D'Artagnan

Racehorse:

We haven't had any horse stories here in a while. We got a new horse in yesterday, a beautiful fleabitten grey Thoroughbred named D'Artagnan. I haven't gotten any photos of him yet, but will.

We had several people out at the farm wanting a trail ride this morning, so the farm's owner asked me to lead them out. "You can try D'artagnan!" she said brightly.

"What can you tell me about him?" I asked.

"Well, he sometimes bucks if you try to turn right," she replied.

"We may need to turn right on the trail," I mentioned.

She shrugged. "Racehorses are like that," she said. "They spend their whole lives turning left."

"Racehorse," I said without enthusiasm.

"Ex-racehorse," she answered. "I'll lunge him for you."

So I'm watching the horse being lunged while I get my kit together, and he's bucking and kicking up a storm. "Seems like an energetic fellow," I said.

"He won't buck under saddle," she promised.

"He's wearing a saddle right now," I pointed out.

She coughed. "I mean, once you're in the saddle."

So, off we went. He was a great horse. He didn't like to go right, as she noted, but the only reason I know was that he had a much harder mouth on the right. He may be an "ex-racehorse," but he's got lots of spirit and wants to go. I was leading a party of fairly green riders, so we were just taking a relaxing walk, but I could feel that he wanted to push out. The woman riding behind me was on a horse named Bella, who is also hot to trot.

Then, coming up a hill, D'Artagnan walked under a dead branch that stretched across the trail. I guess he didn't see it, but it was low enough I couldn't duck it. It broke against my body, thick enough that it made a huge CRACK!

Guess it sounded like a starting gun.

That horse took off from a start to a dead run, just like a racehorse should. Bella came right on behind him.

I grabbed the reigns and pulled back and in hard, with a sharp "Ho!" I didn't expect it to matter at all, though, with Bella running right behind him, close enough that he could feel her breath on his hip. Horses are herd animals, after all, and when they get going together they feed off each other. I figured it'd be a ride before I'd be able to get him under control.

He dropped out of the run and back to a walk without the slightest complaint. Horse didn't run three steps. He did just what he was supposed to do.

Later, back at the barn, and was telling the owner about him. The limb had been the only problem, I said, but I was impressed with how responsive he was with another horse right there, pushing hard.

She smiled. "There are some things," she said, "that racehorses are used to."