Raja, Story of a Racehorse

by Anne Hambleton

  The next morning dawned pink, blue and still. Tree branches bent over, transformed into creatures by the snow. Huge icicles hung down from the sides of the barn and towering snow drifts buried the fence. From time to time, a new pile of snow slid off the roof with a loud thud. Everything sparkled.

  Paddy stomped into the barn, knocking snow off his boots, followed by Dee.

  “I’ll need to dig out the tractor and get plowing. It was a quite a job just walking to the barn. I wonder if those snow shoes are still in the hayloft. Will you please take a look when you throw the hay down, Dee?”

  The roads were plowed but icy — unjoggable — and the snow was too deep to gallop. Even the training track was shut down.

  “I have just the thing for us to do,” Paddy announced. “I think you should have an indoor jump school. I have a wonderful client with an indoor arena not too far away. She was on the U.S. Equestrian Team and she coaches now. She’s won just about every big international show jumping title in the world, including an Olympic medal. I’ll call her to see if we can go over there today if you help me dig out the trailer.”

  Thump!

  A pile of snow slid off the roof of the big indoor arena. I snorted loudly and spooked, bucking, past the brightly colored jumps set up inside. It was cold and I was fit and feeling good. Paddy’s voice floated over from the barn attached to the arena.

  “Dee’s already on and warming up. The horse is a beautiful jumper and he’s had a very good education. She’s a good natural rider but she needs some schooling. They’re working toward riding in the point-to-point.”

  Whoa!

  I spooked again, across to the other side as a wheelchair rolled into the arena.

  “Easy, Raja,” whispered Dee, patting me and giving me a loose rein.

  “Hello, Dee, why don’t you come over here. Let’s see what we have,” called the woman in the wheelchair. I stopped suddenly.

  I know that voice!

  She looked the same, happy, pretty and smiling.

  MICHELLE!

  Dee walked me across the arena to the wheelchair and I reached my nose down. Michelle opened her eyes widely, then drew in a quick intake of breath and patted me gently on the nose.

  Oh, I remember her knowing and kind touch.

  In a quiet voice, she asked, “What did you say this horse’s name was?”

  “I didn’t,” Paddy responded. “He’s a very good horse, a Derby prospect in his youth. He was rescued from the killers. His name is Raja.”

  By now, tears were streaming down Michelle’s face.

  “What did I say wrong?” asked Paddy, concerned.

  Michelle smiled. “Raja, it’s so good to see you again. You were the one I missed the most. When that awful man went to jail, no one could tell me where you went. Paddy, of course this horse has a good education. I gave it to him!”

  She wheeled quickly to the door of the barn. “Speedy, Bob, come here quickly! I have a wonderful surprise.”

  Dee and I stood still as Bob, then Speedy, appeared.

  “I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Bob, “I broke this horse. He was bred by the Sheikh,” he told Paddy.

  “Raja,” drawled Speedy, “the good Lord must’ve been listenin’ when I tol’ him how much I miss you.”

  He reached into his pocket, then gave me a salty corn chip, patting my neck. “It’s a miracle to see you.”

  For the next 30 minutes, everyone just talked. Paddy and Dee told their story: Beth, Yuri, New York, the kill truck, finding me in Abe’s barn, training for the point-to-point. Then Michelle and Bob told theirs: racing, the starting-gate accident and show jumping. Speedy even told them about Mary and the wild gallop for the helicopter.

  “After the Sheikh sold the farm and moved back to his country, Michelle and I were married and we moved up here,” Bob explained. Michelle coaches young riders and I break-in youngsters. We run a therapeutic riding program here, too. Of course, Michelle has started riding again and she’s thinking about trying out for the Para-Olympic Equestrian Team.”

  He smiled, “she’s always gotta have a goal and be shooting for the stars. That’s my girl, like ol’ Winston Churchill — never, ever, ever, ever give in. That’s why she’s an Olympian.”

  Paddy smiled and raised his eyebrows at Dee, as if to say, “See?”

  I remember how much I missed Michelle and how alike we are.

  It was quite a reunion, but I was getting antsy. Of course, Michelle noticed. “Dee, I think we better get on with things before Raja loses interest. Why don’t you trot him around a bit to warm up, and then we can run through the gymnastic?”

