“And they’re off!”
It was a mile race, a ten-horse field.
Wendy wished she had Dawn’s video camera. Not to video the race, that was being done. She’d video Ben, she’d zoom in close, and she’d capture his expression. Even at this distance, she could see the intensity in his eyes, the love of the sport, the passion…the passion he hoped would take hold of Spears.
“That morning you spent with him at the barn,” Wendy said. “How did that make you feel?”
Spears smiled. “Like I was playing hooky.”
“Because…?”
He glanced at her and then watched the horses in the stretch run. He watched and he watched and he watched. “Because it was fun.”
“And it is Bold Bigilo, neck and neck with Flim Man. Bold Bigilo, Flim Man….head to head, nose to nose. Bold Bigilooooooo. Ladies and gentlemen, there is a photo for the win. Hold on to your tickets. What a horse race, ladies and gentlemen! What a horse race!”
Spears smiled. “What, is he on speed?”
Wendy shook her head. “I think he’s just ‘having fun.’”
Spears laughed. “Is that a gotcha?”
“Yes. Something like that.”
Spears nodded.
“Do you want to go down to the paddock? B-Bo is in the next race.” Wendy looked down the racetrack to the gap. No Tom, no Red, no Dawn, no B-Bo yet.
“B-Bo?”
“That’s Native Beau Born’s nickname. Oh, look.” She pointed. “There he is.” Tom, astride Red and leading B-Bo, had just appeared from the barn area. Dawn walked alongside them.
Spears drew a breath and sighed. “I wonder if that would be considered a faux pas, us going down for the racetrack owner’s horse and none of the others.”
“Good point.” Wendy watched as Tom led B-Bo onto the racetrack. The horse was “dancing”. She smiled. “He looks so much like his sire.”
Spears shook his head. “You are light years ahead of me.”
Wendy watched Tom, watched how “at home” he was in the saddle, how in command he was of B-Bo. She watched Ben as he waited for them, watched as Ben turned and walked with Dawn, following the horse, watched as Dawn put her arm around his.
She smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this happy,” she said, as much to herself as to Spears. “I’ve got as much at stake as everyone else in the barns. I’m one of them now. Which reminds me…” she said. “Do you have a problem with my dressing down?”
Spears looked at her. “Now that you’re my partner, you mean?”
Wendy smiled. “You heard?”
“Ben phoned me. He says he has me on speed dial. It sounded like a warning.”
Wendy laughed. “We can do this, Richard,” she said, purposely calling him Richard for the first time. “We can. We just need to remember one thing. It’s like Ben said, it’s all about the horses. If we do right by them, good things will happen.”
Spears hesitated. “Not to be negative, but hasn’t it always been about the horses here?”
“I don’t know.” Wendy watched as Tom dismounted Red and led B-Bo into the paddock. “Ben says the head office lost sight of that a long time ago.” She looked at him. “I for one, really think we need to put that all behind us and move forward. I think we’re off to a good start.” She smiled. “Look how Red just stands there. That’s called ground-tying. He knows he’s supposed to wait and he just waits. He knows his job.”
Spears nodded.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to draw your attention to the monitors. For those of you who don’t know Cracker Jack Henderson, talk show celebrity host and handicapper, let me introduce you.”
Spears looked at Wendy, both turning at the same time. The nearest monitor was in the clubhouse. They hurried. “Damned heels” Wendy said, trying to keep up with Spears.
Cracker Jack was being taped bowing and waving to the crowd. Wendy laughed. Everyone was cheering. “Oh, if only we could bottle that enthusiasm.”
Spears agreed, albeit in a more negative way. “This would hard to maintain.” The two of them looked around the clubhouse. Saturdays always drew the highest attendance.
“I would have liked to have been a part of this in its heyday. No pun intended,” he added.
When they heard the bugle sound, they watched as the post parade of horses walked out onto the racetrack. Wendy smiled at the casual way Tom mounted Red and took hold of B-Bo’s rein when Dawn handed him over. She glanced at the tote board. B-Bo was the number five in a six-horse field. He was the favorite with odds of 3-1. The race was 6 furlongs.
