Raja, Story of a Racehorse

by Anne Hambleton

  The man in the red coat galloped easily toward a huge four-rail fence at the top of the hill and jumped it in an effortless leap. The next three horses refused. We were next. I measured the fence, gathered myself and flew it while Dee grabbed my mane, following perfectly.

  That’s fun!

  The hounds went silent and the man in the red coat stopped to listen for them. No one else behind us jumped the fence.

  “Some fence, eh?” The man grinned at Dee. “I’ll bet it’s almost five feet high — and you’re riding bareback. Nice job! This horse I’m riding, Inquisitor, has won the Maryland Hunt Cup. If I were sitting on any other horse, I wouldn’t have attempted it.”

  He laughed with triumphant glee. “My name is Rick Dunlop; pleased to meet you.”

  We heard another horn call. This time it was different — long and mournful.

  “That old fox has gone to ground. He always gives us a great run whenever we come over here. I guess we should pick up hounds and call it a day. Today was our last hunt of the season. What a great way to end it.”

  Dee patted my neck as she spoke, a little out of breath. “Thanks, that was really fun. I’m Dee and I live in New York. Paddy Murphy is my uncle.”

  “Paddy Murphy’s a good man and great horseman. He does my horses’ teeth. He rode a couple winners for me back in the day when he was still riding races. I’m a steeplechase trainer,” he explained. “By the way, I like your horse.”

  What’s ‘steeplechase’? It sounds like racing. Why don’t I know about it?

  Rick opened a gate and we joined the other horses.

  “We’re a good way from your uncle’s farm. Why don’t you hack back to my barn? You can clean up your horse and give him some supper. Then we can figure out how to get the two of you home.”

  At that moment, the boy and girl riding Holzmann and Prism trotted up to us.

  “Wow! We saw you jump that four-railer with Uncle Rick. That was amazing! I’m Sam and this is my sister, Harper. I’m riding Holzmann and Harper’s on Prism, ‘the wonder pony,’ as everyone in the hunt calls her, ever since the little squirt beat all the big horses to win overall champion at last year’s hunter trials. Thanks, Uncle Rick. That was an awesome day. I jumped all the big fences except that last one,” exclaimed the boy happily, cheeks flushed and glowing from his day. His sparkling blue eyes peeked out under unruly straw-colored bangs. “Are you going back to the meet?”

  “I am indeed, shall we hack back together?”

  “Raja! Fancy seeing you here,” bubbled Prism as she jigged up to me. She looked fitter, and a little whiter.

  “How about that? Was that fun, or what? This is so much more fun than short stirrup equitation. Holz and I are having a blast. In the fall and winter, we foxhunt and in the summer we do Pony Club. Harper and I do Pony Club games, which are hysterical. She’s so cute, I adore her; she gives me birthday parties and plays circus with her friends. She even brings me inside her house.” She nodded with emphasis, shaking her perfectly white mane. “It’s true! Inside the house! Isn’t that funny?”

  She took a breath, “Sam’s 14 and wants to be a steeplechase jockey, so he jacks his stirrups up and gallops Holz all over the place and finds big jumps to jump. You love it, though, don’t you, Holz?”

  “Sam’s a good kid,” Holzmann agreed, grudgingly. “We get along well.”

  As we hacked back to the meet, I told them my story, all of it: Gabriella DeVito and her crook of a dad; Mr. Smith; the auction and Beth; New York City and Yuri; the kill truck and my escape and the lucky meeting with Paddy Murphy.

  It seems a lot longer than three years.

  “Wow, that’s incredible. How lucky that you ended up here. Paddy Murphy does our teeth. I hope Dee does Pony Club with Sam and Harper so that we’ll see you.”

  Holzmann trotted up to keep up with me. Sam laughed. “I think my horse likes yours,” he beamed at Dee.

  Is foxhunting a race?

  “You know, all they’re interested in is chasing the fox,” Prism explained. “They get all dressed up, take the hounds out and spend a couple of hours finding and chasing a fox across the country. Some people like watching hounds work and others just like to run and jump. The foxes are so much smarter than the hounds that it’s sometimes funny,” she chortled. “I know their tricks. If they want to get away, they just go up a stream, or run through a herd of cows, or along the top of a fence line to throw the hounds off the scent. I see them sitting on top of a hill watching the hounds, laughing at them. We usually run around in big circles and then the fox finds a den and goes to ground. Galloping with a big group of horses is fun. It gets your blood up.”

