Raja, Story of a Racehorse

by Anne Hambleton

  We led the horses to the paddock and then the start. The flag was up and they were off! Shaddy hung in the back of the field, saving his energy, looking lazy and slow. I was sure he would finish last.

  What kind of a race is he running? Get going!

  The second time around he started casually passing horses, one by one. Approaching the finish, he suddenly found another gear and powered into the lead.

  “That was for you, Raja.” He jigged triumphantly next to me as we accompanied him back to the judge’s stand for the win picture and trophy presentation.

  “I’ll bet you’re just itching to do this. That was pretty easy compared to the races you’re used to winning.” Shaddy smiled knowingly.

  I just looked at him and nodded my head.

  Yes, indeed. Steeplechasing looks perfect.

  June, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  One hot green-and-blue day, a couple months after the excitement of the point-to-point, Dee ran into the barn and flung her arms around my neck,

  “Raja, I missed you so much. I can’t wait to ride. I’m so psyched it’s summer.”

  Some summer days Sam and Harper and Prism and Holzmann came over.

  “That’s five foot three — I’ll bet you can’t do that bareback,” Dee challenged Sam, setting up the jump standards to the highest hole. She and Sam loved to jump big fences and practice Cossack tricks, egging each other on, even though Holzmann didn’t much tolerate the trick riding and usually bucked Sam off when he tried them. Sam just climbed back on and tried again. Dee’s favorite was heading me at the big post and rail fence next to the barn riding bareback with a lead rope tied to my halter.

  I don’t want this to sound ungrateful or spoiled or anything, because I was happier here than I had been since Michelle’s. The Murphys were truly wonderful, caring and fun. And I WAS grateful. But...something was missing. I needed a goal, a big, ambitious goal. It’s just me, I guess. Something kept gnawing at me. I felt….UNFINISHED.

  Every evening after supper when we were waiting for the heat of the day to cool before going out for the night in the big field, Paddy brought me a dark, sweet drink.

  “’Tis an old Irish secret — a Guinness a day helps with digestion. In Ireland we give it to the racehorses and broodmares,” Paddy nodded, pouring it into my feed tub.

  Dee finished brushing me then put me in my stall and sat on a hay bale, her face dappled pink and yellow by the setting sun, while Angus dropped a slime-covered tennis ball at her feet and looked up at her, wagging his tail, wiggling and grunting.

  “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,’ Paddy mused. “What a beautiful sunset.”

  Dee nodded and sat, thinking, then casually tossed the ball out the barn door. Mac and Angus bolted after it, Angus wrestling fiercely for it when Mac reached it first.

  “‘Steeplechase,’ that’s a funny name. Why’s it called that?”

  Paddy wiped his forehead with a rub rag and stopped sweeping the aisle. “The first steeplechase race was in County Cork, Ireland, in 1752, between two friends, Cornelius O’Callaghan and Edmund Blake. To decide who had the best horse, they raced to the closest church steeple, St. Mary’s in Doneraile. So they ‘chased the steeple,’” he smiled, “and they had so much fun, the idea spread. ’Tis still most popular in England and Ireland, but you’ll find it all over the world. In this country, the oldest race still going is the Maryland Hunt Cup, first run in 1894. By the way,” he added, “Rick Dunlop’s horse, Inquisitor, won the Hunt Cup for the second time this year. I wish you could have been there. It was quite a race.”

  How good IS Inquisitor, really?

  Paddy continued, “Rick called to see if you’d like a summer job galloping for him. Sam’ll be riding for him, too. I’ll bet you didn’t know that he’s a Hall-of-fame trainer. Last year he was leading trainer. His horses are very nice, and Jed and Wyatt, his stable jockeys, are the best jump jockeys around. It’s a great opportunity.”

  Dee crept into the barn hunched over, walking slowly, like the old ladies I used to see walking their poodles in Central Park.

  What’s wrong with her?

  “It’s only my second day riding out at Rick’s, but my arms and legs are so sore,” Dee complained, “I can’t lift these water buckets.”