  After the lesson, Michelle laughed, “He’s still the most phenomenal jumper I’ve ever known. He has so much power and scope! I hope you come again.”

  She stopped for a moment. “Funny, I just remembered that my old coach, Colonel Belanov, had a grandson named Yuri when we trained at the USET. He was a very good rider and loved to show off trick riding. He did incredible moves, like picking things up off the ground at a full gallop. He must be the same Yuri. Who else would do dressage in Central Park?”

  As we walked out the door, Speedy turned to Dee. “Is he still afraid of thunderstorms? Sing to him, he likes reggae. Bob Marley.”

  “He’s afraid of storms? That’s very interesting,” Bob said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “You know, when he was a foal, his mother was killed by lightning — right in front of him. She was the Sheikh’s best mare. Maximillian, another colt by Raja’s sire, won the Belmont Stakes and came pretty darn close to winning the Kentucky Derby.”

  The same father? That means Shaddy and To the Max are related to me!

  “Ah, the February thaw, ’tis lovely with all of the mud and dirty snow banks,” Paddy sighed as he looked at the heavy grey snow drifts that were turning into muddy new streams and ponds. He took off his sweater as he turned us out, watching a bright red cardinal land on the fence by the barn.

  “I saw Wyatt Rogers when I did Rick’s horses’ teeth yesterday. Rick’s a lucky man to have both Wyatt and Jed Steele working for him. They’re both very good jump jockeys. Anyway, Wyatt said he’d be delighted to ride Raja for his first start. I think we should aim for the Blue Ridge Point-to-Point the first week of March. Your race is two weeks after that. Let’s go to the training track this weekend and give Raja his first ‘work,’ an easy one, more of a pipe opener. After that, Wyatt can work him the following week and school him before the race. If the ground is good, I’d like to take Raja over to Rick’s and school over his timber fences in company.”

  February, Fair Hill, Maryland

  Working! We’re WORKING!

  The cold, crisp, windy day made me jig. I let out an excited buck.

  I’m so excited to be on the track.

  Several other steeplechase trainers were at the training track with the same idea. Everyone was busy getting ready for the rapidly approaching spring racing season. When Dee and I stepped onto the track, I saw Shaddy, To the Max, and Inquisitor finishing up a work with Sam, Wyatt and Jed aboard.

  “This is his first work in a very long time,” Paddy instructed Dee, “so go easy. Gallop once around, slowly. When you pass the wire, open him up a little, more of an ‘open gallop.’ Whatever you do, don’t let him go too fast! Pull up when you pass the wire the second time.”

  I could tell that Dee was nervous, especially since Rick, Wyatt, Sam and Jed were watching. We jogged once around the track, then Dee turned and eased me into a slow gallop.

  I feel fresh, fit and strong — sharp!

  When we reached the wire, she steered me to the inside rail.

  “OK, Raja, let’s go.”

  I opened my stride, punching the track with my hooves in a faster and faster rhythm, the cold wind whistling past my ears.

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

  We rounded the turn, approaching Rick and Paddy. I went faster, showing off.

  I love feeling athletic again. Look at me!
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  As we passed Paddy, Dee stood up in her stirrups and tried to pull me up.

  I kept going, faster, ignoring her.

  I’m having too much fun. I haven’t gone fast in years.

  “Raja, what’s gotten into you? Slow down!” Dee stood up again, leaning back and pulling as hard as she could.

  I feel good. Speed, glorious speed!

  We came around the turn a second time, heading toward the stretch. Dee was breathing hard, tired, unbalanced and loose in the tack, feeling like she might come off. After we passed Paddy a second time, I let her pull me up. I jigged all the way back.

  That was the most fun I’d had in years!

  “I said GO EASY! Were you trying to break him down?” Paddy’s eyes flashed in anger. I had never seen Paddy this angry. “If you can’t hold him, you shouldn’t ride him in a race. Only bad things will come of that and I won’t be responsible for getting you or Raja hurt. You have three weeks to learn how to hold him or we’re not going to race this horse.” He turned and walked stonily down the path.

