Chapter 4

“Where’s my whip?”

“Who’s taken my gloves?”

“Will you stand still!”

The barn’s retired horses were coming in from their overnight turnout and whinnied in protest at being separated from their pasture buddies. Hay was being dispensed from wheelbarrows trundling up and down the aisles, adding a sweet aroma to the pervasive odor of equine sweat and droppings, which gives horse people a high and keeps us sane and happy!

I checked the ride times on the cork message board outside the tack room. The first horse was due to compete at 9 A.M. and it was now 8:30. I decided to watch a few horses before getting on Besca. Unlike the genuine competitors, I was under no time pressure and could ride her when I wished.

The previously light breeze was now gathering strength outside, and made an intermittent rushing noise on the corrugated roofs. A few horses, including mine, picked up their heads at the sound before dropping them to eat again.