Daybreak on Long Island - Part 1

Original article written by The Steward posted 13 years 0 weeks ago

“Do I have to?” Emily Shields grumbled out loud, flopping backwards onto the bed. Her neatly stacked piles of clothing toppled upon impact, and her disgruntled kitten bolted from his hiding spot under the bed.

“Have to what?” Dave Shields asked, popping his head around the doorframe. Emily noticed that he held a paintbrush in his right hand and wore a streak-covered green smock.

“Pack,” Emily answered, before adding, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Dave’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Painting.”

“I’m not stupid,” Emily snapped back, “I meant what are you painting. Obviously.”

“A horse portrait, what else would it be?” Dave shot back.

Emily glared at him, taking in the dash of white paint smeared on his cheek and the drip of brown down his chest. She dissolved into giggles, and he smiled too. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked, surveying the empty suitcase and the now-muddled clothes.

“I’m just packing for New York,” Emily explained. “I leave in three hours. I haven’t packed a single thing. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

“You know I have to hold down the fort,” Dave said, nodding out the window. The couple had recently moved from their summer home in California back to their sprawling Trial By Summer Farm in Kentucky. “I’ve gotta get the yearlings prepped for the next sale, and that one mare is having some trouble…”

“That one mare?” Emily snorted, sitting upright and bending over to pick up the suitcase. “You have no idea what’s going out there. You’ll just be holed up in here painting while I’m gone.”

“Would you have it any other way?” Dave asked, turned to examine the packing situation. “Have you remembered things like your toothbrush?”

“I’m not there yet,” Emily said, but she walked over to the bathroom and packed both the toothbrush and toothpaste.

A few minutes later, the suitcase was stuffed with clothes for all types of weather, barn clothes for the morning, business clothes for the afternoon, and party clothes for the evening. The only thing missing was…

“Socks!” Emily exclaimed, pulling one of her sock drawers open gleefully. “What should I take?” She fished out ten pairs: kittens, horseshoes, guitars, pandas, koalas, beagles, peace signs, diamonds, pink and black stars, and rainbows.

Dave counted them quietly and frowned. “It’s Monday night. Aren’t you only going to be gone five days? Four and a half?”

“So? What if I’m wearing kitten socks and suddenly I really want to wear my beagle socks, and I don’t have them?” Emily posed the hypothetical as if he were stupid. “Obviously, I’d better just take them.”

“Obviously,” Dave muttered, and then glanced into her suitcase one last time. “Okay, I’m going back to painting. It looks like you have everything. You packed your cell phone charger, right?”

“I’m not stupid,” Emily said again. She watched him walk out the door, and waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps, then she went to her bedside table, fished out her cell phone charger, and shoved it into the bag.

--

“98….. 99….. 100!”

Having completed ten sets of one hundred reps, Franky Dam dropped from the pull up bar and picked up his towel, draping it behind his neck. The wiry man checked the clock on the wall, 3:52 am. “Good,” he muttered out loud, then ducked into the locker room to shower and change.

At 4:03 am, Franky left the 24 Hour Fitness and started the short drive to Long Island Park. The streets were deserted at the early Tuesday hour, but the towering lights of the racetrack rose quickly into view.

Cars gathered and formed a line outside of the main gate, idling quietly while the security guards methodically checked every person’s licenses or media credentials. Franky drummed his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, grumbling in frustration at the slow progress into the track.

When Franky finally pulled up to Barn 31, it was 4:30. The sky was still slate black, and activity between the barns was minimal. Both the main and training tracks didn’t open until 5, and without the ring of hooves on concrete, the backside remained quiet.

In the second stall, a compact bay colt stood tied to the back wall. The colt craned his neck around, watching his trainer approach. Franky ducked under the webbing and took in the colt’s appearance. He wore a white bridle and a purple Steward’s Cup towel sporting the name ALL I WANT TO TELL. Franky checked the stirrup leathers, then removed the colt’s halter and led him out into the shedrow.

“Can you hold him a second?” Franky asked the groom who sat on an overturned bucket outside the tack room.

“You going to be first on the track?” the groom teased, standing and grasping the colt’s bit. “Do you need a leg u…”

Franky had already sprung into the saddle, landing neatly and gathering the reins without help. The groom eyed him suspiciously. “You giving the good stuff to yourself and that colt?”

Franky just grinned, then steered the colt out the shedrow door. The pair was immediately enveloped in the still darkness; the colt’s hooves rang loudly on the concrete until he stepped into the tree-lined horse path. Instead of continuing to the end of the path and the gap to the main track, Franky swung the colt right and the pair stepped onto the deserted training track.

Franky could barely see a hundred yards ahead, but he urged the colt into a jog anyway. All I Want to Tell tucked his nose down, flicked his ears back, and moved off at a lively pace, his knees nearly knocking against his chin in an elegant show-horse trot. After one lap, Franky stood in the stirrups and felt the colt shift into a light gallop. They lapped the track three more times, then the pair returned back to the barn.

“Good, boss?” the groom asked, reaching up to grasp the colt’s rein.

“Good,” Franky confirmed. He stood, leaned forward, kicked his legs out, and leapt to the ground. He gave the colt a sharp pat on the neck, then ducked out the door and headed to his car. By the time he turned left out of the backside entrance, the line to get in was well down the block and the sun had started to rise.

--

Trainer Emma Lochran bent over the gray filly’s neatly trimmed hoof and frowned. The sweet-faced, narrow filly cocked an ear in Emma’s direction, inquiring about the status of her minor hoof bruise. Emma gently set the hoof down and patted the filly on the neck. “I’d tell you, but you’ve got so much packed in there that I can’t see, little girl,” she muttered. Emma let herself out of the stall, reattached the webbing, and started to dig through her tack trunk.

She methodically pushed aside bandages, boots, riding gear, buckets, sponges, and brushes, but was unable to locate the hoof pick. After some serious digging, she stood up and frowned harder. “Where’s my hoof pick?” she asked, annoyed with herself.

There was a clanging down the aisle as Phil Hoeflich led his gelding Sky Ruler out of one of the stalls and the stirrup banged against the doorframe. “Hey, Phil!” Emma called out. “Did you borrow my hoof pick?”

“No, sorry,” he yelled back with a smile. “If I see any hoof picks walking around, I’ll let you know!”

Emma knew he was kidding, but she felt more irritated than before. She started to dig again, removing everything from the trunk and setting it out in the aisle, which backfired when Tim Matthews, Jr. rode by perched atop of Sport Bike, a compact chestnut with a crooked white stripe. “Watch out!” Tim hollered good-naturedly, stopping the colt short before running over the contents of the trunk.

“Sorry,” Emma said, quickly removing the offending equipment. “Hey, Tim, have you seen my hoof pick?”

“You only brought one?” Tim asked, cocking his head slightly in confusion.

“Well I only have one horse!” Emma snapped, slightly defensively. “Sorry, Tim, I’m just mad at myself for misplacing it!”

“Hope you find it,” Tim said, grinning, and he urged Sport Bike onward.

“I guess I’ll have to go borrow one,” Emma said to Sofie. The pretty filly nodded her head sympathetically, tossing her silken mane.

---

Back to Steward's Cup articles