Meaning For The Term "Hot Blood"

[Sam]

Horse The True Nut
Jockey Sam Lettington
Purpose Normal exercise and prep for the Breeder's Cup (Breeder's Cup Filly & Mare Sprint to be exact)

Though Thoroughbreds were warm bloods, this mare simply had to be hot. She was feisty, furious, and most of all rude. Simply rude. She pushed, she shoved, she demanded that she got her way simply because she was the alpha mare. She could get away with it with most of her jockeys, but not me. No, I was the boss. I didn't give a crap who she thought she was but she wasn't going to push me around like some subordinate.

Of course she didn't see it that way. I was never one to be "I am the boss, you are under me." I was typically very natural with horses. It's more of a "I'm the boss" and they find out what they want to be. Since nothing is above the boss. I have no problems if the horse wants to be right up there with me, she just wasn't going to above me.

The black mare threw up her head. She didn't agree with this idea. Not one bit. But she was going to learn to live with it. Sooner or later. Sure, me and Roo still didn't get along very well but not many did with this certain mare. I was lucky enough that she knew not to piss me off too much, though it often seemed she tried to go out of her way to push my buttons.

The mare snorted once more before trotting on, her strides increasing in length, her tempo rather slow other wise. Her head bent in, trying to avoid the contact of the bit that kept her from breaking. Her hind quarters went sideways, awkwardly. She knew I hated this. She simply had to. I decided to ignore it for once, let her think I didn't care and maybe she'll stop trying. Fat chance, but oh well. At least I'm trying different and unique ideas.

She acts like some bratty little sister, now that I think about it. Always there to try and annoy me. Always there to try some new tactic to push my buttons. I suppose that's the strange relationship we have. We both love to annoy each other, though when it comes down to it, we'll get it all together and kick butt.

With a small kiss and a movement, the mare started off in her natural three-beat gait. Her rocking gait was easy to follow and very tempting to sit. I stood off her back, making sure that her back wouldn’t feel the impact of my weight crashing down on it. My knees bent and took the large motion of her canter. She was a rather large mare at sixteen hands. Roo wasn’t the tallest, but she certainly small, in both her attitude and in the flesh.

We cantered down the stretch, heading the opposite way. We cantered around the corner. Letting her large strides easily take in the dull turn. Once we opened up to the back stretch, I cantered another furlong or two before we doubled back. Eight furlongs marker, I spotted, I held her and waited.

Roo started to grow impatient. She snorted, pulling against the bit and increasing her strides. I held steady as I watched the seven furlong marker come closer and closer. Soon, our shoulder brushed passed it. Then I let her go.

The black mare seemed to bolt. Her long legs making quick work of the remaining back stretch. We were quickly on the corner. Her strides shortened as she came along the rail, hugging it and making the minimum amount of effort in the corner as possible. She was pretty good at saving her energy, which often surprised me.

The second half the corner was much different. Roo flung away from the rail, as if she was expecting horses to try and pin her to the rail. Her strides grew longer once more. Her head started to dip as she pulled against the bit, demanding the room to sprint.

She continued like this, until finally the stretch started to open up. I flew forwards, letting her have a bit of her head. She didn’t need any more encouragement then that, like most horses at my stables she loved to simply let loose.

My heart thumped wildly in my ears. Adrenaline rushed through me, powering my muscles. Every part of me screams for more speed. The mare wasn’t deaf to this.

She dug deep, her hooves finding easy traction on the dirt. Her head dipped and pulled. Her shoulders rippled and heaved. Her hinds bunched up and pushed forwards, like a spring released.

The wire flew over her as she continued to pack on the speed.

Word Count 785