Daybreak in Toronto - Part 2

Original article written by The Steward posted 3 years 0 weeks ago

I’m too old for this, Lucas Davenport thought grimly. He was standing at the bottom of the ramp to the van, where three of his four horses were standing impatiently in cross ties. One metal horseshoe met the side of the van with a shrill ring, causing Lucas to flinch.

He had only sent one groom up with the entries for the Steward’s Cup races that week, which meant that the lone groom had taken the first horse off the trailer and was now circling the shed, loosening tight muscles. “You got it, boss?” the groom asked rhetorically, and kept moving.

Lucas sighed and stepped into the van. Just Dreaming snorted, all fire and anxiety beaming from his eyes. Lucas stared at him, then turned to the filly Balfa Toujor. “You’re next,” he said, figuring that if he took long enough with the filly, his groom would go get the hot tempered Just Dreaming.

To his luck, he saw Xander Zone standing a few paces away in heated conversation with a rider. “Hey!” he shouted, breaking Xander’s concentration. “Come get your old horse!”

Xander looked confused, then laughed in understanding. He called Just Dreaming a name Lucas wouldn’t say in front of his wife, then bounded up the trailer and snapped a shank on the burly horse.

“He remembers me,” Xander said fondly, rubbing the colt’s broad forehead a bit roughly. Just Dreaming arched his neck and bellowed his arrival to the entire barn area. “He wants mares,” Xander translated.

“He can have them in three or four years,” Lucas said firmly. “Or if he wins.”

With Xander’s help, the four horses were unloaded, exercised, and stalled swiftly. “Drinks on you,” Xander said with a grin before bounding out the door to his own barn. His Steward’s Cup brigade included a $5 million earner and a $4 million earner, amongst others.

The barn was surprisingly quiet, despite the early hour. The track must have been closed on renovation break, as horses weren’t walking to and fro at the moment. The ship-in barn held only Lucas’s horses and another set at the far end; he could see a few dark heads staring back at him. He couldn’t quite see the colors on the tack trunk and webbings, but eventually noticed Gavin Guile pop around the corner, giving one of the horses a firm scratch under the chin.

Gavin had finished early, giving If Love Was Enough an easy jog and Lord Prism a stiffer gallop. He wasn’t yet rich enough to hire his own groom or exercise rider, and was doing everything himself. Including spying on the competition.

It wasn’t hard to find the Gigi Gofaster string; her neon green and red colors were visible several barns over. He had ducked in to check the set list before dawn: Sprint rival Most Spirited was going to the track with the third set, and Gavin wanted to see him in action.

As if on cue, the leggy black colt was led out of the barn, adorned in his purple Steward’s Cup saddle towel with his name in white letters. The towel matched the red of his saddle pad and bridle, and he moved on elegant, spindly legs free of bandages.

Gigi herself emerged a beat later, looking down at her cell phone and apparently missing Gavin, who was trailing behind at a safe distance. But when Most Spirited ducked into the tunnel to the track, Gigi paused to let Gavin catch up.

“Come to see the big horse?” she asked.

“I guess,” Gavin said sheepishly.

“I was watching your colt earlier,” Gigi said without embarrassment. “We all do it.”

Gavin smiled. “Thanks. Uh, how did he look?”

Gigi sighed and looked back at the track, where Most Spirited was emerging. “Unfortunately, very good. I wouldn’t mind if he looked less good.”

The compliment made Gavin smile.

--

“Ouch!”

Rochelle Zahacy jumped back, waving a threatening hand in Lego’s face. The temperamental gray filly pinned her ears, teeth snaking over for another bite.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rochelle warned in her lyrical Canadian accent. Her upper arm was already dark and swollen where Lego had found her mark. “That’s going to leave a bruise!”

Lego was ready to run. In fact, the entire Zahacy set was primed for the weekend’s races, with Rochelle’s only regret being that they were almost too ready. She still had four or five days to go, and the horses were acting like they could run that afternoon.

