Post by alicekcrose on Apr 29, 2012 9:13:57 GMT -5
Alice and Danny work two furlongs for the Azalea Cup
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The sun began to rise on that beautiful morning. The sound of thundering hoof beats hit the turf as the birds tweeted to welcome us. Stepping on to the turf, Danny pricked his ears tall and walked forward on to the softness beneath him. It was time for him to shine. The result in his maiden race really pushed him forward in to getting a better result.
Sitting on board the colt, my arm didn't hurt. The pain was gone. It was a long and hard month with out riding, but soon I would be on board my beautiful star colt, galloping through the stretch in a hard work for the Turn Up The Heat Stakes. This colt was also my star turf colt. He's my Juvenile Turf colt. My dual-surfaced colt with the heart and body of a champion.
I squeezed Danny forward in to an energetic trot as we trotted up the home stretch, the wrong way, yes, I know. Don't state the obvious. We were going to do two furlongs in about twenty one seconds today. I knew he could do it. He's done it before, he can do it again. Let's get a bit faster today though. Maybe even twenty and four fifths? I'd be as happy with another twenty one. I took my hand off one of the reins and pressed down on my finger, between the tip and my knuckle.
Each knuckle cracked with ease. I clicked my neck before standing up in my stirrups and standing above the beautiful sixteen hands and two inches colt. He was just like his father, such a hunk in the racing industry. Starting so late as a two year old, I thought his previous owner wanted to give him slightly more time to mature. What a beauty. I said to myself, as we cantered slowly up the stretch, taking everything in to his stride.
We cantered round the corner, about half way, then I turned him in and asked him to go. Flying onto the inside leg, the colt leapt forward, pushing himself hard as he could as he flew in to the home stretch. I sat up, niggling him forward as his huge stride covered the ground. Just like his father, he would swiftly demonstrate the three words. Poetry In Motion.
He swiftly changed his lead and perked his ears, running on like a champion, galloping like he was winning. The imaginary field were far behind him now. We flew past the post, and Jacey walked on to the track. I pulled him up and he came back to a trot, ears perked, and finally he moved to a walk. The air from his nostrils were small white puffs of condensation. Twenty and one fifth. She said to me. If that was in a race, you would've probably smashed the track record. She said, and I grinned, throwing my arms round his neck.