  Jed, watching on Inquisitor, laughed scornfully, “You don’t want to get run off with in a race, little girl, you’ll get yourself, or someone else, hurt.”

  “That was awful,” Dee wailed as we walked back to the trailers with Sam on Shaddy and Wyatt on To the Max. “I’m so embarrassed! I got run off with in front of everyone. I’ve been running three miles every day. I thought I was fit. How can I get stronger?”

  Wyatt grinned. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. You’ll be fine. Hold your reins in a cross, or double bridge, like this. Then you can plant your hands on his neck or withers. It settles them and they pull against themselves, not you. Use your legs and core for strength and leverage, not your arms. And, whatever you do, don’t change your hold! That’s a clear signal for the horse to go. Stay quiet. Think of balancing a teacup on your back.”

  Wyatt demonstrated as he spoke. “You should get Tricia to help you. She used to hold all of the tough ones, even the ones the guys couldn’t. She finessed ’em. Lifting weights and sit-ups, lots and lots of sit-ups, will help, too. Hey, Raja looks cool! I’m looking forward to riding him.”

  March, Chester County, Pennsylvania

  “I just love a cozy barn with the horses munching their hay and tucked in for the night,” sighed Dee as she fed me a peppermint.

  Wyatt had come over to school me over jumps and stayed to help Dee with the afternoon chores. The early spring sun cast a golden glow over the apple tree and forsythia bush, whose tiny green buds seemed bigger and greener with each day.

  Paddy, followed by Mac and Angus, came in the barn carrying three brown bottles and handed one to Wyatt before pouring the third into my feed tub.

  Yum! Guinness!

  “Thanks.” Wyatt took the bottle from Paddy and sat on a hay bale, scratching Angus behind the ears. Dee and Paddy each pulled a hay bale closer to Wyatt and sat down, pulling the freshly washed bandages out of the laundry basket, smoothing them on their thighs and tightly rolling them, before throwing the rolls back in the basket.

  “Wyatt, what’s the deal with the Maryland Hunt Cup? Why is Sam so obsessed?”

  “Well, now, let’s see…” Wyatt rubbed his chin. “The Maryland Hunt Cup. I’ve tried it seven times. I finished the race four times, won it once, was second once, and had a helicopter ride to the hospital once. The only other races as tough are the Aintree Grand National in England, which your uncle Paddy, here, has won, and the Great Pardubice in the Czech Republic, which is insane.”

  “Insane is right — I’ve ridden at the Pardubice. That was quite an experience,” Paddy agreed, raising his eyebrows and taking a long drink.

  Wyatt laughed. “Believe me, the Maryland Hunt Cup is ‘quite an experience’, too. For over a hundred years, at four o’clock on the last Saturday in April, America’s best jumping timber horses have been battling it out,” Wyatt drawled. “It started as a bet between two hunts — sometimes it still seems like that.”

  “Really?” Dee seemed mystified.

  “People get addicted. The purse is good, but it’s not about the money. It’s about the glory. It’s a big deal just to make it around the course, kind of a badge of honor. Two prep races, the My Lady’s Manor and the Maryland Grand National, different from the Grand National in England that your uncle Paddy won, are run on the two weekends before. It’s sort of a Timber Triple Crown. Inquisitor is headed to the Hunt Cup for the third time with Jed. If he wins again, he’ll go down in the history books with some of the greats like Mountain Dew and Jay Trump.”

  “It sounds amazing. Uncle Paddy, can we please go and watch this year?”

  “Sure thing. I haven’t missed a Hunt Cup in years. I like to go down to the third and thirteenth fence to watch. That’s where the excitement is. You’ll see some good-jumpin’ horses, that’s for sure. You never know what’s going to happen in the Hunt Cup. That’s why everyone’s addicted, isn’t that right, Wyatt?”

  “Yes, that’s very true. There’s no sure bet in the Maryland Hunt Cup.” Wyatt stood up, “Thanks, I’d better be going. Rick wants us there at five thirty tomorrow morning to go to the track. Good night.”

  Rick’s schooling field was dotted with several sets of big wood-and-plastic hurdle fences framed by white wings. A row of five post-and-rail timber fences, each four panels wide, lined the back side. Wyatt jogged me around the field once and then we started over the hurdles, single file, with Shaddy leading at a quick gallop.