  “Galloping racehorses will get you fit,” Tricia smiled, “I was an exercise rider for years. That’s how Paddy and I met. It’s different from regular riding, isn’t it? Once you get your strength and balance, it’ll be easier to learn how to settle the strong ones and get them to relax, but it takes practice to learn.”

  For our next few rides, Dee jacked up her stirrups and took me to the big hay field across the road. She was a good rider, but this was different. She tried, but she didn’t have the right balance and she wasn’t relaxed, like Pedro or Willie or Paddy. I remembered Prism’s words and tried to be kind and a teacher and help her to learn.

  It felt good to gallop but I wished I was training for something, something BIG.

  August, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  As we hacked through the misty cornfields to the meet, a glorious, red-streaked sky broke the steamy August day. I smelled a musky scent rising from the warm ground. A fox was around. We followed a worn path around the corn to the crest of the hill just in time to see a huge orange sun appear and paint a golden light over the rolling hills of hay fields and fieldstone barns.

  “Wow! There’s our reward for getting up at four o’clock. Makes you glad to be alive, doesn’t it?” said Tricia, flicking her fly whisk on Robbie’s flank. “It was so nice of Rick to invite us cubbing.”

  Rick rode Inquisitor. This time, I took a good look. He was a big, powerful-looking dark bay. I noticed that he had a special presence — ‘the look of eagles,’ Michelle had called it. My eyes were drawn to him and I noticed that other horses and people watched him, too.

  How good is he, really?

  “Dee, Tricia, ride up front with me,” Rick invited.

  As I walked next to Inquisitor, he turned toward me.

  “Shaddy tells me you won some good flat races.”

  Was there a hint of arrogance in his tone? Competition?

  He continued, “I won some races on the flat before I turned to jump racing. Flat racing is definitely a challenge, but I believe that the ultimate test of a great horse is the Maryland Hunt Cup. Not only do you need to be fast and a good jumper, you have to have stamina to make it over four miles and twenty-two of the stiffest timber fences in the world. Making it over the third fence of the Maryland Hunt Cup at speed and in company of a group really separates the real horses from the ponies.”

  He strode confidently, almost as if he wanted to challenge me at the walk. I increased my pace, catching up to him then walking slightly ahead of him.

  Oh, you want to play games? I can play, too.

  November, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  “Dee’s father called me this morning,” Paddy announced one blustery, wet-leaved fall day as he and Tricia planted flower bulbs along the fence next to our field.

  “Did you tell him how much we loved having Dee last summer? It’s lonely now that she’s back in New York. Poor Raja must be so bored.”

  I am bored. Bored, bored, bored!

  “His company is transferring him to London. He thinks it would be a great opportunity for Dee, but he’s worried that he’d never see her. His work schedule is very demanding — he’s always travelling to the Middle East for weeks at a time. He knows she hates New York and the only thing that keeps her happy is coming here to work with the horses during the holidays.”

  A look of sadness transformed Tricia’s normally cheerful blue eyes.

  “Oh, no! Dee will be crushed if she has to leave Raja. She’ll be 16 soon. That’s a tough age to move to a new place, especially another city, without horses. She’s had a hard enough go of it already with her mother’s illness and then having to leave Ireland to move to New York.”

  She jammed the shovel int
o the ground with a bit more force than usual. “I know her father has an important job and that he’s a kind and decent man, but I wish he spent more time with her, poor girl. No wonder she loves Raja so much. He’s her family.”

  She paused, thinking. “Paddy, do you think Dee could come and live with us? She was so happy this summer. The boys love having their cousin around and so do I. It’s nice to have another female around. I could use the help in the barn and the garden. She could spend holidays in England with her father.”

  A smile crept across Paddy’s face. “Sure I was hoping that would be your response, but didn’t want to be the one to suggest it. Shall we call him?”

  December, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  Dee flew into my stall one dark, frost-rimmed afternoon, throwing her arms around me.

  “Raja, I missed you so much. I can’t wait to live here and ride you every day!” She fed me a handful of peppermints. “I bought a big bag of them for you, my beautiful.”

