Albert the Horse Swiper
Page 4
***
Mornings were the best time of day for Albert. That’s when the track was used by the trainers working the pacers and trotters. The sound of their hooves pounding the turf seemed to carry in the morning air. If the morning was cool, the mist blowing from the horse’s snorting nostrils seemed timed with the clop- clop- clop of the hooves hammering the turf. Albert could sense the power; comparing it in his mind to an old time train engine belching smoke in rhythm with its wheels going clack- clack- clack.
The two tune up races went well, both wins at the Houlton trotting park. Gratten took two of the heats in one race, and won all three in the final tune-up on September second.
The morning following the second race Jeb took the Gratten horse for a slow pace around the oval to keep him loose. As he approached the out gate his sulky collided with a sulky driven by Roger Hand; the Hand sulky bumping the right front leg of the Gratten horse. After a few choice words to Hand for being stupid, Jeb got off the sulky, unhooked the horse and walked him back to the stall.
The hope to defeat the Cock of the North was limping; dead lame in his right front leg.
Albert thought, Mr. Daws ain’t gonna be happy bout this.
The Daws trainer was a short stocky fellow, square shouldered and solidly built─ like a boxer. He didn’t have hands of a boxer; he had weird hands. His index fingers on each hand were crooked, bent towards the middle finger. Both fingers, right beside the middle knuckle, had a callous big as a nickle─ that looked like knots. Albert knew right away the marks were the result of many years behind a sulky tugging on reins.
The trainer, his name was Jack, looked at Jeb, his anxious manner betraying a high degree of agitation as he told Jeb to get the bran mash and some salt; and mix them for a poultice.
Albert leaned down on one knee and felt the part of the leg that was struck. “Little heat in that spot Mr. Jack, the bran poultice will work to hold back the swelling, but it takes some time. I have a salve I use on the gaited horses that will take that swelling and soreness away overnight.”
“What is it?”
“It’s stuff I mix myself; got the recipe from a fellow who trained Walking Horses. Their legs need lots of care cause of the unnatural gait they’re forced to use.”
Jack said, “This ain’t no walking horse; he runs. What do you say Jeb?”
“Albert’s been around horses a long time; we know the bran mash takes some time and we ain‘t got much time. I say let him try it.”
“Go ahead, but if you cripple that horse you’ll never see New York again,” said Jack.
Albert chuckled, (really low so no one heard) shuffled over to his sack and pulled out a round glass bottle about the size of a can of milk. It looked like a glass of brown lard.
“Jeb,” He said, “Go to the groom shack and get me some cellophane and a straight edge razor.”
Jack looked apprehensively at Albert and said, “I hope the hell you know what you’re doing; Daws will have a piece of our hide if we can’t get this guy ready for Bangor, or worse yet, if whatever you do backfires and hurts the horse for good,”
“Not to worry Mr. Jack, this stuffs magic. Just wait till morning, you’ll see.”
Jeb hustled to the groom shack, grabbed his razor, snatched a roll of cellophane from the cupboard by the pantry and ran back to Albert.
“Here it is, ain’t much cellophane, but the razor is sharp.”
“Thanks,” said Albert. “Now go fetch a leg wrap while I work on old Jackson here,”
Albert soothed and whispered to the horse while gently rubbing its shoulder.
“Easy old boy,” he said, as he kneeled and began to skillfully use the razor to expose the skin below the hair covering the fetlock.
“Hand me that jar, Jeb”, Albert said.
He took the jar, swiped a glob of the brown lard off the inside and rubbed it in a circular motion around the shaved area. He rubbed for a full two minutes while chatting with the horse, then told Jeb to hand him the cellophane and the cotton leg wrap. He wrapped the leg, stood up, winked at Jeb, nodded at Jack, and then led the horse back to his stall.
“Better work, “said Jack.
“Flashing that mischievous grin, Albert said, you’ll see in the morning.”
When Jack showed up the next morning, Jeb had the Jackson horse on a long line moving him gently in circles with no apparent limp or distress. Albert was watching with that ever present grin.
“I’d let him rest, just walk easy for a couple of days, then ease him back to his routine training for the race in Bangor, said Albert.”