pick yourself up

[S u N f r O s T ~]

The two year old filly was back in it. She had done badly, but then learned from her mistakes and emerged once more as a competitive horse owned by this ever-competitive stable. I shaded my eyes and looked to see Amber Black and Krystal Yhate watching our workout from the sidelines. If my mount knew they were there, she showed no signs of it. Her movements were just as smooth and contained as they always were, quiet hoofsteps shattering the utter silence as they pounded the dirt in harmony. She was a quiet mover, but around her hung the aura of defensiveness. Silent Wings would fight against any horse in a race, and her temper sometimes got in the way. Harnessed correctly, it could be a deadly weapon.

We had just come second in her latest race after two months of training. The Oscarianna Stakes had a tough field this year. Chasing Dreams had won her first race. Stolen Kisses had a pretty good record. Silver Stalker was a daughter of Night Stalker, half to Sweet Stalker, and her bloodlines had potential. Tourniquet's Secret held surprises, and Atomic Kitten had bloodlines and an excellent owner in Akita Rose Stables. I needed Dara to be prepared to face this field in a few short days. She needed to prove herself once more.

Right on cue we hit the canter, tracing a smooth path of our own design around the rail and into the backstretch. The filly smoothly ran, neither harried nor feeling like running slow. It was a regular pace for her distances of six to nine furlongs. The Oscarianna Stakes was nine furlongs, the peak of her distances, but we could take the other fillies and beat them. The filly was the daughter of Forbidden Wings, who had won the Breeder's Cup Distaff for me a couple years back. She had the blood of a graded stakes winner in her veins. That could make all the difference.

With five furlongs left to the wire we accelerated into her racing gallop. Dara's strides were swift and cut currents through the air as she glided over the dirt track. A mounting fury in her was easily felt through the reins, as she looked for horses that may challenge her. It was her number one inspiration to run, I thought; look for horses to beat and humiliate. There wasn't any, but how could she know? If any wished to challenge her might they would show themselves and let her know.....unless they were of her personality type. Dara was an unseen threat, and the other horse might be the same. Such deep thinking went into her moves like this, just hinting at the intelligence of her. She was special, even if the world didn't know it yet.

There were three furlongs left. Two of them had passed quickly, Dara steadily gaining in speed. Now I let the two year old go. Her specialty was making an early move, to have herself in full gear when the rest of the field was just starting to crack open their speed wells and take the bucket down to collect some of their swiftness. Dara would hopefully be far away by the time they had emptied their well and were moving at top speed. Already, within one furlong, Dara had achieved her top speed. I decided to relax, and observed the movement. It was smooth, but had an odd lurch every stride as if she was reaching forward and eager to cover as much ground in one stride as possible. Her ears were pinned flat to her head in an aggressive manner, but this was her usual anger that powered her engine like gas never could.

One furlong to go. She had cut through the turn as close as she could get to the rail, and was now faced with open stretch and the promise of glory at the wire. She wanted that glory, and revved it up to the top notch of her speed as we sped along. The tornado of anger that she was moved her legs together in quicker harmony, seeking to ward off the desperate imaginary horses in their final drive. When we whooshed under the wire, it was to victory, and this Dara knew. She was racing to show the others just how easy it was to lose.....and then how easy it was to pick yourself up and start winning again.