B-Bo was usually never a problem in the post parade. Today he decided he was going to buck a little and act up. “Here, here,” Tom said. “Save it.”
Juan Garcia stood in his irons, the breeze billowing the Miller barn’s red and black jockey silks. Wendy motioned to two empty seats in the club house by the window and she and Spears walked down to watch the race from there.
A man sitting at the table next to them asked who they were betting on. Wendy smiled. “I like number five.”
The man nodded and looked at Spears.
“Me too,” Spears said.
Wendy watched the horses turn in front of the grandstand and then break into a warm-up canter. She jumped when B-Bo bucked again.
The man at the next table chuckled. “He’s just feeling his oats.”
Wendy smiled.
“He’s got some early speed,” the man said, studying his racing form. “I’m not sure if he’ll like the off track.”
Wendy knew from the conversations at the farm that B-Bo liked an off racetrack. “What does the form say?”
The man looked again. “Well, he ran on an off track earlier this spring and finished second. He was making a move and then just hung.”
Wendy stared. Hung? “Maybe he just got tired.”
The man looked at her again. That was pretty much what he’d said.
“Plus, he hasn’t raced in two weeks and he’s fresh,” Wendy said, repeating what Ben had said, but obviously not divulging her source.
Spears turned to conceal his smile. She was definitely getting caught up in this.
“Do you come here a lot?” she asked.
“Whenever I can. I usually go to Mountaineer.”
“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” Wendy said.
“Oh?” the man said, as if she was flirting with him. “That’s nice of you to say.”
Wendy smiled. “He’s saying it too,” she said, pointing to Spears. “Oh look, they’re going to the gate.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s one minute to post. Do not get shut out.”
The man got up and left in a hurry.
Spears shook his head.
“There’s Ben,” Wendy said, scooching to the edge of her seat to see him. She looked for Dawn, wondered, worried for a second. “Oh good, there she is.”
The horses were loaded one by one, B-Bo walked in easily.
“Wish I had binoculars,” Wendy said. The man at the next table had left his. She glanced to see if he was on his way back and then reached over and picked them up and held them to her eyes. “Oh my God….”
“What?” Spears said.
“I can see them.”
Spears chuckled.
“I can see them perfectly.”
“And they’re off!”
The man returned to his table to see Wendy, on her feet and watching every B-Bo stride through the binoculars. He motioned to Spears that it was okay. “Leave her be,” he whispered.
B-Bo was a length off the lead going into the turn. Wendy wondered if that was a good thing. She turned the binoculars on Ben and Dawn, trying to judge from their reaction. They seemed okay; no worried looks on their faces.
“At the head of the stretch it is Native Beau Born challenging the leader Becky’s Babe,” the announcer said. “Out in the middle of the racetrack and under a hand ride, here he comes!”
“Look at those fractions,” Wen
dy heard someone say.
She turned the binoculars on the tote board, where, where, oh there it is; 23 1/5th for the first quarter, 45 4/5ths for the half.
“With a furlong left to go, it’s Native Beau Born and Becky’s Babe.”
“Come on, B-Bo,” Wendy said, the binoculars fixed on him. “Come on.”
Spectators throughout the club house were cheering the horses on.
“Come on, B-Bo,” Wendy said, a little louder this time.
“Come on, B-Bo!” the man next to her shouted. “Come on, B-Bo!”
Even Spears started shouting. “Come on, B-Bo!”
Wendy zoomed in on the horse’s eyes. “You can do it, come on! Do it for your dad!” She shouted. “Come on, B-Bo!”
“And it is Native Beau Born taking over the lead! Native Beau Born! Native Beau Born! Na-tiveeee Beauuuu Bornnnnnn!!!”
“He won!” Wendy shouted, still holding the binoculars on him. “He won!” She looked down at Ben and Dawn, smiling, laughing, nodding. “He won!” She zoomed in on Tom and Red, watched as they cantered out into the middle of the racetrack and helped pull B-Bo up.
