Raja, Story of a Racehorse by Anne Hambleton Page B

other horses or go to special retirement farms. The unlucky ones go to the auction and are sold to the killers for meat.”
    Meat? He can’t possibly be right.
    â€œAnd don’t get me started on Warmbloods.” He rolled his eyes. “They act so superior. Sport horses, they’re called. I have to admit — they’re good jumpers.” Holzmann stopped to yawn, sighed a deep, rumbling sigh, and continued,“I’ve been to all of the big international shows: Aachen, Dublin, Hickstead, the World Championships and the Olympics. Michelle and I won the silver medal, second best in the world. I like the concentration and the precision of show jumping. It’s a thinking-horse’s sport. Now I’m retired and I teach Michelle’s better students.”
    â€œDon’t let him fool you,” chimed in a grey almost white, pony in the next stall, “He just likes to show off for the crowd. Give him an audience and he’ll go like a champ. At home, with no one watching, he acts like a two-year old. I’ve seen him buck off more than one of those kids he claims to be ‘teaching.’”
    â€œSpeak for yourself, Shorty,” Holzmann retorted. “You’re vainer than everyone.”
    The pony laughed good-naturedly.
    â€œI’m Farnley Prism. I take kids to big horse shows and win blue ribbons for them. Short stirrup, pony hunter, equitation, you name it. I’m famous. Everyone knows me. I teach kids about winning and I give them confidence. If they can halfway ride, they’ll win with me. And if they can’t ride, I’ll take care of them and teach them. Michelle doesn’t usually coach pony hunter riders, but her niece, Grace, is riding me now.”
    Prism giggled mischievously, as though she enjoyed stirring things up, then winked at me with her white eyelashes and big eyes. “Unlike Lord Holzmann, who finds it amusing to buck off anyone who gets on him, I was taught that the mark of a well-bred horse is kindness and patience. After all, I’m a Farnley pony, one of the best Welsh pony families.”
    Holzmann rolled his eyes again. “See what I have to put up with? Over there is L’Etoile du Nord — “Toile” for short. She’s a Selle Français and used to be owned by someone on the French Olympic team. Michelle has some rich owners who want her to win the gold medal so they buy her nice horses. Toile doesn’t say much, but she’s a very good jumper and she adores Michelle.”
    The big chestnut mare looked over at me with a guarded look and nodded slightly. I felt a twinge of jealousy.

    Minty-smelling, tingly, warm baths, every day.
    Oh, how I love them!
    Michelle tried on several of the strange big saddles to make sure that one fit my back perfectly. And the fussing! It made me feel like I was really special. At least
    30 minutes a day grooming, boots on for turn-out to protect my legs, and the massage lady once a week to keep my muscles loose. I usually fell asleep when she came.

    Speedy sang along with the radio as he flicked the two dandy brushes in a rhythmic motion across my back.
    I relaxed, enjoying his singing and the scratchy sensation of the brushes and smelling the delicious salty corn chips he always carried. I reached around and stuck my nose in his pocket looking for them. Speedy just laughed. “You sly dawg. OK, here’s a treat.”
    Thick saddle pad and saddle on. Hoof polish, mane brushed down with water, a wipe with a soft rub rag, a final squirt of fly spray and it was time to train.

    â€œI told you that he’d be good. He’s so smart and athletic,” Michelle told Oakley as he watched her ride me. The springy sand underfoot, mixed with bits of rubber, made me want to show off my fancy walk and trot as Michelle rode me around the big arena, stopping to show me brightly colored wooden jumps and trot me over the row of poles on the ground. Next, she headed