“She get ya?” Glenn Larson asked. He was walking a horse past the stall and didn’t wait for an answer as he disappeared down the aisle. The black colt on the shank was small and compact, muscled almost like a Quarter Horse. He was narrow, well balanced, and more than capable. He was With Drama, the Arc winner.

Rochelle finished saddling Lego and then stepped into the aisle to wait for her rider. Her blue merle puppy, Shae, whined anxiously from her leash tied to outside the barn. Rochelle snapped her fingers warningly.

Glenn came back around, and Rochelle took time to admire With Drama’s elegant physique. “He looks amazing,” she said.

“He’s a little sh-“ Glenn’s voice faded as they rounded the corner again, but Rochelle laughed, imagining what he had called the spirited colt. She had already heard “devil” and “pain in the…” so it wasn’t hard to guess what With Drama was being.

Her rider arrived, and Rochelle gave him an easy leg up on Lego. Once heading to the track, the light gray filly had a much better attitude.

“Which one is that?” Laura Smith asked cheerfully, falling into step beside her.

“Lego,” Rochelle said. “She’s got her towel on.”

“Yeah, well, you have THREE gray fillies in that race,” Laura explained. “I can’t tell them apart.”

“They aren’t even the best gray horse,” Rochelle said glumly. “Shallow is.”

Ashley Gibson’s Shallow was a 12-time winner of over $1.4 million. Her only two major losses had both come in the Steward’s Cup. She was seeking revenge on Friday.

“At least your horses can go past six furlongs,” Laura joked. “You should see my barn.”

--

At 8:20, the track closed for renovation break. Reporters and photographers gathered along the horse path to the tunnel, jockeying for position to view the horses that would be walking up right when the track opened. From 8:45 until 9, the track was designated for Steward’s Cup Classic horses only.

Brian Leavitt approached the group with apprehension. He could tell the moment that the crowd spotted him, and what that would mean. Sure enough, the word “Rathalos!” spread swiftly through the group like wildfire.

As expected, the Year 55 Louisville Derby winner walked a few yards behind him. He was plain and broad, with nothing marking his greatness save for his name on his saddle towel. He was perhaps a bit of an underdog in the Classic, not having won since the Derby itself, but the consistent and gritty Rathalos was definitely a fan favorite.

Another Classic horse approached from the other direction, and Brian would recognize the tornado-blaze face anywhere. That Voodoo Youdo was arching his neck and pawing every few steps, doing a Zenyatta-like dance until trainer Louise Bayou slapped him on the neck and called him a rude name. The colt threw up his head and eyed Rathalos on approach. The two colts exchanged loud greetings.

Horses descended on the tunnel from every direction. The tall and lean Delirium, earner of $5.3 million, looked especially dapper in his purple Steward’s Cup towel. Kris Bobby stood proudly at his side, rubbing his neck while the big horse sedately watched the crowd. Louise had to take a turn with Voodoo, letting him burn off energy in place as they spun first one circle, then another.

Three horses from the Danny Derby barn walked in single file towards the gap. The oversized filly Spe Chan brought up the rear, dwarfing both colts ahead of her. She looked especially good, gleaming in the early Canadian sunshine. The crowd oooed in apprecitation.

The last horse to approach the gap for the special set was a white-faced chestnut. He was tall – as big as Spe Chan – but more muscular and had the markings of a colt that would get heavy as a stallion. The dark-haired man in glasses beside him shot the crowd a challenging look. Brian recognized his nemesis, Napoleon.

Napoleon looked good. Really good. He was unlikely to get into the race, and would be diverted into the Marathon. But the multiple Grade 1 winner still had first preference in the Classic, which meant he was allowed to train with the others.

The track opened and the horses charged ahead, some backtracking the wrong way and others galloping straight off. When the crowd had rushed towards the rail for their photos and observations, a medium-sized gray with a long black mane and tail approached. His trainer, Regina Moore, patted him softly on the shoulder. “They always forget you,” she told the gray horse, her Classic runner Avatar. “11 wins and you’d think they would take your picture, too.”

Avatar, unbothered, stepped towards the track. Regina hoped that after the weekend, they would never forget him again.

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