Post by Sussy on Jan 9, 2014 19:38:20 GMT -5
Chatoyant, Y14 Maiden Dirt
He was unique not only in colour but in nature, as the peculiar colt would lip frantically at Ella’s arm; obsessing over the fact he was getting a scratch in front of the whither. He was a total character, quiet and gentle down to the last of his bones. Even in his gender and age he was more than manageable, elder in wisdom than most horses around Pigeon Bank. His second start was quickly approaching, and although Ella was confident in the grey’s abilities, she was unsurprisingly nervous. It was a test not only for the unproven colt, but for his parents; who though were successful themselves, are yet to show what their progeny are capable of. Regardless, he showed great form, and Ella was optimistic.She pulled herself into the saddle, and such was quite the unusual with these thoroughbreds; he stood perfectly still, as if he were a trained riding pony. She chuckled weakly, urging him on into a trot. She had broken him herself, and he was started a year later than most racer’s, but it had proven to have it’s ups. He was more mature as 2yo than as a yearling, and Ella didn’t doubt his relaxed start to the saddle had helped in making him such the confident little colt he was today. His strides would extended as his jockey asked, his working trot beginning to punch with a little more power than he had shown before. Of course, compared to Bee and Jester, his trot felt somewhat meek; but for his age- Ella looked down as his sloped shoulders would push and pull with the vigorous muscle that developed beneath his stony skin- he was impressive.His canter held an up-hill bounce, caused by his whither-high conformation, short in length however holding a bursting oomph of power and enthusiasm. His nostrils began to flaire, brief snorts would roll endlessly from their confines as he would willingly warm up body and mind for the gallop that was to come. However Ella would hold him back, feeling his strides lengthen and his speed increase slowly but surely. He was known for his gradual style, pace lifting slowly until he would cut a win no thicker than a head-length. So many horses showed bursts, especially as sprinters, but Tayo was an exception; he would slowly, slowly press down on his accelerator until the ‘burst’ gallopers had tired themselves out and he was still running strong. She had high hopes for the grey colt, and only prayed he would live up to them.They had cantered for 4 furlongs, and a layer of sweat had begun to lather beneath the rubbing of his webbed reins, foaming between his shoulder and neck. Ella reached down momentarily, a single swipe announcing to the colt that she was more than happy with his efforts. And then; with the lightest of urges Tayo would bounce into a gallop, at first it was nothing impressive, but with every moment the balling thoroughbred would seem to lengthen, expand, his neck reaching forward as his chest would begin to heave with effort, and soon he was steaming. But he didn’t die back in pace, instead he maintained it, and Ella was sure he even managed to push harder with every hoof that contacted the fraying dirt beneath them. He wanted to continue, to prove that he was capable, but Ella would soothe him, woahing him with her voice as she would lean back, tugging at his mouth gently to bring him back to a trot. Wow! He was something, and even in those 2 furlongs of sprinting he was impressive.
