A word to you, Wellington-- or should I call you by your legal name, Holds Well? After five years together, I feel we are still at arm's length. We are not quite on the same page although we have made progress of late. You have all the right qualities. There’s good bloodstock in your pedigree (you are a great-grandson of Northern Dancer and among your ancestors on both sides are Gallant Fox and Count Fleet, both Triple Crown winners). Your breeder thought enough of you to pay the $500.00 fee to have you nominated to the Breeders' Cup, meaning you were eligible to run in the fancy races sponsored by Breeders' Cup, Ltd. I doubt you did. I know you spent time on the racetrack, two years according to your previous owner, who bought you when you were six. You have a lip tattoo, so you clearly were raced. Your Certificate of Foal Registration, however, is notably empty in the column for "races won on the American Continent." I can only assume that was why you were gelded.
Hey, flat racing is an unforgiving way of life. So many enter, so few achieve. But you had your time among the elite, living the life of a pampered athlete, fussed over by hot-walkers, grooms and vets, energized by the excitement (or the jockey's bat) at the clang of the starting bell. Now you've come down in the world. What inspiration can you find, what status is there in a suburban barn and a riding ring full of little girls on ponies? No long empty track for a morning "breeze" workout, just trotting in circles, cantering serpentines like some delicate dressage horse. No chance to display that raw, purebred running talent. Once in a while you're asked to go over a few jumps or if you're lucky, you get a jaunt to a park for a trail ride. You're bored; I know it. This is beneath your dignity and you are not giving all that I know you can. But this is your life now and it's better than what usually awaits an unsuccessful racehorse. Really, it’s not a disgrace to be a top-notch pleasure horse. Try it; it can be quite satisfying.
I’m aware that worse than being relegated to a commoner's pleasure use, you're a replacement for another horse I use to own, Champ. You're the rebound and you probably sense that my emotional commitment to you is, well, less than 100%. I bought you to stand in for (or, rather, jump in place of) Champ, who as he got older fell down too many times in mid-canter. Age and arthritis ended his hunter-pace career. He was more than just a horse; he was my "honey." You were merely my "mount." How he hated to see me with you! I doubt you were aware of it, or cared. You are too well-bred to take notice of petty jealousies.
But, really, I like you. Everyone at the barn who deals with you likes you. You’re very likeable. For all that stiff-upper-lip exterior, you have an undeniably sweet nature and the instincts of a gentleman. It's the Thoroughbred breeding, don't you know-- as you might say, if you had the capacity to think and talk. You never crowd me when I enter your stall; you wait patiently until your halter is off to duck your head in the grain bucket; you radiate calm and reserve -- until you decide to spook, or you decide it's time to channel your racetrack past. Then you put on an astounding burst of speed and Heaven help your rider! Stay on and steer; those are my only options. I confess I like those occasions once they're over with. But there's this confidence thing. I'm not sure of you. And I sense you're not sure of you, either, or maybe of me. To jump or not to jump? I would prefer you make that decision before we're right in front of the jump. It's less messy that way. I know you've got the ability but I don't think your heart's really in it. Probably that was the problem with your racing career, too.
Look, I’ll do my best to make things better between us. I’ll start concentrating on what we’re doing together instead of wishing you were Champ. I promise not to tease you about your fellow foals who reached the winner's circle. I hope you'll conjure up some enthusiasm for walk-trot exercises. I know that’s hard to do. At age 23, you're not likely to change your tastes. You've come a long way in recent months and there are instances when I really feel at one with you. There’s hope for the two of us.
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