“Thank you,” she said, handing the man his binoculars. “I’m going to have to get a pair of these.” She and Spears started up the stairs on the side of the clubhouse. “Have a nice day!”
“You too,” the man said, waving, laughing, and then shaking his head.
“Was that exciting or what?” Wendy said.
“Yes,” Spears agreed. “Now if we can figure out how to get that feeling of involvement to spread throughout the grandstand, we might be on to something.”
Wendy nodded, hurrying to get to the room with the windows so she could see the winner’s circle. “We’re working on it….we’re working on it.”
Spears followed.
Tom dismounted Red and led B-Bo into the Winner’s Circle. Juan Garcia waved his whip to the Stewards up in their booth, a jockey’s salute. Dawn and Ben took their places. The photographer stepped back when B-Bo kicked out. The horse tossed his head, slobber and sweat streaming everywhere.
“Okay, ready.”
Everyone smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen” the announcer said, on his feet. “Native Beau Born, son of the multiple Stakes winner Beau Born, leading sire of Ohio-bred two-year olds. Congratulations Native Beau Born.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Randy had watched the race from the gap and waited to see B-Bo come off the track. The horse danced and pranced. Randy smiled at Dawn and Tom, but kept his distance from B-Bo. Horses that win and place go from the racetrack straight to the spit barn under the watchful eye of a racetrack official. The horse is to have no contact with anyone other than the trainer, pony person, and groom, only those directly associated with the everyday care of the horse.
Any person or any veterinarian other than the track veterinarian interfering in any way at this point, enroute, would be a serious violation. In the old days, the winning horses were required to have their saliva tested for drugs, hence the term “spit barn.” Urine is tested now, and if the horse doesn’t oblige, a blood sample is drawn.
Dawn gave Randy a hug. “What a race!”
“He run big! He looks good! I’ve got a couple of farm calls. I’ll see you guys at The Rib.”
“Love you!” Dawn took the shortcut down through the barns to theirs, grabbed B-Bo’s halter, shank, and sheet, and hurried to the spit barn. Tom had just dismounted Red. The test barn was basically nothing more than an eight-stall enclosed barn and shedrow, with a state veterinarian’s office - lab set up where normally a tack room would be.
“Native Beau Born,” Tom said, leading B-Bo inside. Dawn followed them into the first empty stall; they took off his bridle, put on his halter. The state veterinarian checked the horse's tattoo for confirmation of his identity, all routine, and hung a tag on the horse’s halter. Tom led him out and around to get a drink. There were fresh buckets of water hanging on posts. B-Bo dragged him to the first one, from that point on, his and his alone to drink.
Dawn headed out to turn on the wash hose and let the water warm up. There were days it was barely lukewarm. Today, it was a desirable temperature. Suds buckets and washrags were provided at Nottingham, as were towels. Tom held B-Bo and Dawn hosed him off, ridding him of most of the mud. Then Dawn switched and held the horse while Tom gave him a suds bath. They did this without thought, without plan. It’s the way they always did it. Tom scraped the excess water off. Dawn wiped B-Bo’s face with a towel. Tom squeegeed his legs with his hands and towel. Dawn put a lightweight cooler on the horse.
Becky’s Babe, the horse that ran second, was getting bathed as well.
“I’ll see you back at the barn,” Tom said, hosing off the bridle.
Taking a wide berth around Becky's Babe, Dawn led B-Bo back inside. As was customary, the horse was handwalked around the shedrow and allowed to drink a little with each pass, until he didn’t want to drink anymore. By then his exerted breathing was back to normal and he was practically dry. Dawn took his cooler off and led him into the stall, where an attendant stood by with a cup on a stick to collect urine.
B-Bo obliged almost as soon as he walked into the stall. The attendant whistled, which was routine. Dawn asked once when the habit of whistling to get a horse to pee, started. No one knew. It simply had always been done, the attendant said, at racetracks everywhere.
Ben stood outside their barn as she returned with B-Bo and watched the way all four of his hooves were hitting the ground, watched the flexion in his ankles, his knees, noted his breathing. He was walking good. A little tired, but that was to be expected. He’d just run a fast race on an off track, final time: 1:11 1/5.