  “Good night, Sam and Harper,” Rick waved goodbye when we reached the trailers. He glanced at his watch. “We’d better keep moving. It’s getting dark.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Rick. See you around, Dee.”

  Soon we reached a tidy green bank barn.

  I’m starving.

  “There’s the wash stall. You can put him in the corner stall after his bath. Here’s a wool cooler for him. I’ll make up a couple bran mashes after I clean up Inky. What a great day! I think your horse should stay here tonight. I’ll bet he’s tired. I’ll give you a ride home after you’re done and Paddy can come and get him tomorrow.”

  Dee gave me a drink of water and nice warm bath, turning on the heat lamps in the wash stall and rubbing me dry with a towel, speaking to me all the while.

  “Sasha, you were awesome. Wasn’t that fun? I loved today. I think you did, too.”

  Mmm — I feel cozy and warm and good. Those heat lamps are wonderful!

  Dee and I definitely bonded today, I reflected contentedly as I struggled to stay awake. That must be why those horses and riders like hunting. It’s a way to share the fun of running across country.

  Better together, I mused, sleepily.

  Dee led me to a stall bedded thickly with straw and I dug into the warm, wet, bran mash hungrily, not noticing the other horses in the barn.

  Delicious!

  “Raja, what are you doing here?” came a voice from the stall next to me. Startled, I looked up from the mash. My gaze met a familiar set of eyes smiling at me.

  Shaddy! What are YOU doing here?

  I can’t believe it. It’s soo good to see you!

  “I live here. Rick trains me. I’m a steeplechaser. I race over hurdles.”

  “And he’s very good,” piped up a horse with an English accent. “You’re looking at the champion hurdle horse for the past two years.”

  You like to race? I knew you had the talent, but I thought you didn’t like it.

  “After I left Alex, I came to a trainer in Maryland. I ran at all of the Mid-Atlantic tracks but, you’re right, I wasn’t interested and didn’t really win much. He put me in a claiming race and Rick claimed me. He said I was very well bred and I wasn’t running to my potential and maybe I’d like running over jumps. He was right, I do like it. I’ve been steeplechasing ever since. The jumps keep it interesting and I really like training across country instead of around and around the track every day. It turns out I’m a really good jumper.”

  That’s funny. I’m a really good jumper, too.

  “I heard about Max. He’s a big stud — that’s great. Hey, ask that young buck in the corner stall his name.”

  Excuse me, hello, can you please tell me your name?

  The horse, who hadn’t been paying attention to our conversation, replied self-importantly, “My name is ‘To The Max.’ My sire is the famous Maximillian, winner of the Belmont Stakes and my grandsire, Millionaire, won the Kentucky Derby.”

  Max’s son! Wow! I couldn’t believe it.

  Shaddy stifled a giggle. “He’s such a snob about his breeding that I haven’t had the heart to tell him I’m his uncle. We’re getting old, my friend,” he said quietly. “He’s headed for the three-year-old hurdle races and will be tough to beat. Next to him is Admiralty Bay from England over here to show us how it is done. This w
ill be his second season over timber. He’s shooting for the big sticks: Maryland timber.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” nodded Admiralty Bay with a British accent.

  Shaddy, please tell me WHAT steeplechasing is?

  “It’s racing, but over jumps and for longer distances than the races we used to do. In fact, most steeplechase races aren’t even at a track, they’re over fields in the country. Jockeys are bigger, too. Hurdle races are faster, racing over brush fences. That’s what I do. Timber horses race over wood post-and-rail fences. Those races are slower, longer, usually three- to four-miles long, so those horses are not only good jumpers, they have stamina. Max would have been good at them,” he grinned.

  Max! I miss him so much.

  “Most steeplechase horses start out racing at the flat track, then race over hurdles first and if they are really good jumpers or a touch slow, they convert to timber. I’ve seen horses win timber races at nine or ten years old or even older. Young Dubliner won the Maryland Hunt Cup at 12 and was second at 14. Then he won two more timber races at 15.”

