself sternly, leaning forward and allowing her to accelerate a bit.

We were still cantering, and I let her continue the slow pace, admiring the track scenery as we swept along. As soon as we reached the rail and started turning, though, I had to focus back on Missy, as the turning sensation dizzied me greatly. Missy was still gliding along, but sensing my sudden attentiveness broke into a gallop. I crouched over her shoulders and absorbed her movement like a sponge, noting how it had changed now that she was four. Her legs ate up a lot more ground with each stride, and Missy, noticing this, tugged for more. I too was curious about her new speed, and let her go as we came to the stretch and raced under the wire.

Missy exploded like a cannon, setting off in a pace that originally I would have thought to be her second gear when she was three but was now her racing gallop at four. I quickly moved my hands with her lunging neck, by feet clinging to the saddle.

We swept into the backstretch in excellent time, and I decidedly let her fly some more. She brought up her heels and pounded forward. I was amazed and proud of my girl, my trusted friend and true racehorse who lorded over the other turn runners at this stable. I could hear her panting breaths now as she passed the half mile marker and accelerated more as she saw the track turn. Smart filly, as always I thought with a smirk.

Come now Missy, let's make it interesting! My yell could have gone with the wind but she knew my voice, could pick it out from gunshots if she had to. She dug in as she digested my words and connected it to the loosening of the reins and squeeze of the feet. We were flying into her top speed, and I couldn't see at all, only feel exhilaration as she swept around the turn and thundered on. Her was a horse that was on first-name terms with the wind. Here was a girl that ran like King. And here was a girl destined for glory!

I was not panting with surprise as we flashed under the wire, though. The stretch was long enough to give me time to think over her new, amazing abilities even with her racing a cheetah and winning in her mind. I had consoled myself with one thought; you knew she had it in her, you trained her to be this way. And as she slowed, I leaned forward and, not caring if I fell, hugged her neck tightly, letting the patches of sweat stirred up touch my arms - and not caring one bit.