lil' rosie runs.

[S u N f r O s T ~]

I stepped out onto the perfectly mowed turf track, leading my champion filly out behind me. Her black coat gleamed in the moonlight, and the tack she wore shone as well, throwing bright sparkles down onto the track. Our silhouettes were colored white by the glow, the glow of her well-cared-for training tack. Little Miss Innocent's hoofbeats made no sound on the soft track, and I sighed as Missy's lips brushed my back and closed on my shirt.

Missy, stop that I half-ordered, swinging around to bat her head lightly away. She nickered, and I could see the excitement in her eyes as she observed her favorite surface, the smooth turf. I sensed a burst of speed coming on, and quickly vaulted onto her back to grab the reins and pull them back, my feet out of the stirrup irons as she started cantering, throwing her head up and down as she felt the pull. Eventually she slowed to a trot, and by then my feet were positioned in the stirrup irons and she was warmed up, ready to go. She danced in place, eager to be off. I touched my heels to her side and we were cantering once more.

I waited until she was under the wire before finally pushing her into a racing gallop. I wanted her to run another mile and then an extra two furlongs to prepare for the Lil' Rosie Soz Stakes, about two days or so away. Missy started off, her mind finally focused. Her strides were long and came fast. She was leading the pack, waiting for the middle of the backstretch to catch the leaders. We rounded the first turn, she staying away from the rail but still close. Her strides were even longer, as she maintained her position and denied the rail-huggers the chance to lead. I settled into her stride, holding her in but still letting her run. She was well within herself.

We came off the turn. Now she shortened her stride and maintained her leader-of-the-pack position, sweat lightly coating her neck. She was not tired, just exerting herself and fighting my gentle hold. At long last we reached the middle of the stretch. I loosened my hold, and she powered forward, catching an imaginary third place horse and taking her spot. We were now coasting smoothly away from the pack, try as they might to catch up.

My hands ached from trying to hold my thoroughbred back as we reached the end of the backstretch and turned for home. Missy pulled harder, and at last my hold lessened still further. Missy caught another imaginary horse, this one in third. We were coasting right alongside the rail, gaining on the leader. My hands moved faster and faster up and down her neck as she increased the speed of her stride. Sweat covered my hands and coated her neck, as sher hard racing gallop switched to her fastest. We poured into the stretch.

She finally had her head, and went still faster, her eyes planted on the wire. I thought I heard the imaginary jockey's surprised words as we swooped past and led by five lengths over the ghost horse. Missy was flying, my hands were aching, and we were at maximum effort as we coasted under the wire and won our imaginary race. I pulled the three year old up and exhaled, feeling as if I'd run the mile myself. Miss trotted along proudly, head tilted, forelock dramatically shading her eyes. We trotted like that all the way back to the stable, wreathed in imaginary gold but full of true glory as we won our imaginary Lil' Rosie Soz Stakes.

DONE//612