  Gallop, gallop, gallop, jump.

  It feels like flying!

  I could tell that Wyatt was enjoying it, too.

  “He’s a very good jumper, powerful, and clever — cool horse,” Wyatt told Paddy as we jogged back to him.

  Next, Shaddy, Inquisitor, Admiralty Bay and I jogged to the timber fences then galloped head-to-head, in pairs, and jumped over them, picking up speed for the last.

  “Let’s have just Raja and Admiralty Bay go again,” Rick shouted over the wind.

  Gallop, gallop, gallop, jump! Gallop, gallop, jump!

  At the last fence, Admiralty Bay slipped as he took off. I moved over in midair to get out of his way and hit and broke the top rail. I stumbled down on my knees and recovered awkwardly.

  “You want to be a timber horse?” Inquisitor scoffed in a withering tone. “Poor Wyatt, I can’t believe he has to ride all of you bad-jumping first-time starters. Just don’t get him hurt when you fall. Rick needs him to ride his real steeplechasers.”

  That night, with my legs smarting and poulticed, I wondered. Is nine too old to be starting a timber career? Is it silly to be chasing dreams of glory? Maybe I should just settle into being a teacher, like Prism and Holz.

  But…I just want to try.

  12

  The Big Sticks

  March, Berryville, Virginia

  The cold wind under my tail goosed me as I skittered off the trailer, ready to go. A crowd of people, bundled up to watch the races, huddled around their tailgate picnics. Paddy put on my stiff timber bandages, then held me while Tricia and Wyatt saddled me. First, the nonslip pad, then the lead pad, number cloth, saddle, girth, and overgirth.

  I’d forgotten how tight those girths are. That lead pad is heavy!

  Dee led me to the paddock and we walked around with the other horses: Hawker Hurricane, ridden by Jed; The Dynamiter; Another Look; and Notable Contender.

  “Riders up!”

  Paddy gave Wyatt a leg up. “Remember, just hunt him around. Go easy. This is just to get him used to the timber fences and jumping at speed and in company.”

  We cantered down to the start following the outriders. Wyatt stopped to show me the first fence, a post-and-rail, then gave me a short gallop. As we walked in a circle, head-to-tail, the riders joked with each other good naturedly.

  “Jed, are you going to give us all a lead?”

  “Heck no, I’m on a first-time starter, I need a lead.”

  “The Dynamiter is the pace in this rac
e.”

  “Watch out, guys, this horse jumps to the left.”

  The flag was up. Wyatt gathered his reins. The starter dropped the flag.

  We’re off!

  I was irritated. Why was Wyatt holding me? The pace seemed way too slow.

  Isn’t this a race? Doesn’t he get it?

  “Easy, buddy, save it for the finish.” Wyatt stayed steady and tucked me in behind Hawker Hurricane as we headed to the first fence.

  Five sets of hooves pounded the cold wet ground as we streaked across the field toward the first fence, all fighting for position. I shook my head as mud kicked up by Hawker Hurricane hit me in the face. I inched closer to his heels, almost on top of him.

  I want to GO!

  Wyatt held me directly behind his churning hooves, while The Dynamiter led the field, followed by Another Look. We were sitting fourth.

  As we rounded the corner, the first fence came into view, a post-and-rail. Not too high — easy peasy. I strained against Wyatt, edging closer to Hawker Hurricane.

  Let’s go!

  We were at the fence. The Dynamiter flew it like it was another gallop stride. Another Look and Hawker Hurricane, now head-to-head, were next. I saw their bodies rise in the air, but couldn’t really see the fence or measure my distance.

  Whoops! THERE it is!

  Awkwardly, I popped over very high, dwelling a little in the air. I was now several lengths behind Hawker Hurricane. I noticed that he and the others had gained ground on me by jumping flatter, using the momentum from their speed.

  This is harder than it looks!

  Jumping at speed in a pack of horses was very different from jumping a course by myself in a ring or racing at the track. It was difficult to pay attention to the fences when I had to think about all of the other horses and where they were. And it was hard to think about race strategy when I had to worry about making it over the fences.