Hotwalker

One of the grooms from another stable had overdosed on heroin the night before. Down the hill, by the lower barns, ambulance lights glared in the dawn light. But April, standing at the end of the shed row, pitchfork in hand, watched exercise riders work the horses. The racehorses' breaths and hoof beats resounded in the chilly air as they whisked by. The mile long track was a spectacular vista. On the far side, the grandstand towered above all, its glass windows glinting in the sunrise.

As another horse and rider rounded the turn, April fixated on them. The rider moved in perfect cadence with her mount; the horse's muscles contracted and expanded beneath her legs as he moved them forward with a speed reaching almost fifty-miles-an-hour. April sighed.

"I hope you're ready to work today!"

April spun around at the sharp sound of the assistant trainer's voice, Jack.

"We got two races today," he announced, and then disappeared back into the stable office to watch replays of The Ellen DeGeneres Show, as he did every morning.

April approached Silver Queen's stall. The dappled-gray filly was nervously circling. It was April's responsibility to look after her. One of the clients had claimed the filly the previous night; she was here only temporally before she was to go to the farm. Since the filly wasn't training or racing right now, April would take her out and walk her twice a day. Right now, though, she'd clean her stall and fill her water bucket.

April was a walker, a hotwalker to be exact, the lowest job at the track. She cooled out the string of horses after every workout and every race. They'd come off the track huffing, dripping sweat, and extremely excitable. She'd take them, after their grooms untacked them, and walk. She walked around and around the shed row until their breathing slowed and they calmed. Then, she'd lead them into the wash rack where their grooms would bathe them. The horses would revel in the warm water slipping over their muscles, but April would usually just try to avoid the careless aim of the grooms. They were oblivious to the fact that they soaked her jeans and boots, and that she'd now have to walk in sloppy socks in the middle of February. Though, there was always a hot cup of coffee awaiting her in the track chaplain's office.

As she cooled out Eye Of The Hawk, a burly, grouchy bay, Jack came out of his office. "Stupid son of a bitch!" he cursed, mocking a kick at the colt. Eye Of The Hawk's ears flattened, his hind leg slashing out. Jack smacked the colt on the flank. The horse reared and began backing up exceedingly fast, out of control.

April stayed calm and moved with the horse, lead rope slack. "Easy, Hawk, easy," she soothed. The horse stopped and stood, watching her with white-rimmed eyes. She patted him, and he calmed, lowering his head.

Observing the interaction, Jack said, "One of these days, we'll get you up there. When we've got some time. I'll teach you to be an exercise rider."

April grinned despite him having said that many times.

"Get going. We got tons to do." He shooed her off.

Time was something April never had, except, maybe, time to think while she walked. Her days started at four in the morning. And this track had night racing; the races went late. She'd be lucky if she finished cooling out the last racer before midnight. She lived in a tiny room in the barn, so she could be near the horses. A blow up mattress, blankets, a space heater, and a suitcase full of barn clothes were all she owned. She showered in the backside's community bathrooms. When she needed to go somewhere, she used the stable's vehicle.

Though she was a hotwalker, April did everything but ride. On top of various duties, such as taking care of cases like Silver Queen, she measured out all the horses' feed in the morning and the afternoon. She medicated and doctored the horses needing it. She prepared the horses for their races, bridling them and braiding their manes (For some reason, the grooms didn't have to do this task, though they accrued a percentage of their horses' winnings whereas April did not.) She walked the horses to the saddling paddock for their races and walked them back afterwards to walk them around the shed row. Or, if they won, she'd walk them to the winner's circle, then to the drug testing barn, where she cooled them out around the worn, circular path lined with water buckets, and then held them while they had their blood drawn and pee collected.

Day after day was the same, unending.

Coming around the shed row, leading My Pleasure, a sweet chestnut filly, April's ears caught the creaking and humming of the hotwalking machine. Its six arms reached up and then down, ending with a short lead rope with a horse snapped to it. Around and around the racehorses danced, or plodded. Thoroughbred colts and fillies were highly energetic and loved getting into mischief. If it wasn't for the head trainer's dislike of the mechanism, April wouldn't have a job.

She turned her eyes from the machine to gaze out over the track. The sun had now fully risen. It shone brilliantly and coldly over the surface of the hoof-churned track. The last of the exercise riders were exiting on their prancing mounts. Life on the shed row was dark, grueling, and amazing altogether. April watched the riders with glittering eyes, a whisper of a smile across her lips, and then she walked on, unceasingly.

***

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