Post by april on Jun 29, 2009 11:22:11 GMT -5
Poker was born to racing. Like with all thoroughbreds it runs like a liquid fire through his veins. Speed, Drive, and above all, Heart. He can’t seem to hold himself in during our warmup. He never disobeys, but goes just at the point of breaking in to the next fastest gate. He crab steps and toe dances at the same time, half rearing. I can tell he’s feeling fantastic, and I grin to know he loves what we do together on the track. He loves me too, and it’s that love that keeps him doing as I ask. I know he must love me a lot to keep from just breaking into a gallop. As bad as he wants to fly, he’s totally listening to me, flicking his ears back when I talk to him. “I know sweet love. Just a second and we’ll have a breeze.” I let him into a slow canter. Poker springs into the faster pace, but I take a firm hold on the reins so he knows we’re not galloping yet. After we lap the course for the second time I let him go into a collected gallop. I give him the signal once every muscle is as limber as a wet rag I drop my hands and let out the reins slightly. He goes into a gallop smoother than anyone could describe. I guide him closer to the rail, and we sweep around the clubhouse turn. With the three quarter pole just ahead I ease up on the reins, letting Poker out. He eagerly responds. I feel in sync with him like never before. I can feel the rhythm, a single pulse in both our hearts. We’re a team, as close as human and horse can get. Two separate bodies, but one mind and one heart loving the same sensation of letting imaginary wings carry us at blinding speed down the track. I feel so glorious I start to sing as we fly together. “You hear it calling. You can’t deny, cause when it calls you know you’re gonna fly. It’s all around you. It fills your wings. You and I, we know the wind.” There’s no joy in the world like this, for either the rider or the horse. If this were a real race Poker would fight to win until he dropped if he were allowed to, and as it is he acts like he wants to outrace his own shadow. It means that much to him. He’s going so fast I worry his hind hooves might cut his front legs, so I rate him quickly as we finish. I cool him out, and can see although the workout was long and intense his coat is barely marred by sweat at all. His beautiful, soulful, almond shaped eyes shine brightly with joy. He tosses his head, and I happily hug, praise, and pet him before I give him a cooling bath and lead him out for some turnout time.