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Username;;
SpartanAmethyst
Show Name:
ARR The Ides of March
Barn Name:
Pat | Patty | Pattycakes*
*You can usually find her
caked in mud.
Age:
8 years
Height:
16 hh
Halter:
Cash money green w/ gold
hardware. Maybe some 4 leaf
clovers on the noseband?
Discipline:Cross CountryRider:"Anti" GarciaStable:Amethyst Ridge
Euphorians
Stall #13 ==================================================================================================
"
When someone is good at what he does but is a nonconformist, there is a temptation in horse racing, like in all kinds of other areas of human endeavor, to dismiss him for his nonconformity rather than to recognize him for his excellence."
-David Milch
=============================================================
It was the Ides of March when she went into labor. It seemed fitting, coming from a mare named "Luck of the Irish" from her short racing career. Sired by a high profile Euphorian stud dubbed England's Squire out of Luck of the Irish, Pat was named for the holiday she was born on. Two days later came St. Patrick's day when all of her papers were finalized, and they threw a small party to welcome the long-awaited filly; not only was she the first foal of the year, but she was the one the stable owners - and jockeys - were most excited about. They couldn't wait to see who the lucky rider would be that got to sit astride her glory.
Often called a "million dollar foal" (though they didn't pay quite that much, the transportation and covering fees for the stud were quite high), Pat was raised with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was given the highest priority in care and the best anything that money could buy. She was constantly fussed over and worried about, though the independent young filly never quite understood why. She'd inherited the beautiful dunalino coat of her mother, and the sooty and rabicano from her sire. The bider marks that stained her shoulders was new to her natal stable, but were welcomed as her unique trademark. At least until large spots of white started to appear as she grew older; worried that his prize filly was sick, the owner spent thousands into multiple vets and hundreds of tests to make sure she was healthy. Each one gave him the same diagnosis, and he began to relax slightly. From somewhere in her lineage, or possibly even as a mutation, she was showing an extremely rare gene known as Vitiligo. At this time, not much was known about what it was or why it happened, so the vet could only shrug and say it was just cosmetic. Otherwise she was the picture of health. Time passed, and everyone grew used to - and even fond of - her new, odd, unique appearance. In the not-so-distant future, it would serve her well.
As she came into her training years, Pat proved to be the most obedient and easy to work with horses the trainers had ever seen. She took to the bridle smoothly, saddle with minimal issue, and rider like a complete natural. She was intensely in tune with her jockey, always with one ear back to listen to their words. On the racetrack, she had her father's extreme stamina, but also her mother's speed and long stride, even despite her shorter stature; while her sire had been a giant at nearly 17 hands, her mother was only 15.2, and Pat ended up only slightly taller than her dam. But what she lacked in height, she made up for in spirit; there was a reckless abandon about her that when she was let loose, she
ran. There wasn't a single other horse on property that could outrun her - except her mother. In the end a jockey by the name of Antonio Garcia was chosen to be her rider, a tiny man only 5'5" and thin as a rail, he was the perfect weight to not slow her down but kind enough to control her pace gently and keep her from hurting herself, just like her mother had years ago. The duo bonded quickly and closely; even before he ever sat upon her back, Antonio (called "Anti" around the stables for his non-traditional riding, care, and bonding methods with the horses he rode) took responsibility for everything to do with her care. This was something abnormal for jockeys, but not for him; he fed her, groomed her, "broke" her in, and even exercised her daily. He was eventually assigned to her and her alone, and they became inseparable.
The first day she walked out of her transport trailer and into an on-track stable, Pat knew nothing but excitement. People and other horses alike were stopping to stare, and she raised her head proudly. She was the talk of the stable, and she loved it. What was a blessing, though, was that in her excitement and anticipation, she wasn't actually listening to what was head. Most were disturbed and unkind about her strange appearance; while her owners and rider adored it, many though that she was sick or diseased in some fashion, and did their best to not only avoid her, but keep their horses away, not knowing that it was harmless. The gossip around her spread quickly, and she found herself the center of attention, both good and bad. One question still remained unanswered, though: How was she actually going to run?
It was during her debut race that she showed exactly how good she really was; though Anti had to hold her back from taking the track too fast, once he gave Pat her head she tore away from the pack, putting lengths between her lead and the mahogany thoroughbred desperately trying to keep up with her. It was a landslide win, and every race after that was nearly the same. By her third year, she was first in the Derby and Preakness bound, with no intention of taking anything less than the Triple Crown. On the day of the second race, it was rainy and overcast. Mud caked to her legs and tail, but something felt off about today. All of the staff were worriedly yet enthusiastically buzzing about their plans for the race, but both Pat and Anti didn't feel right about it. When they locked eyes before the race, both knew the other felt the exact same thing. Something was going to go wrong.