Tom had his stall done, bed deep with straw, his water bucket and haynet full. Dawn walked B-Bo a lap around his own shedrow, a ritual she initiated years ago. She felt it helped acclimate the horse, helped to welcome them back home. “A horse knows their own barn,” she’d said. “And look how proud they are.”
B-Bo had his “I’m badd” walk going, all of the other horses coming to the front of their stalls. “Uh, huh, uh huh, I’m badd.”
Dawn put him away and she, Tom, and Ben watched as he circled in his stall and then lay down and rolled. “I called Wendy and Spears,” Ben said. “They’ll meet us there.”
Tom had already fed the horses their grain while Dawn had B-Bo at the spit barn. Ben had topped off all their water buckets. There was no hurry to get to dinner. They always allowed plenty of time. Ben watched the winner of the ninth and final race of the day limp into the spit barn. It was a sobering sight; one a horseman never gets used to seeing.
Tom was just walking back from the men’s room and talked to the groom in passing. He relayed the information to Ben. “He tripped pulling up after the race.”
The two of them stood staring at the spit barn. Both the winner and the horse that ran second were inside now. They just stared. Dawn walked up next to them. “What’s going on?”
“Peek I Am pulled up bad.” They all knew the horse, the trainer, the groom.
“Oh no,” Dawn said.
Tom sighed. “Maybe he’ll be all right. It’s times like this I wish I totally believed in the power of prayer.”
Dawn and Ben looked at him.
“’Cause I’d make everything right,” he said, and walked away.
Fortunately, there were things still needing to be done in the Miller Barn. Dawn walked down to give Red a good rubdown. “Such a good boy,” she kept saying to him, always. Tom did B-Bo up and brushed him. Both looked outside the stalls when they heard the sound of Randy’s diesel engine truck pass by enroute to the spit barn. Both said a prayer.
The Rib was less than a mile from the barn and served great food, wood-fired grilled steaks and Italian dishes being their specialty. It was at The Rib many years ago where Ben announced Beau Born’s retirement after he’d bled in a race. It was at The Rib where Dawn and Randy fought, and it was at The Rib where they made up.
Dawn’s Aunt Maeve loved The Rib. “We’re going to have to come again when she’s in town next week.”
“Who’s running then?” Ben asked, joking. For years, the only time he and his wife Meg came to this restaurant was for a “win” because that was the only times they could afford it. By today’s standards, the food was quite reasonable. But back then….
“So this is a tradition?” Spears asked.
“Yes, since forever,” Dawn said.
Tom glanced at the door. Wendy had yet to arrive, Randy or Dusty either.
The restaurant was a familiar haunt for a lot of racetrackers. It was loud and informal, most everyone came straight from the racetrack, and the food was always delicious. When Wendy came through the doorway, Tom stood and waved her over to a seat next to him. “Hey, pretty lady.”
She smiled. “What a race!”
“You should have seen her,” Spears said. “She stole some guy’s binoculars in the clubhouse and….” He wrapped his fingers around his eyes like binoculars, imitating her, binoculars up, down, all around. “There he is, there he is, oh look…there he is.”
Everyone laughed.
“I want a pair,” she said.
Dusty came in, said hello to several people at a table by the bar, and walked over and sat down. “Congratulations! He run a hell of a race!”
“Yep, he run big,” Ben said, smiling.
Tom looked at Wendy. He just looked at her, and she blushed.
“Hey!” Randy barely got though the doorway when his phone rang. He motioned he’d be right there and took the call outside. Ben ordered a family-sized antipasto appetizer for everyone to share.
“Water.”
“Coffee, decaf.” Ben frowned.
“Two ginger ales,” Dawn said, ordering for her and Randy.
“Iced tea.”
“Caffeinated?”
“Sorry, make that a diet 7up.” Wendy smiled.
“Rum and coke,” Spears said.
Everyone looked at him. “Caffeinated?”
He laughed. “Rum and decaf coke.”
“We’re working on him,” Tom said to the waitress. “I’ll have the fake coffee too.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 70