  A big bag of peppermints? Things are looking up.

  Everyone busied themselves getting ready for the Murphy’s annual Christmas party. The barn smelled of pine from a huge wreath the Murphy boys spent two hours hoisting up the side of the barn through a small window in the hayloft and the apple tree by the barn twinkled with white sparkles of light. As the cars started to roll in the driveway the afternoon of the party, a car drew to a stop by the barn while Dee was feeding.

  “Merry Christmas, Dee. Welcome back. I saw that the light was on, so though I’d stop in. I always think that a barn is the best place to be during a party.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Dunlop. I’m happy to be back. Merry Christmas to you.”

  “How’s Raja? He’s a very good horse. I looked up his race record. He won a very tough Grade One stakes race impressively, beating a horse that won the Belmont Stakes. I’m guessing he could have been a serious Triple Crown contender if he hadn’t had that starting-gate accident.”

  You bet I would have!

  “Have you thought about racing him? I think he’d be tough to beat over timber. There’s a Ladies’ race at the hunt point-to-point the end of March. You should consider it. You need to be 16 and the race committee has to approve your entry.”

  “I’ll be 16 on March 15th!”

  “Give it a thought before you talk to your uncle about it. I can help you train if he doesn’t kill me for encouraging you. I’d better get down to the party and butter him up.”

  “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. How would I answer to your father if you got hurt? Everyone does, you know. It is a matter of when, not if, in jump racing, I know that first hand. The matter is closed. You can event, or even do the jumpers if you want, but I will not allow you to ride races.” Paddy climbed up the ladder next to my stall and threw down three hay bales from the hayloft with a little more force than usual.

  “But Rick said…

  “End of story. I won’t talk about it anymore.”

  “I think Sam is sweet on you,” teased Tricia.

  Dee’s face turned red. “He’s just a friend.”

  Tricia smiled slyly. “Uh-huh, yep, he’s a friend all right, poor guy.”

  Sam appeared every day after the party to ride with Dee. “You’re so lucky your birthday is in March. I don’t turn 16 until November. I won’t be able to ride anything other than the junior races until next year.”

  All Sam talked about was the horses that would be running over timber in the spring. His favorite topic was who would run in the Maryland Hunt Cup.

  “Uncle Paddy isn’t going to let me race. He says it’s too dangerous — but he rode when he was my age. You’re so lucky that Rick is your uncle! It’s too bad Holzmann isn’t younger. He’d have been a great timber horse.”

  I’m with Sam on this one. I want to race over jumps!

  I need a goal. Badly.

  11

  Timber!

  January, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  “New Year’s Day,” announced Paddy, “…time to get going if we’re going to win that point-to-point.”

  “Uncle Paddy! I thought you weren’t going to let me ride races.”

  “I might change my mind again, but you’re catching me on a good day. After all, I started when I was your age. It was all because someone gave me a chance. I dreamt of your mother last night and thought it must be a sign. I’ll bet you didn’t know that when she was your age, your mother rode all the rogues no one else dared to. I realized then that it’s in your blood, so why fight it?”

  He stopped to look at her, a serious expression taking over his face.

  “Raja’s a good jumper and if you can hold him when he’s fit, you should be all right. But you need to take it seriously. Steeplechasing isn’t a game; it’s a very dangerous sport. I’m willing to help you, but you need to commit to train hard. The two of you must be properly prepared.”

  He held her gaze, looking serious and intense.

  “I want you to gallop as many horses as you can. You need to get experience, get galloping-fit and learn ‘feel.’ And you’ll need to train Raja. This week you’ll start a fitness program to build your strength and your wind — weights, squats, lunges, wall sits, running — 20 miles a week, minimum. The boys can help you; they’re getting ready for lacrosse, so you can train with them. There’ll be no time for a social life. I expect you to keep your grades up or we’ll stop.”

  Wow, he’s intense. Now I see why he won so much.

  His steely eyes flashed as he looked firmly at Dee, wanting to make sure that every word was understood. “For Raja’s first start, an experienced jockey will ride him. Then we’ll make the decision about whether you go to the race. It’s never a good idea to have a green rider and first-time starter together.”

