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

head.
    â€œRelax,” reassured Prism, along to keep me company for my first show. “It’s really easy. All you do is go around an arena and jump. Try not to knock down the rails. You get jumping faults for that and for refusing.” She continued, “The worst part is the warm-up area with all of the riders careening around and not looking where they are going. You’re going to hate it.”
    Whoa! What are those horses doing?
    I spooked across the arena as three horses came at me. Horses and ponies were everywhere, warming up and jumping in the three arenas, each filled with brightly painted jumps and decorated with flowers. A small dog held by someone driving a golf cart yapped at me as I stared at a horse with his mane tied up in little knots — braids, Prism called them — while a groom carrying a rub rag and fly spray trotted after him.
    â€œMore leg, eyes up,” the instructors shouted to their students.
    â€œHeads up, vertical,” the riders called out to the other riders, heading to a jump.
    We were on deck, then it was time to go.
    An audience!
    I tried harder, showing off my “floaty trot” and “springy canter,” knowing they were all watching me. Michelle sat up taller, also basking in the audience attention.
    Interesting — I didn’t know she was such a showman.
    We were alike, Michelle and I. Winning was everything. But winning in style in front of a crowd was best of all.
    Let’s go! Let’s go!
    â€œEasy, love,” I felt Michelle’s weight suddenly get heavier. “Whoa,” she said without words, doing a strong half-halt as I galloped in the arena, on the muscle. Six fences, then across the arena diagonally. Two more, an in-and-out and, finally, four more jumps the other direction.
    Easy peasy!
    â€œGood. We’ve qualified for the jump off.” Michelle told Grace, who had come to help out, “I think I’ll let him roll on a bit, see how he likes it. I hope I have brakes! He’s still pretty green. This might be interesting.”
    This time, Michelle let me go a little faster.
    â€œA clear round for number 27, Raja, ridden by Michelle Taylor. Raja is our new leader!” The loudspeaker boomed.
    We won!
    â€œWell done, Raja.” Michelle gave me a sweet, delicious sugar lump and patted my neck over and over as Grace helped her take off my tack, wash me and cool me out before we headed home. “I was only out for a school today, but you were going so well that I thought, ‘Why not go for it?’ You’re a natural. I’m very pleased with you.”

    June, Chester County, Pennsylvania
    â€œThose chicken coops in the fence line are for the hunt to jump in and out of the fields when they come through the farm,” Prism nodded sagely as we grazed under the weeping willows at Michelle’s summer base in Pennsylvania. I looked up at the endless line of post-and-rail fence, interrupted every once in a while by green mesh metal gates or the funny wooden triangles Prism was talking about. Michelle’s barn stood shaded by thick-trunked old maple trees, grassy paddocks and buttercup-filled yellow and green fields dotted with turnout sheds and more shade trees. A row of horse trailers lined one side of the large, jump-filled outdoor sand arena and a knot of plastic chairs huddled under a shade tree at the other end.
    We had come here for the summer months to be closer to the big horse shows in the Northeast and it seemed like every day a new student arrived to work with Michelle. Mostly, I loved the big grass fields we lived in every night.
    Alfalfa! And clover!
    Pink-and-white nectar-filled clover flowers that lingered like sugar cubes on my tongue. Summer days rolled into one: schooling in the cool mornings and afternoons dozing under the weeping willows with Holzmann, my best friend. Telling stories; nibbling at each other; eating clover; standing head-to-tail swishing flies; eating