Gallop

A Chapter by Ebs Newman

The wind whipped rain and dust into my eyes as I fought the urge to close them against nature’s assault. Where the bloody hell did this rain come from? I wondered silently. Thunder crashed angrily in the distance, the summer storm rolling in. The horse beneath me shuddered and fought against my hold on his reins, jerking my mind back onto the job. S**t! Did we just pass the 600 mark? I could barely see the track I was galloping along through the swirling rain and dust. My arms burned from holding back the horse, it was akin to trying to hold back a steam train. Snort snort snort. I focused on his rhythmic breathing and as we flashed by the next blurred blue marker I eased my hold and heeled the Thoroughbred forward. Thunder crashed again and he hesitated for the slightest second before lengthening his stride and lunging forward. My arms felt like they may pull out of their sockets as we zigzagged up the home straight. Was the liquid running down my face and back water or was it sweat? Who could tell? The white blur of the finishing post flashed past us as I sat up and hauled back on my reins. “Steady there. Whoah. Steady boy, Steady.” If the horse even heard me I couldn’t tell, I could barely hear my own voice through the wind but he began to slow. Breaking into a jaunty trot he leaped sideways as a plastic bag sailed right past in front of us. Sitting tight I urged him on and kept him moving forward. Counting his strides it took 15 before he began to settle and I could turn him around and head him for home. Boss man is going to be pissed! The colts zigzag run home was dismal at best and with a trial in two days things were not looking good. Shaking my head I knew we had no excuse good enough to justify was had just happened. Standing on the rail, bundled up in his beat up old oilskin jacket was my boss Carey Bossmon. He wore a pissed off looking scowl well of his weathered face. This man, standing at merely five foot was the one person who I was right now the most scared of in my whole world. If he was pissed of enough and he sacked me, I was screwed. Not that I would be able to find more rides, I just liked the way Boss man trained. He treated the horse like a horse and his staff like s**t but, he had for the most part happy horses. Bracing myself I rode towards him.

“What the bloody hell WAS that Girl?! This bloody idiot is suppose to trail on Wednesday and you just let him wander ALL over the bloody straight! I Don’t give a s**t about the wind, or the rain or if you have a friggin’ headache. That was unacceptable. Horrible. Take him back now. Tomorrow you will gallop THIS horse down THAT straight in a STRAIGHT LINE!” All of this was said as Carey’s face and neck got redder and redder until the vien on his neck was bulging out. He finally took a breath and stalked away towards his beat up ute muttering “Bloody female riders. Weak as. Why do I bother!”

Anger burned in my chest as I walked the colt back towards the laneway. He was eager to trot on and get home out of the weather, but I wanted time too cool off. It wasn’t my fault that the colt was over fed and under worked. Us track work riders put our lives on the line every time we put our bum in the saddle and today the under appreciation hit home. Some days I wonder why I even persist with this job. Holding my anger at bay I rationalised with myself. I need this job. Some days I even quite enjoy this job. AND there are plenty of worse places to work. Bossman may be an a*****e to his staff but he is fair to his horses.