Heart and Soul (rewrite)

Chapter Six

The sun was well over the horizon by the time I woke up. It had been months, maybe even years, since I'd had such deep shavings and sweet hay. The horse next to me whinnied impatiently and hit the door with her hoof.

That whinny was familiar...

I stood up and shook the shavings off my coat and scraggly mane, reveling in the sweet scent of a clean stall. Peering out from behind the bars on my star I spotted Annie and Owen running down the driveway, strange bags bouncing on their backs. I nickered quietly. Mom dumped scoops of grain through the bars to eager horses, and soon the anxious whinnies were replaced by the rattling of buckets and contented sighs. I waited patiently, ears up. Mom poured less than a handful of grain into my stall.

"Sorry, kid. We can't have you colic on the first day."

The grain was gone in seconds. I thoroughly checked the red bucket for any pellets I may have missed, then fell greedily upon my hay. I heard nickering again as Mom strode past me with a lead rope over her shoulder, and watched as Paloma walked out of her stall, led by Mom, and disappeared behind the barn. I whinnied for her. One by one the other horses vanished along with the grulla mare, until it was just me in the shed row. Mom opened the window in the back of my stall and I thrust my head out, spotting Paloma, the cherry bay, the paint, and the dark bay mare. I nickered to them. The dark bay mare lifted her head, and it was then I recognized her. The crooked blaze that wormed its way down her slightly dished head, encompassing one eye and leaving it a striking blue. She cantered to me and touched her nose to mine.

"Charm!" She exclaimed. "You look absolutely awful! What happened?"

"I ran for five years, lost the easiest races you could run because I wasn't fed anything." She gasped, her wide eyes full of sympathy.

"That's terrible! You were one of the fastest horses I ran against!"

"Still am." I snorted, playfully nipping at her face. She squealed, but my invitation to play went no father than that. "What happened to you?"

"I got hurt in a race. Boss sent me to a man who re-homes off the track Thoroughbreds like us. Then I ended up here. I'm Annie's horse."

We spent the week I was in quarantine chatting the days away, telling stories, laughing about the good times, remembering our old friends.

"What ever happened to Blue?" I asked on day, feigning nonchalance to disguise the tide of worry that rose in my chest. I'd seen what humans could do.

"Blue? He won two of the three jewels in the triple crown! He got hurt at Belmont."

"Was he okay?" I nickered, perhaps a bit quickly. She looked at me, puzzled.

"He was fine. He's a famous stud now, still the quietest horse, though. He hasn't changed much."

I felt a pang of jealousy at the fact that he was a stud now, but disguised it by picking up a mouthful of hay.

When I was finally turned out I had the field to myself, and galloped circle after circle, bucking, squealing, snorting, rearing. Two days after I was turned out for the first time Doxie joined me, and we spent hours beneath a twisted oak tree grooming each other, reveling in the presence of another Thoroughbred. Then the cherry bay was turned out with us. He was a gelding named Vickingo, and a quiet, stoical horse. Then came Rex, a handsome paint. He bossed Vickingo away from his hay, but never bothered me. Finally, Paloma trotted out to say hello. We touched noses, squealed, and promptly spun around, aiming kicks at each other until Mom broke it up. A few small disputes and our herd order was settled. Me, Paloma, Doxie, Rex, and Vickingo. We made quite a group, three tall, lean Thoroughbreds, one stout polo pony, and one paint.

Two weeks after I first arrived Mom came out and caught me from beneath our twisted oak tree. She took me to the barn and threw a light cotton pad on my back, followed by a fluffy half pad. Finally she placed an awkward, heavy saddle on my back. I recognize the over girth from the track, but I couldn't race in such a big saddle! Finally, she eased a soft snaffle into my mouth, and after quite a bit of biting she tightened my girth to an appropriate size.

"We'll have to work on that." She remarked, adjusting her helmet.

She led me out to a fenced off portion of the pasture used for riding, and led me around the ring so many times I lost count and grew bored. Then she led me up the to mounting block. I tensed. What was this thing? Mom pulled my reins over my head so they rested on my neck, and leaned over me. I stood still. She put her hands on the saddle. I turned my head to look at her. Why was she going so slow? Just get on! Finally she finished her strange inspection and eased herself into the big saddle. Leaving her feet out of the stirrups she picked up the reins and squeezed my sides ever so gently. I knew what to do.

I took off at a break neck gallop, blazing around the ring in a blur. At some point Mom fell off, but I didn't stop. I only stopped when I was breathing heavily, exhausted. But I was proud. I'd done what I was supposed to do, I ran my race. It was a strange race, but I was sure I won. I walked back to Mom and nuzzled her on the ground, wondering why she was there and not on my back, walking me to a hidden winner's circle. She smiled at me and rubbed my face.

"Well, you sure are a Thoroughbred.