said that he was), I had memorized the names of the horses and said them in my head every night for a while as I was going to sleep. The names were like little fairy tales all in a word or a phrase: Rare Perfume, Sir Gallahad, Blenheim, Nasrullah, Scapa Flow,Priam, Asterus, Mahmoud. I thought for a moment, then said, “I need to get something.”
I ran up the stairs and went into my room. The pedigree was neatly folded in the top right-hand drawer. I grabbed it and ran down the stairs. When I put it on the table, there it was, Jack’s great-grandsire on his dam’s side was Hyperion, through a horse called Alibhai, who was born in 1938. And his son, Determine, had also won the Kentucky Derby. That was Jack’s grandsire. So Jack and Gee Whiz were related.
Danny said, “It’s like Gee Whiz is his great-granduncle.”
Dad said, “Believe me, there are lots and lots of cousins, and very few of them have done much.”
But still, it was interesting to think about.
After supper, Danny and I went out to have another look at Gee Whiz. I admit I was more drawn to him now that I knew he was related to Jack. I saw more grace in his movement and more intelligence in his eye. But he was, indeed, a striking horse, and only part of that was how big he was (good thing the stalls in our barn were really big, much bigger than the stalls out at the stables, which was part of the reason we hardly ever kept a horse in them—most horses take the opportunity to poop all over a big stall, so cleaning a big stall is more work, and bedding a big stall takes more straw). He was tall but he was graceful—as we stood there looking at him, he curved around the stall, and his strides were big but precise. At the same time, he kept his eye on us, not as if he was suspicious, but as if he was curious. He put his head over the door. I had some carrots in my pocket, and Danny had two cubes of sugar. He took them politely. Then, after I asked Danny whenhe had last raced, and just as Danny said, “He raced Sunday,” Gee Whiz lifted his nose and, very gently, sniffed my hair and then my shoulder. I’d never had a horse do that before. I stood still. Danny didn’t stop him or reprimand him, as Dad might have done. Danny had learned from Jem Jarrow that a horse can be curious, and that that is a good thing. A curious horse is intelligent.
When Gee Whiz went back to his hay, Danny said, “He ran at Hollywood Park Sunday, in the last race, and I guess he was the oldest horse in the race, and he ran fifth out of ten. The trainer called Mr. Leamann and said that he ran a game race, but he had done his work, and it was time to do something else. I guess he came back to the barn a little depressed.”
“Do you think that’s true? That a horse knows he got beaten and feels sad?”
Danny said, “Why not? If he knows what racing is about, then he knows what winning is about, and he can’t be good at it without wanting to win. If he wants to win, then he knows if he’s lost.”
I said, “What about the carrot? What about the stick?”
Danny cuffed me on the head and said, “Now you sound like an idiot.”
That was the Danny I knew.
I walked him to his truck, only then asking him how Jack was doing.
“He’s doing fine. He’s spending the whole night inside tonight. First time. Saturday, I’m going to pick you up early and take you over there.”
“What for?”
“You teach those girls at nine, right?”
“I’m sure Melinda is still down south, but Ellen, yes.”
“Be ready by six. We’ll get to Vista del Canada by seven with time to spare.”
That was a reason to let him out of the gate, latch it, and run inside to study. The time you spend studying goes verrryyy slowly while you are doing it, but after you’ve done it, it seems to have passed very quickly. I’m not sure why that is. At any rate, by Saturday morning, all thoughts of the Romans, the volume of a sphere, poems by dead people, French irregular verbs, and kingdoms,
I ran up the stairs and went into my room. The pedigree was neatly folded in the top right-hand drawer. I grabbed it and ran down the stairs. When I put it on the table, there it was, Jack’s great-grandsire on his dam’s side was Hyperion, through a horse called Alibhai, who was born in 1938. And his son, Determine, had also won the Kentucky Derby. That was Jack’s grandsire. So Jack and Gee Whiz were related.
Danny said, “It’s like Gee Whiz is his great-granduncle.”
Dad said, “Believe me, there are lots and lots of cousins, and very few of them have done much.”
But still, it was interesting to think about.
After supper, Danny and I went out to have another look at Gee Whiz. I admit I was more drawn to him now that I knew he was related to Jack. I saw more grace in his movement and more intelligence in his eye. But he was, indeed, a striking horse, and only part of that was how big he was (good thing the stalls in our barn were really big, much bigger than the stalls out at the stables, which was part of the reason we hardly ever kept a horse in them—most horses take the opportunity to poop all over a big stall, so cleaning a big stall is more work, and bedding a big stall takes more straw). He was tall but he was graceful—as we stood there looking at him, he curved around the stall, and his strides were big but precise. At the same time, he kept his eye on us, not as if he was suspicious, but as if he was curious. He put his head over the door. I had some carrots in my pocket, and Danny had two cubes of sugar. He took them politely. Then, after I asked Danny whenhe had last raced, and just as Danny said, “He raced Sunday,” Gee Whiz lifted his nose and, very gently, sniffed my hair and then my shoulder. I’d never had a horse do that before. I stood still. Danny didn’t stop him or reprimand him, as Dad might have done. Danny had learned from Jem Jarrow that a horse can be curious, and that that is a good thing. A curious horse is intelligent.
When Gee Whiz went back to his hay, Danny said, “He ran at Hollywood Park Sunday, in the last race, and I guess he was the oldest horse in the race, and he ran fifth out of ten. The trainer called Mr. Leamann and said that he ran a game race, but he had done his work, and it was time to do something else. I guess he came back to the barn a little depressed.”
“Do you think that’s true? That a horse knows he got beaten and feels sad?”
Danny said, “Why not? If he knows what racing is about, then he knows what winning is about, and he can’t be good at it without wanting to win. If he wants to win, then he knows if he’s lost.”
I said, “What about the carrot? What about the stick?”
Danny cuffed me on the head and said, “Now you sound like an idiot.”
That was the Danny I knew.
I walked him to his truck, only then asking him how Jack was doing.
“He’s doing fine. He’s spending the whole night inside tonight. First time. Saturday, I’m going to pick you up early and take you over there.”
“What for?”
“You teach those girls at nine, right?”
“I’m sure Melinda is still down south, but Ellen, yes.”
“Be ready by six. We’ll get to Vista del Canada by seven with time to spare.”
That was a reason to let him out of the gate, latch it, and run inside to study. The time you spend studying goes verrryyy slowly while you are doing it, but after you’ve done it, it seems to have passed very quickly. I’m not sure why that is. At any rate, by Saturday morning, all thoughts of the Romans, the volume of a sphere, poems by dead people, French irregular verbs, and kingdoms,
Similar Books