  A fifteen-year-old winning a race? The racehorses I know are retired at five or six.

  Shaddy continued, “A lot of timber horses go foxhunting to learn how to jump solid fences at speed and to get the core fitness they need to race for three or four miles. Inky, ‘Inquisitor,’ who Rick was hunting today, is really good. He won the Maryland Hunt Cup last spring and is headed there again next month. It takes a really special athlete just to make it around the Hunt Cup course, let alone win.”

  By now, my head was spinning. It had been quite a day. Seeing Prism and Holzmann and discovering my new favorite sport, foxhunting, was wonderful. Bonding with Dee was also great. Best of all, seeing Shaddy and hearing about steeplechase racing was amazing. I liked these horses, and steeplechasing sounded like it was the best of racing and jumping.

  I’m good at both!

  “What stinks in here?” Tricia, Dee’s aunt, wrinkled her nose. “Dee, I think it’s those nasty sneakers of yours! You can’t possibly take them back to New York with you!” She held out an empty feedbag that was being used as a trash bag, “put them in here. They need to go to the dump! Honestly!” She shook her head, “I thought I was a tomboy, but you’re ten times worse! I bought you pair of proper paddock boots, some Blunnies, as a thank-you present for all of your help. See if they fit. The horsey look is always fashionable in the city!”

  “Wow! Thanks! They’re awesome. I wish I didn’t have to go back to New York. Spring break was way too short this year. I’ll see you in the summer, Sasha.”

  Dee gave me a final hug. “Take good care of him, Uncle Paddy and Aunt Tricia. Thanks for everything. This was the best break, ever.”

  “You have a deal,” replied Paddy. “By the way, he needs his old name back. ’Tis bad luck to change a horse’s name. He needs only good luck from now on.”

  “It’s starting to feel a bit more like spring around here. Everyone wants their horses’ teeth done before the racing season starts,” Paddy commented one warm March evening as he and Tricia did the barn chores. “It’s fun to see who’s getting ready. I went to Rick Dunlop’s today. Between Shaddy, To the Max, Inquisitor, and Admiralty Bay, he’ll be hard to beat. It’s too bad Dee will miss the spring races. I think she’d enjoy them.”

  I wish I could see them. I’m very curious about steeplechasing.

  “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you, Rick has asked me to be an outrider for the hunt point-to-point.”

  “That’s great, Paddy. I wonder if those young jocks will know there’s a ringer in their midst. You can ride circles around all of them, even if you are 30 years older.”

  Paddy smiled, “I was thinking that I could take Raja. What do you think? Would Robbie be better?”

  “Take Raja,” Tricia answered, putting down the pitchfork and taking off her well-worn leather gloves to tie her long blond hair up in a knot. “Don’t forget, he was a police horse. He’s used to crowds. He’s so beautiful he deserves to be worshipped by all of us mere mortals. I’ll braid him for you. I used to do a pretty mean braided tail in my day. The two of you will be the most handsome pair in the history of the point-to-point.”

  March, Unionville, Pennsylvania

  It was the kind of day where everyone is your best friend, sharing a giddy secret with you, a robin’s-egg-blue sky perfect day. The sunlight glowed golden green through the new leaves on the trees and a warm breeze sent a ripple through fluffy pink-and-white-blossomed crabapple and dogwood trees that welcomed us up the farm road to the field where the trailers parked. Beyond the trailers, I saw another field filled with cars, people chatting with each other, kids tossing balls, dogs sniffing other dogs and car tailgates covered with plates of food.

  “Hi Paddy, who’s that you’re on? He’s beautiful.”

  Everyone knew Paddy.

  Our job was to lead the horses to the start and catch loose horses. I had been led to the start by outriders at the track and it was funny to be on the other side. We walked to the paddock with Admiralty Bay, Rick Dunlop’s English horse, then stood to the side as the horses walked single file around the paddock.

  “Riders up!”

  The colorful silk-clad jockeys, all bigger than the jockeys at the track, I noticed, went to their horses and lightly hopped up, helped by a leg-up from their trainers.

