“I just didn’t think I’d done such a great job. After all, it was Prancer who did all the work.”
“That horse loves to run. Alone. She doesn’t seem to have the competitive spirit that really great racers have got to have. I’ve ridden her on Mr. McLeod’s practice track dozens of times. She’s fabulous by herself. But when she’s pitted up against another horse, I never get that burst of speed from her. Too bad.”
“How’s that?” Carole asked.
Stephen looked at her a little oddly. Then he answered the question. “Well, a racehorse that doesn’t race doesn’t have much of a future, does she?”
There it was again—business. Dollars and cents. It wasn’t enough for a horse to be beautiful, sweet, wonderful, and fast. She had to win, too.
“Couldn’t Prancer be used for breeding?” Carole asked.
Stephen shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not for me to say. Still, if a mare isn’t fast, doesn’t have that spirit, chances are her foals won’t either. Anyway, today’s race could be telling. We’ll see.”
“Ah, there you are, Stephen,” Mr. McLeod said. “The stallion is going to be in the third race and Prancer in the sixth. There’s a mare running in the first race that I’m considering purchasing, so we don’t have much time to talk before post time.”
Stephen, Mr. McLeod, and the trainer began plotting their strategy for the two races Stephen would ride. They talked quietly, not wanting other owners to overhear. Carole caught some of the words, but much of it didn’t mean very much to her. They talked about things like backstretch, quarter pole, and post position. Carole gathered that for Prancer’s race, Stephen was to hold back until near the end and then see if he could bring out that burst of speed that had made Prancer such a joy for Carole to ride. The race was going to be a real test of Prancer’s abilities.
“We’ve got this race today, and she’s entered in three other races this season,” Mr. McLeod said. “If she’s got the stuff, we’ll see it one of these times. If not, we’ll have to see if we can find a home for her someplace else.”
Carole felt a nervous twinge. What had Mr. McLeod meant by that? She hoped for Prancer’s sake that she won today’s race.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as a voice over a loudspeaker announced that horses for the first race of the afternoon should be moving to the paddock area next to the track for saddling. A dozen horses were led along the path by their trainers and stable hands. Another group of stable ponies were being saddled quickly and taken along as well by various riders—most much too large to be jockeys—all dressed in breeches and identical shirts.
“Who are they?” Carole asked Judy.
“Those are the lead pony riders. Each horse in a race has a lead pony that goes with it in the post parade. The riders then stand by to help during and after the race in case there’s trouble, or if their jockey needs help in the winner’s circle. The racehorses all seem to be comforted and calmed by the presence of these ponies. Let’s go watch the first race with Mr. McLeod. You’ll see.”
Together the three of them rode over to the grandstand. As an owner, Mr. McLeod was entitled to watch the race from a box in the clubhouse of the grandstand.However, as a potential owner, he wanted the opportunity to watch the horse he was considering from track level. They stood by the fence at the edge of the track. A man came out onto the track and blew a long horn. It was the kind of horn Carole had seen at horse shows, only he was blowing the familiar racetrack tune known as “First Call.” Immediately thereafter the horses, accompanied by their lead ponies, filed out onto the track. The horses circled around the track, sometimes walking, sometimes going faster, but in each case obviously warming up. On the far side of the track, there was a portable starting gate set up. By the time the horses reached it, the lead
“That horse loves to run. Alone. She doesn’t seem to have the competitive spirit that really great racers have got to have. I’ve ridden her on Mr. McLeod’s practice track dozens of times. She’s fabulous by herself. But when she’s pitted up against another horse, I never get that burst of speed from her. Too bad.”
“How’s that?” Carole asked.
Stephen looked at her a little oddly. Then he answered the question. “Well, a racehorse that doesn’t race doesn’t have much of a future, does she?”
There it was again—business. Dollars and cents. It wasn’t enough for a horse to be beautiful, sweet, wonderful, and fast. She had to win, too.
“Couldn’t Prancer be used for breeding?” Carole asked.
Stephen shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not for me to say. Still, if a mare isn’t fast, doesn’t have that spirit, chances are her foals won’t either. Anyway, today’s race could be telling. We’ll see.”
“Ah, there you are, Stephen,” Mr. McLeod said. “The stallion is going to be in the third race and Prancer in the sixth. There’s a mare running in the first race that I’m considering purchasing, so we don’t have much time to talk before post time.”
Stephen, Mr. McLeod, and the trainer began plotting their strategy for the two races Stephen would ride. They talked quietly, not wanting other owners to overhear. Carole caught some of the words, but much of it didn’t mean very much to her. They talked about things like backstretch, quarter pole, and post position. Carole gathered that for Prancer’s race, Stephen was to hold back until near the end and then see if he could bring out that burst of speed that had made Prancer such a joy for Carole to ride. The race was going to be a real test of Prancer’s abilities.
“We’ve got this race today, and she’s entered in three other races this season,” Mr. McLeod said. “If she’s got the stuff, we’ll see it one of these times. If not, we’ll have to see if we can find a home for her someplace else.”
Carole felt a nervous twinge. What had Mr. McLeod meant by that? She hoped for Prancer’s sake that she won today’s race.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as a voice over a loudspeaker announced that horses for the first race of the afternoon should be moving to the paddock area next to the track for saddling. A dozen horses were led along the path by their trainers and stable hands. Another group of stable ponies were being saddled quickly and taken along as well by various riders—most much too large to be jockeys—all dressed in breeches and identical shirts.
“Who are they?” Carole asked Judy.
“Those are the lead pony riders. Each horse in a race has a lead pony that goes with it in the post parade. The riders then stand by to help during and after the race in case there’s trouble, or if their jockey needs help in the winner’s circle. The racehorses all seem to be comforted and calmed by the presence of these ponies. Let’s go watch the first race with Mr. McLeod. You’ll see.”
Together the three of them rode over to the grandstand. As an owner, Mr. McLeod was entitled to watch the race from a box in the clubhouse of the grandstand.However, as a potential owner, he wanted the opportunity to watch the horse he was considering from track level. They stood by the fence at the edge of the track. A man came out onto the track and blew a long horn. It was the kind of horn Carole had seen at horse shows, only he was blowing the familiar racetrack tune known as “First Call.” Immediately thereafter the horses, accompanied by their lead ponies, filed out onto the track. The horses circled around the track, sometimes walking, sometimes going faster, but in each case obviously warming up. On the far side of the track, there was a portable starting gate set up. By the time the horses reached it, the lead
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