Raja, Story of a Racehorse (11 page)

Suddenly, we heard a loud CRASH!

Whoa! What's that?

Legato and I both stopped suddenly and stood frozen, hearts pounding. A second later, a six-point buck followed by a doe and fawn burst out in front of us through the corn, bumping into Legato's hind quarters. Surprised, Legato took off galloping across the field. Mary, who had been adjusting her stirrup and chatting, fell hard onto the sun-baked ground and lay still.

She's not moving.

“Oh my god!” Oakley whispered as he breathed in sharply. Almost as suddenly, he vaulted off. I noticed that his hands were trembling as he tried to wake her.

“I'd better not move her — it could be her back or neck. Mary, are you OK? Speak to me! Wake up!”

The hot sun beat down on us silently as a bot fly buzzed around my belly. I swished my tail and stamped. Legato, the buck and his family were long gone.

Mary still didn't move.

I thought of my mother and how still she had been in the field.

Mary! Wake up…Wake UP.

“Rats, where is my cell phone,” Oakley cursed, fumbling in his pockets. Then he jumped back on me. “Raja, we need to get back to the barn to call an ambulance, quickly. Now you can show me your speed.”

My heart started to spark as we galloped.

This was what I had missed.

I hadn't galloped fast since I was racing, over a year ago. We headed to a big post and rail, part of the fence line. Gallop, gallop. Balance, lock on, one, two, three, fly!

Wow, jumping at that speed really feels like flying.

Over another fence, then down a hill to the farm road at the edge of the field next to the barn. Now I was doing a two-minute lick with Oakley crouched over my neck urging me on. I ran, worried for Mary, but secretly happy to go, go, go!

“Mary's had a fall. She's unconscious. I need to call an ambulance.” Oakley jumped off and handed the reins to Speedy, then leaned over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“No problem.” Speedy took me from him. “I'll send one of the girls to find Legato.”

Within minutes we heard a loud whirring sound in the air above the barn.

“There's the helicopter. Those boys're quick,” remarked Speedy, as he gently toweled me dry after my bath.

“I just talked to the doctor,” Michelle told Oakley later that night as he crouched down, smearing the cool thick clay poultice below my knees, wrapping wet brown paper over the poultice and finishing with a stable bandage.

“She has a concussion and four broken ribs, but other than that, she's OK. She'll stay in the hospital tonight, but she's expected to make a full recovery. Her parents are with her.”

Oakley finished the bandage and stood up. “Broken ribs are the worst. It hurts whenever you breathe. Poor Mary.” He shook his head. “Thank goodness I was on Raja today. No other horse would have been able to go that fast and jump like that. He's the one that saved her life. The EMTs said that if the helicopter hadn't gotten there so quickly, she could have died. I think Raja liked it — going fast, I mean…Raja, you're the best,” he said, giving me a hug, “you saved Mary's life.”

Michelle patted my neck and pressed a sugar cube to my lips. “You knew her life was in danger, didn't you, boy.” She turned to Oakley, “I swear this horse is a genius.”

Oakley nodded in agreement, “Apart from being scared for Mary, that gallop was the most exciting thing I've ever done, even better than the jumpers at Wellington.”

I agree. Galloping and jumping across country is almost as good as racing.

“I saw you blazing across the field,” Prism grinned at me the next afternoon. “You looked like a timber horse coming up to the finish.”

“What's a timber?” I started to say, but was drowned out by the terriers barking loudly as a big hay wagon lumbered into the yard, then the grinding, gravelly creak, creak, creak of the hay elevator bringing the bales up to the hayloft above us, and thump, thump, thump as they were unloaded and stacked.

Speedy wiped his dripping face with his shirt, joking with the farmer as they lifted the bales off the precariously stacked wagon and placed each one on the elevator.

“I'm glad we're gettin' this hay in today. They're callin' for some bad weather. The cows are all lyin' down. We gon' get some RAIN.”

He shouted as the bales chugged their way toward the big hayloft door in the side of the barn, “Oakley, ready? You keepin' count? After this load, we're done.”

“Ready” a voice replied from the dark opening.

Sinister clouds gathered on the horizon, slowly advancing, accompanied by low rumbles of thunder. The sticky, unbearably heavy air was so thick that you had to push your way through it, if you had the energy. I stood still, head next to the fan on my door, drenched in sweat, not wanting to move.

After the hay was unloaded, Speedy began afternoon chores. He turned up the radio and sang along as he swept the aisle, “Ahhh'm so in love with you.” He paused outside my stall to turn on the hose and give me a casual pat. “The Reverend Al Green, ain't no one better.”

