The Breaking of Tradition

[Sam]

Horse The True Nut
Jockey Sam Lettington
Purpose Exercise for Cox Plate

The buckskin filly seemed more content then usual today. It was as if she knew that her little racing break was over and it was time to get serious again. The last race I wasn't entirely too pleased with.

She had gotten excited way before she even got into the gates. On the backstretch and corner, she gunned for her position, giving a speed dual to any that wanted to attempt to take the lead. When the stretch finally came, she barely had anything left. She had enough to come into 4th, but unlike most owners, that disappointed me. The filly knew better. She acted like some two-year-old on one of their first races. No, I didn't expect her to be perfect, the feisty filly was far from that, but I expected her to do her job correctly.

So today, it was about being correct. Being accurate. Being punctual. Yes, Sam the procrastinator was being punctual. It left a bad taste in my tongue to think of it like that.

The filly threw her head, dragging my attention back to her. I get it, I said out loud, knowing too well she was probably psycho enough to read my thoughts. She obviously wouldn't like it and was expressing clearly with her snorting mug and her throwing head her dislike of this idea. I know you were excited for that race, but you need to do your job. You can just have a speed dual with any horse you want then run out of steam for the stretch. I lectured.

Wait... I was just lecturing a horse. Nutty to be exact. I shook my head. Come on, I said, nudging her sides. She snorted and rolled her body as if she may buck but pranced anyways.

I knew I needed to lighten my mood. This filly was always particular about how I was feeling. She required a happy and energetic mood in order for her to be happy and energetic. If I was annoyed, mad, frustrated, or sad, she was pissed to say the least. I sighed, letting my feelings go and trying to replace them with lighter emotions.

Nut seemed to pick up on this and her trotted sped up though she was smart enough to know not to do too much silly stuff today. Despite her silly antics, she was a smart girl. Sometimes too smart.

Around the track we went, her prancing trot growing steadily faster. I would have to forget the original plan today. It simply wouldn't go over well, not today at least. Not on this filly.

With a kiss and a small nudge the filly flew into a three beated gait. She pulled against the bit, expressing her desire to go faster. I just chuckled and held tight, knowing she was only going to pretend to get frustrated.

As if on cue, she snorted and tried to duck her head, threatening to buck. I held tight still, refusing to let her head fall. She snorted once more before seeming to forget it ever happened and continued to canter on.

We cantered until the nine furlong marker came into view. I held my position until we passed the marker. Quickly and fluidly I flew into the racing position. Nut took no hesitation as she exploded from under me. Her black silk legs bolted, her body rocketed. This rush is what made me love racing so much. More particularly made me love racing her. She gave it instantly. She had no second-thoughts. No second-guesses. She was honest about her job and loved every minute of it.

We galloped down the backstretch. She tugged against the bit, trying to urge me to let her loose. She knew better then to let loose now. It was nearly like she was just being sarcastic or teasing. The little Nut was always up for games.

The corner came up fast. With expert balance and foot steps, we zoomed around it, barely loosing our tempo or rhythm in the corner.

Now the corner opened up like it always did to the stretch. We sped ahead, both moving in sic. I didn't need to signal for the sprint, I didn't need to urge her for this rush. She simply knew.

Her golden and black legs dashed. Her body rocked slightly. Her head bowed with every stride, as if trying to pull her body faster then it could possibly go. Her nose went out first, as if it was sniffing the wire out and dragging her body behind it.

Her lungs blew loudly, taking as much air as possible to supply to the racing heart of the Thoroughbred. Her short mane whipped up, like some crowd cheering her own. Her long tail flew back, as if it was a flag of her victory. Her muscles hidden under the light, thin layer of golden skin pushed and pulled, seeming to never grow tired of this.

Finally the wire was upon us.

The filly seemed annoyed to end her sprint so soon but her body was spent. Her body pleaded for a rest while her mind pleaded for another go. I decided for her and gave her body a rest. Save it for the race, girly, I said giving her neck a solid pat. We've got a tradition to break.

Word Count 880