And something did go wrong; at the quarter mile mark a horse next to Pat slipped in the mud and slammed into her, tripping the Vitiligo-marked mare. Anti's foot caught in the stirrup, pulling him underneath her as she rolled, crushing him into the mud. The rest of the pack thundered over and around the two horses and jockeys, somehow missing them completely. Pat leapt up, covered in mud and filth; she'd fallen behind, she had to go! She could still win this! She nudged Anti with her muzzle, trying desperately to rouse him. He'd fallen off before, why wasn't he getting up? Torn between her concern for her rider and her need to win the second race, she just stood there, panicking. The other jockey was up, busy tending to his injured mount, an older
bay stallion she'd raced against previously. Suddenly there was a commotion, and other humans were hurriedly making their ways onto the track to help her rider. Perfect! She could finish the race!
In a heartbeat she bolted after the herd, opening up her stride and eating up the ground beneath her; she was a mottled blur against the rail, her owner and trainer were clocking unbelievable times; they'd never let her run herself out like that, so seeing her raw abilities was absolutely mind blowing.. At the 3/4 mile marker they were coming down to the wire, and she'd caught up to the back runners. She was showing signs of fatigue, that was obvious, but she never stopped. Pat dug a little deeper, pushed a little farther, and all the way through that final turn she crept through the ranks until she was neck and neck with the leader. They crossed the finish line in a dead heat, and upon photo review her nose was just inches ahead of the young colt's. By technicality, she was the winner through sheer determination, but because she didn't have her jockey, Pat was considered disqualified. She was led off the track limping slightly, but her hurt was more emotional as she watched them crown the young colt. That should have been her crown; what had she done wrong?
The long drive back home was made in silence. Pat hadn't seen her jockey since the race, and she was growing more and more concerned. She could use some comfort from her best friend and having him disappear after such a hard fall... A stone of anxiety and uncertainty was settling in her stomach, an she did not like the feeling one bit.
♣
When in the spring
time of the year,
when the trees
are crowned with leaves,
when the ash and oak,
and the birch and yew
are dressed in ribbons fair.
When owls call
the breathless moon
in the blue veil
of the night,
the shadows of
the trees appear
amidst the lantern light.
We've been rambling
all the night,
And some time
of this day.
Now returning
back again,
we bring
a garland gay.
Who will go down
to those shady groves,
and summon
the shadows there?
And tie a ribbon on
those sheltering arms,
in the spring
time of the year?
The songs of birds
seem to fill the wood
that when the
fiddler plays,
all their voices
can be heard,
long past their
woodland days.
We've been rambling
all the night,
And some time
of this day.
Now returning
back again,
we bring
a garland gay.
And so they linked
their hands and danced,
round in circles
and in rows.
And so the journey
of the night descends
when all the
shades are gone.
"A garland gay
we bring you here,
and at your
door we stand.
It is a sprout,
well budded out,
the work of
Our Lord's hand."
♣
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For 5 weeks, the staff at the stable fussed and doted over Pat, with vet visits and tests and light exercises. The limp in her step had been just a slight sprain, but it had healed up in no time, so Pat wasn't sure why all the commotion over her? She was given treats and extra grooming, and all of the attention she could ever want. But Anti was still nowhere to be found, and every time someone came into the stable she rushed to her stall door to see who it was, hoping desperately that it would be him. Finally she found herself entered into another race; she'd been itching to run again, having impressed even herself with her performance at the Preakness Stakes, despite everything that happened, but Anti wasn't around. Who was going to ride her?
The first jockey she met was an older man with mean eyes. He had a very rough style, and she didn't like it. So used to Anti's gentle hands, she fought the bit that he held too tightly, or the way he stung her haunch and shoulder with the whip. Anti had never used a whip before, and though she'd seen other jockeys use it during their race, one had never been turned on her. So, naturally, when she got sick of him abusing the whip mid-race, she politely exited the pack of Thoroughbreds and threw him off, pinning her ears at the offending human. This time, she didn't finish the race. Angry, she turned and trotted off so nonchalantly, back towards the gates where one of the outer riders could lead her off the field. As she passed, she gave her owner such a pathetic look of hurt betrayal that he immediately moved the jockey off of her. The next one wasn't much better, but it was for an entirely different reason. This jockey's hands were
too gentle; he was green, brand new to the racing industry, and didn't know how to control her pace. During that race she ran her heart out, leaving the entire pack in a trail of dust, but she also over-exhausted herself and took nearly to weeks to recover properly. Worried about his prize mare, the stable owner decided it might be best to retire her. He'd probably never find another rider that could hold her like Anti did. She had a good run, and hopefully she had many years ahead of her. If nothing else, she'd throw some gorgeous foals. At least, that was the plan.