He moved from stall to stall, topping off the water buckets and singing with a group of interested terriers following him, hoping for a corn chip, then racing toward him each time he casually dropped one.

“BLEEP, BLEEP,” the radio interrupted Al Green, followed by a voice. “A severe weather warning for the tri-county region has been issued. A storm is moving east with hail, wind gusts up to 50 miles an hour and possible flash flooding. A severe weather warning is in effect.”

“Sounds like we're in for a big one,” he muttered, turning off the hose. Several horses heard him as he started measuring out the afternoon feed, and nickered and banged their buckets in anticipation. As another song came on the radio, a heavy rain started drumming an insistent rhythm on the barn roof. I began to paw the ground.

“What is it, Raja?” Speedy went out to close the outside top doors of all of the stalls and then came back to me, “Easy, boy.”

CRASH! The thunder sounded as if it were tearing the sky apart.

“Why, Raja, I think you mus' be afraid of thunderstorms. I had an old dawg scared of thunder — he'd hide under the bed until the storm was over.”

The big barn door slid open.

“We got soaked,” laughed Michelle, leading Toile into the barn, followed by Oakley, both laughing and dripping and making squishy sounds as they walked in their sodden leather riding boots.

“I was on course and the skies opened up — couldn't see anything. It's a good thing Toile could. We won, but I couldn't tell you what the last three fences were.”

“What's wrong?” She looked at Speedy, then me, her eyes flashing.

“Raja don' like thunderstorms,” drawled Speedy. “I mean, he really don' like thunderstorms. If it's okay with you, I think I better stay here with him tonight.” He sat down in his plastic lawn chair and started to sing in a low voice.

Speedy sang to me all night. As the sun's first rays made patterns on the barn aisle, I leaned over my stall door and nuzzled his wrinkled face. He reached up and patted my nose. “You're welcome, Raja, anytime. I know you'd do the same for me.”

January, two years later, Ocala, Florida

“Zero jumping faults, zero time faults, a clean round for Raja.”

My favorite words!

“Oakley, I can't believe how time has slipped by. Raja looks like a different horse than he did when I got him two years ago as a four-year-old. Look at his topline and the muscles in his hindquarters. He's SOLID. I think he really might be my Olympic horse. This year will tell me a lot about what he's capable of. I'm going to shoot for a Grand Prix this spring and if he's as good as I think he is, the Olympic selection committee will start to pay attention to us. I'm really looking forward to this year. I bet you are, too, aren't you, buddy.” She scratched the tickly spot above my eyes and fed me a sugar cube.

At six, I was younger than most of the other horses and I progressed faster, jumping higher and more complicated courses. And, of course, I won for Michelle.

Just like with Pedro and with Willie, we were better together.

Back in Florida now, we trained every day and went to shows on the weekend. At almost every show, we drew an audience and someone offered to buy me.

“Sell my child prodigy? I don't think so. He's the smartest and most athletic horse I've ever sat on. He's not for sale.”

“The Olympics are two years away and people are hunting around for talented horses that might be Olympic material. I think you're in that category.” Prism told me one day. She always knew the latest about the horses, riders and trainers in the Hunter/Jumper world and loved the gossip traded around by other horses, the farrier, vet and Michelle's students.

The Olympics!

A Brazilian Olympic rider with a funny accent tried to buy me, and a loud, aggressive man with a nasty-smelling cigar, Tony DeVito, wanted me for his daughter.

“Name a price, any price,” I heard him say, waving the cigar elaborately in the air, “I only buy the best.”

But I wasn't for sale.

“Out of my way, dogs — dang…oww!” Michelle groaned.

“What happened? Are you OK?” Oakley called from down the aisle.

“No! I tripped on Muttley's tennis ball and twisted my ankle. Ow! I think I tweaked that metal plate they put in when I broke it last year.” She hobbled over to a hay bale and sat down, grimacing.

“Can you please get me some ice and a bandage? I think there are some ice boots in the tack room fridge. You know, the ones we use on Toile after she jumps. And Speedy's lawn chair? Thanks. Look — It's already starting to swell up and turn purple. Dang! I'd better get an x-ray. It'll be a while before I can ride. I don't think I'll make the big Grand Prix in Wellington this weekend.”

She sat for a few minutes, thinking, while Oakley filled up a large wheelbarrow with a bale of hay and pushed it down the aisle, delivering two flakes to each stall.