  “It’s a deal,” replied Dee with a big smile on her face. “I’ll call Rick this morning.”

  Every morning after that, no matter the weather, the headlights of the car swung out of the driveway while it was still dark, following Dee as she ran or rode her bike up the big hill on the dirt road behind the farm. After school, we trained, often when the daylight was beginning to fade. We spent hours jogging up the big hay field hill in the grey-and-orange winter dusk and when the ground froze, we jogged up the dirt road, sometimes in the dark, with Paddy following us again in the car with his headlights.

  I was so happy to be training again that I didn’t care about the cold.

  “Uncle Paddy, how did you get into riding races?”

  Paddy blew on his hands to warm them as he sat on a hay bale, picked up a clean bandage out of the laundry basket and started rolling it, pressing it straight along his thigh. “I was your age when I started. I left school at 15 to be an apprentice at a big racing yard in Ireland. I rode one very good horse, Black Adder. It was sheer luck, really, but we got on famously and won a lot of races. People started calling me and I was very lucky again to get on some good horses and win more races. It’s a tough business, you know, especially in Ireland. Plenty of jockeys are breathing down your neck, ready to replace you. Success comes from luck and perseverance and ability. In that order. Perseverance, especially. Keeping trying and always hoping.”

  He stood up, dramatically, gesturing with his hands. “Winston Churchill was right: ‘Nevah give in. Nevah, nevah, nevah.’”

  At the end of January the days were so cold it felt as if they would crack and shatter. The ground was frozen — locked up and rutted — and Dee and I could only jog up the dirt road hill with a biting wind in our faces, burning our lungs with every breath.

  “Thanks for the ski pants and ski mask from the boys. I think I have six layers on! I don’t know what we would do without the dirt road hill. What do other people do?”

  Paddy paused, thinking. “Most trainers go to the training track if the ground freezes. I was thinking that we should. I’ll call one of my clients there and see if we can come and have a gallop.”

  February, Fair Hill, Maryland

  Steamy
-breathed horses wearing colorful quarter sheets jogged next to the outside rail of the big dirt track, surrounded by open fields and long wooden barns. Others galloped in the middle of the track and one horse breezed next to the inside rail.

  A track!

  I couldn’t stop jigging and letting out excited bucks.

  I’m ready to go, go, go!

  “Jog once around next to the outside rail clockwise, then turn and gallop SLOWLY once around and pull up at the wire. Stay in the middle of the track. Remember, he hasn’t been galloping, so we don’t want to do too much too soon. That’s a sure way to break down a horse,” Paddy instructed.

  Ta-da-da-dum, ta-da-da-dum, ta-da-da-dum.

  It feels so good to gallop! I’m so happy to be galloping again. What a great day!

  February, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  “Happy Valentine’s day, my love.” Paddy grabbed Tricia in a bear hug and kissed her decisively on the cheek as they did barn chores the first morning of the storm.

  “Isn’t this snow romantic? One foot on the ground and another foot on the way — time to read by the fire, have a cup of tea, and pop a roast in the oven. The boys and Dee will be out sledding as soon as they get up and I’ll bet Sam’ll come over with his snowmobile for some fun.”

  Tricia smiled as she handed Paddy three small buckets filled with grain. Snickers squealed and whinnied in anticipation, pawing the floor impatiently.

  “We’d better get the toboggan down from the hay loft. I’m glad we let Dee sleep in. She’s been training hard.”

  As Paddy opened the barn door to dump Snickers’ water bucket, a soft pile of snow blew in the barn. “Wow, there’s a lot of snow! It just keeps coming. I don’t think we’ll be riding any time soon. Now, if we had six inches of snow, it would be perfect for galloping. Do you remember those days?”

  “Of course,” Tricia laughed. “We wore ski goggles and tried not to get hit in the face from the snowballs kicked up by the hooves of the horse in front of us. The horses hated getting hit in the face, too. Remember Damaselle? She used to take off every time a snowball hit her.”