  Da da da dum diggety dum diggety dum dum dum daaa.

  The Call to the Post!

  My heart started to quicken as Paddy and I led the horses to the start field away from the crowd on the hill. The course, marked with red-and-white flags, snaked across several fields and up and down a hill over post-and-rail jumps that looked just like the fence at home.

  Where’s the starting gate?

  After stopping to show the horses the first fence, we led them at a canter across the field to a knot of people. A man in green rubber boots, a tweed cap and a bow tie raised a big red flag in the air as the horses walked, head-to-tail, in a large circle.

  This must be the start. How strange — no gate?

  “Tighten up guys, come on. Number three, pay attention — closer to two please, thank you. One more time around…now turn your horses.”

  They turned in a line, facing forward.

  The loudspeaker crackled and sputtered, “They’re all in line…the flag is up.”

  Then, waving the big flag downward with a flourish, the starter jumped aside to get out of the way of the seven horses that were now heading toward the first fence.

  “And they’re off in the three mile open timber race!” The loudspeaker barked.

  I want to go!

  Paddy just laughed and circled me as I started to gallop with them.

  “Easy Raja, I know. I want to go, too.”

  They’re crawling. Why so slow?

  I remembered Shaddy telling me that timber races were long — three miles — and I thought of the day Mary fell and Oakley had galloped me to call the helicopter.

  This isn’t very different. These races look fun. And NO starting gate!

  The second time around, the pace picked up. As the horses approached the last fence, the race took on a sense of urgency, now fast and furious. As the crowd surged close to watch, two horses ran at top speed into the stacked wooden rails, head-to-head, nostrils flaring, straining toward the finish.

  Wow! I love this! THIS is exciting!

  Admiralty Bay, on the inside, took off to jump from what seemed impossibly far away, flying over the fence in a powerful leap. The horse next to him, who looked a little tired, took off with him, cleared the fence, barely, and stumbled upon landing, dislodging his jockey, who fell to the ground. The ambulance that had been waiting beside the course wailed to life, lights flashing, as it drove onto the course to retrieve the jockey.

  The riderless horse ran through the finish, through the crowd and into a big field next to the course, heading toward the top of a hill where cars and trucks rushed back and forth, oblivious, along its cr
est.

  He’s going to get hit by a car!

  “Come on, Raja. Time to go to work.” Paddy urged me into a gallop.

  Down a hill, then up. By now we were doing a two-minute lick. When we reached the crest, Paddy turned me toward a fence line. It was a shorter distance to jump a big four-rail fence and head him off. As we approached the fence, Paddy shifted his weight slightly, still staying up off my back. I rebalanced, set up for the fence and pinged it.

  Perfect! Like a bird flying.

  “You’re amazing, Raja!” Paddy shouted as he patted me. He kicked me on and we galloped faster toward the loose horse, now dangerously close to the cars and trucks flying along the road. “Come on, Raja, show me what you have.”

  I turned on the afterburners.

  Faster, FASTER!

  We ate up the ground, quickly reaching the horse, then slowed to run alongside him, matching stride for stride. Orange, rubber-covered reins slapped against the runaway horse’s foamy, sweat-covered neck. In a swift motion — so quick I didn’t realize it was happening — Paddy reached out, grabbed the reins and turned us both from the road in a big circle. Gradually, we slowed as a pair, then made our way to the trailers, blowing hard and jigging.

  “Nice job, Paddy! You haven’t lost a thing!” Rick Dunlop grinned as we reached the trailer area with the loose horse. “That’s a nice horse you have there. He jumped that big post and rail beautifully and what a turn-of-foot. Good lookin’, too. Have you thought about running him?”

  “He’s a nice horse, all right,” Paddy replied. “He belongs to my niece, Dee. She’ll decide what she wants to do with him. Knowing her, she’s happy just riding bareback around the farm.”

  “Hey Raja, nice to see you,” Shaddy called from Rick’s trailer, where he was being readied for his race.

  I still can’t believe that you actually like racing.

  “These point-to-points are fun and easy. I’m here for a ‘work’ before my first big money race of the season, the Carolina Cup, in Camden. You should be out here, but I’m glad you’re not in my race,” he teased.