Raja, Story of a Racehorse by Anne Hambleton

that’s it. The longer distance should suit him,” Bob told the vet a few days later when he came to check on me.

    â€œHey, Bob, you see the Preakness?” Pedro called as he walked into the shed row at the farm a few days later. “I didn’t get back early enough from dropping off that broodmare. Dang. I heard it on the radio. I can’t believe Annapurna won again. How’d he go? Good enough to win the Triple Crown? I can’t believe that no one has won it since Affirmed, 30 years ago. Belmont Stakes gon’ be exciting.”

    The day of the Belmont Stakes, Bob pulled the old television out of the office, banging it with his fist. We could see the rain pouring down hard. I knew that Max would do well. The tougher the footing, the tougher he got. What he lacked in a final kick of speed, he made up for in endurance and grit.
    And they were off! Max sat in Annapurna’s pocket just off his hind end and close to the two front runners for most of the race. When they started really running after the final turn, he dug deep, keeping up head to head with Annapurna. It was a long and muddy stretch run. Then he looked Annapurna in the eye, the way I used to do with him. Annapurna began to falter. Max dug deeper. By now, even Bob and Michelle were screaming. And he did! He beat Annapurna by two lengths, denying him a Triple Crown victory.
    â€œThat was the best race ever!” Michelle raved, red in the face, glowing from the excitement. She hugged and kissed Bob, who turned to me and patted me on the neck.
    â€œRaja, aren’t you proud of Max? You’d have won the whole darn Triple Crown.”
    I AM so proud of Max, but… I could have won the Triple Crown, I know it!
    I fretted all night, crushed that my chance for greatness was gone.

    August, Ocala, Florida
    â€œLet’s do a little gate schooling,” Bob instructed one day a couple months after the Preakness Stakes. By now, I was back in work, jogging and cantering on the track with Pedro in the steamy Florida mornings. We walked up to the starting gate, but when Pedro urged me in, all I could think of was the Florida Derby. Being trapped when I needed to escape, and the blackness.
    I just can’t go in.
    Pedro and Bob worked patiently with me for two hours. Every day it was the same. They covered my eyes, even tried to lure me with grain, but I just couldn’t go in.

    November, Ocala, Florida
    The energy around the farm seemed off. Bob stayed in his office watching the news on his television, more tense than I had ever seen him.
    â€œThe Sheikh and Princess Ayesha need to go home to their country because there’s political unrest,” Bob told Pedro glumly. “The Sheikh’s keeping the farm for now but scaling down. He’s asked me to start looking for buyers for some of the broodmares and yearlings. We’d love to have you stay on, but you’ll have to work part time.”
    He looked over to my stall. “We have to figure out what to do with Raja. I hate to just turn him out for the rest of his life. What a waste — he’s so talented.”
    Will I be sold? I want to race badly, but I just can’t go into the gate. What future is there for a racehorse that can’t go in the starting gate?
    â€œWon’t you let me try to make Raja into a jumper?” Michelle responded when Bob told her the news. “If he can’t go to stud and won’t go in the starting gate, what value is he to the Sheikh? He’s still an incredible athlete. I’d give anything for him.”
    â€œGood idea, I’ll ask the Sheikh. He may even give him to you. He’d get a kick out of it if Raja ends up at the Olympics. You might have to learn Arabic, move to the Middle East and change your nationality if he really is Olympic material,” Bob joked.
    â€œHey, guess who’s buying Max — Flash Jackson! He’s sending him to stud.”



4
Jumpers
    January, Ocala,