Read Online Raja, Story of a Racehorse by Anne Hambleton - Free Book Online

me to two rails crossed in an X. I jumped it.
    Fun!
    Another X, then a single rail, then two together, like a game. I gave a playful buck.
    â€œLook how balanced he is. How he measures the jump as he approaches it, adjusts himself and uses his back. He’s a natural jumper and has tons of scope. Can you please set that oxer up one more hole? Thank you.”
    Sitting lightly and perfectly balanced, she told me things with the way she sat and used her weight and reins and legs. Stretch my neck and back, bend and straighten my body, change my balance and speed, it was a new language. At first I didn’t understand, but she kept asking and asking and when I did it right, she rewarded me with a big pat.
    â€œGood boy! You’re a smart one.” She turned to Oakley. “The most important thing we can do is to give Raja a good foundation on the flat. Dressage is a jumper’s secret weapon. He needs to be working in the right balance and tuned to our aids: seat, hands, legs, voice. Then his natural athleticism can take him where it will, maybe even the Olympics.”

    I wasn’t sure what the Olympics were, but I knew they were big.
    â€œI went to zee last Olympics with l’équipe du France,” Toile told me one night when I asked her about them. “Eet ees un grande show. Only four ’orses from each country. Zee best in zee world.”
    â€œThe Olympics are overrated if you ask me,” Holzmann snorted, “but I’ll admit that it feels good to know that you are the best in the world. I still get little girls at horse shows wanting to pat me. That’s the best part, being a show-jumping legend.”
    â€œOh, great Holzmann, you’re a legend all right,” Prism giggled. Holzmann pinned his ears and snapped at her, swishing his tail.
    â€œWho’s the one with the silver medal, Shorty?”
    Prism could barely contain herself, she was laughing so hard. “You, Lord Holzmann, how can we ever forget?”
    The best in the world. A gold medal! Those sounds perfect.

    A group of Michelle’s students sat in the shade of a big moss-covered live oak on the long wooden bench in the corner of the arena, watching her teach Oakley on me. Piewacket and Muttley lay contentedly at her feet.
    â€œNow that he’s warmed up, let’s start with the red vertical rails to the brush box. Try it in five strides. As my old coach, Colonel Nicolai Belanov, one of the greatest horsemen of our era, used to say: your horse must come to the obstacle in the right direction, speed, balance and impulsion. So…your job is to get him to the fence in the right canter and stay out of his way. His job is to jump the jump. Wait…wait…good, nicely done. Sit quietly…good…again. Now do the in-and-out.”
    I bucked after the in-and-out.
    â€œI think he’s enjoying himself,” Oakley laughed as Michelle taught him on me.
    â€œNow, do it again. It has to be perfect. That’s what Colonel Belanov drilled into me and I’m going to drill into you. He used to say, ‘There are no shortcuts in horse training. It’s like watching grass grow, but in the end you have a beautiful lawn.’” She paused to raise the jump a hole. “He was the real deal, a genius, an old school riding master at the Russian Imperial School in St. Petersburg, who came to this country during the war and coached the United States Equestrian Team for years. I was very lucky to be taught by him.”
    Oakley circled me around yet again, sitting up to adjust my balance as we headed toward the in-and-out in a light, springy yet powerful, canter.
    â€œThat was good. That’s enough for today. Good boy, Raja. Give him a pat.”

    March, Ocala, Florida
    â€œThe official show time is nine o’clock.”
    A loudspeaker! We can’t possibly be racing. I’m not in shape!
    I started pawing the trailer floor impatiently and tossing my