Page 36 of Dragon Her Heels

EIGHT

“What a strange yet endearing little chicken.”

Despite just having been breezed, Alligator Bait needed to run with every fiber of her being. After a quick consultation with Lucifer, who promised to send one of his brothers over to tend to my horse if needed, I indulged the mare. The instant her racing saddle came out, she pranced in place and followed me around, more eager than any puppy. To add complication to the situation, Zenzi took interest in my activities, which meant David and Buttercups wanted to join in the fun, too.

The colt, fortunately for my sanity, slept off his latest milk bender near the track fence in the pasture, which made dealing with him simple enough. I closed my eyes, focused on the baby animal, and wrapped the lightest of magical blankets around him, which would notify me if he woke.

With luck, I’d finish running the horses around the track before he clued in I’d borrowed his new mother for a while.

Once I had Alligator Bait saddled, I lined the horses up, expecting chaos as soon as the lot of them decided to race. Buttercups could, when she wanted, give Alligator Bait a run for her money. Alas for me and my aspirations, Buttercups didn’t want to, not often.

She enjoyed her retirement.

As the gentle giant of the lot, David would enjoy his outing bucking and romping rather than racing.

The thoroughbreds running did an excellent job of exciting him.

I questioned myself, my lack of common sense, and my willingness to add to the chaos that was my life. Rather than complain about it, I shrugged, accepted I would do far more than inconvenience myself to keep my hoofed friends happy, and got into the saddle.

My knees, thighs, and calves would not thank me later, but I needed the conditioning as much as my horse did, especially if we were going to give the Triple Crown a legitimate shot.

Rather than decide she was a tough filly out for blood, Alligator Bait waited for my leisure, bobbing her head with her ears swiveled back, anticipating the moment I gave her the signal to run. “All right, Zenzi. Once I set Alligator Bait loose, feel free to race her. She’s competitive, and the faster she pushes without hurting herself, the better off she’ll be on race day. My job is to guide her and keep her from colliding with other horses, try to figure out what the other jockeys will do, and set her pace. Today, however, we’re just going to run around the track two or three times and let her run. If Buttercups decides she wants to run, she might beat us. She isn’t carrying me around, after all.”

The devilish horse bobbed her head, and I reached over and scratched her neck, praising her for being a good girl.

Then I settled on Alligator Bait’s back, drew in a breath, and gave my chestnut the signal to run.

Had we been in an actual gate, she would have surged through the instant the handler released her bridle and it opened. Buttercups decided she wanted to give us a run for our money, surging to catch up to her fellow two year old.

Zenzi played antagonist, coming up along Alligator Bait’s side. The instant my mare clued in she had two horses competing with her for the lead, she went from eager and responsive to one hell of a tough ride, requiring me to put in effort to control her pacing for the first part of the breeze.

I wanted to emulate an actual race, where I conserved her strength and allowed the other horses to tire themselves out before unleashing the beast and giving my mare a chance to shine.

While Alligator Bait protested and fought me, she allowed both Buttercups and Zenzi to pull ahead. I waited until they were two lengths in front of us to lower my hands and click my tongue.

The thoroughbred treated my command as law and chased after the other horses, picking up speed. I eased her to the outside of the track, which added distance but offered better mobility, a move that many jockeys tried to avoid.

The shorter their horses had to run, the higher their odds of winning.

With Alligator Bait’s size and willingness to give it her all without me ever needing to make use of a crop, I thought we could overcome the disadvantage.

After the first circuit of the track, Buttercups slowed, easing back to a leisurely gallop. That left Alligator Bait to catch and pass Zenzi, which she managed halfway around the second pass.

To remind the mare I had a crop and a willingness to use it, I tapped it against her flank to encourage her to strut her stuff.

Her ears pinned fully back, and she worked to add distance to her lead against Zenzi.

Her reaction amused me; I’d tested the crop against myself numerous times to make certain there was zero chance I could hurt my horse with it. The tip, made of a wide strip of foam, made noise. At most, I’d gotten the lightest of stings against my leg catching myself with the flexible shaft rather than the tip. I’d resolved that issue through the addition of some cloth to limit the possibility of contact with anything hard.

While jockeys were permitted limited usage of the crop, in a perfect race for me, I would carry it without ever needing to signal to Alligator Bait I needed a bit more out of her.

Near the end of the third pass, my mare flagged, and I noted the distance to the starting point so I could work on her endurance. Rather than push her, I allowed her to slow, praising her for her hard work. The mare’s ears pricked forward, and she bobbed her head. She settled down to a walk of her own accord, and I sent her around the track two more times before I dismounted, praising her again.

David, as expected, bucked and pranced around with zero care the other horses had run. Buttercups waited by the gate so she could go back to the serious business of grazing, and Zenzi had opted to ignore me altogether, jumping the fence to return to the colt, who continued to nap.

I set David and Buttercups loose in their pasture before heading in the direction of the barn with Alligator Bait, who would enjoy the equivalent of a spa day for a horse, starting with a nose to tail grooming, treats, a check of her legs for potential injury, and once she was completely cooled, a bath.

The thoroughbred lived for breezing and expected baths as a reward for getting what she wanted most in life.