What they didn't realize it that Vitiligo can affect fertility; in her case, she was nearly sterile.
It was only a few short months later that Pat found out she was being put up for sale. Her price tag was very high, and the staff continued to pamper her until the sale was made. The problem was she didn't sell immediately; while she had a lot of talent and undeniable ability, she was a retired racehorse, had not yet carried a foal to term, and though young at 5 years old, she'd held no other training and had developed a reputation for throwing a rider she didn't like, despite that only happening once. Slowly the stable owner began lowering her price, bit by bit, and a multi-class stable out of Denver popped up as soon as her price dropped within their budget. Quickly the agreement was made, and her new owners set out on a road trip to retrieve her.
It was the day that the new owners were set to arrive when a familiar face appeared in Pat's stall door; it was Anti, who's eyes were puffy and swollen from sadness. Quickly the mare greeted and nuzzled him, thankful that he was alive and wondering if he was the one buying her. "
Hey girl, miss me?" He'd crooned, sniffling softly. "
I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, I just woke up a few weeks ago. That accident did a number on me, coma and everything. I'm glad you came out okay though, I heard you even won the race without me. You're a good girl." There was a long moment of silence as Anti tried not to break down again, Pat's big brown eyes looking at him expectantly. "
You're going to your new home soon, huh? They'll treat you good. I've heard of this place before, raced against them, too; you'll be well cared for, I promise. I don't know what I'm gonna do, girlie; docs said I can't race again. Ever. All of my savings are drained from medical bills, even with the stable helping me out, but... I don't know. I'll figure it out, though, and one day I'll try and come visit you. How does that sound, hm?"
"
Or you could always come with her," a female voice suddenly said, and both jumped. "
She's not going to be a racer anymore, I was going to let her explore some other competitions. And you seem to know her best. Why don't you come on as one of my competition riders? Full pay, housing on property, you keep portions of your winnings, and you'll be the only one allowed to sit astride "big money" here. How does that sound?"
"
Where do I sign??" Anti said a little too quickly, and he winced.
"
No signing, just pack your things. We'll wait around a few days and get you loaded up, if you're ready to go," she said, grinning widely and offering her hand. Anti took it eagerly, this time trying to hold back happy tears. "
I'm Amethyst, owner of Amethyst Ridge Ranch. Glad to have you both on board."
It was only a few days later that everyone was loaded into the Amethyst Ridge trailer, including the few earthly belongings Anti had to his name, and were headed towards their new home. Anti rode in the back seat of Sam's truck, getting to know his new boss and her lead hand. Pat rode in the trailer, but she wasn't alone; funnily enough that bay stallion that had stumbled during the Preakness was with her. She'd learned his name was
Vēlox, and day he'd been so exhausted still from trying to keep up with her in the Derby and his owner training him far too hard that he'd stumbled and fallen. His jockey had cared for him, but the owner was furious, and despite being a championship sprinter in all of his other races, he'd been cast aside like a used tissue. His injury from the race brought his career to a screeching halt, but Amethyst had stepped in to rescue him before his owner did something brash. They became fast friends during that long car ride.
Today, Anti and Pat live a happy life at Amethyst Ridge. Though both were content to take it easy and just live life for awhile, both horse and rider still had the competition bug, bad. Racing was obviously out of the question, though Pat still loved to go on long sprints on the ARR Training track, and she lacked the necessary control of show jumping or the calm elegance of dressage. It was actually during a trail ride with Vēlox and his rider that they engaged in a friendly race through part of the cross country course, and it suddenly clicked. Anti felt the Euphorian move with a new sense of purpose and excitement, even despite her being unfamiliar with gauging her strides with jumping, and found it hard to rein her in once Vēlox began to slow. He's taken the idea to Amethyst, and has been paired with her Euphorian
Coyote for training. Her first few rounds through the course have been promising, and though she still has a lot to learn, hopefully she'll be on the competition circuit in no time.
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