Free The Legend of Zippy Chippy by William Thomas Page A

getting rid of Zippy?
    When confronted with this question, Felix Monserrate nodded his head up and down slowly, then looked away and quickly changed the subject. “Backa tabacka” was just a memory, and maybe as good as it would ever get for the eccentric equine half-appropriately named Zippy Chippy. It was small consolation to his owner, but the only upsides to this horse’s career were the growing legions of fans who would come to see him race at Finger Lakes and the large number of followers on simulcast programming who were betting on him from tracks all across North America. Complying with the request to pose for photographers, Felix sensed there was something curious going on here. Was it the souvenir ticket stubs the bettors were after? Proof they had the sense of humor to bet on a horse that couldn’t win? Nobody, least of all Felix, knew.
    A big, strong girl who worked with Emily in the same backside barn had it figured out.
    â€œZippy was like an ‘opposite,’ ” recalled Krystal Nadeau. She was just thirteen years old and showing cows at the local 4-H club in the Finger Lakes when she first heard of Zippy Chippy.
    â€œEverybody was talking about him. All my friends said, ‘We gotta go and see him race.’ I thought he must be a great horse like Secretariat, but” – and she giggles before she continues – “he was like the opposite.”
    More like opposite poles of the earth – Secretariat clinched the Triple Crown by winning the Belmont Stakes by thirty-one lengths, while occasionally Zippy’s toughest opponent to the finish line was the setting sun.
    Meanwhile, back at Zippy’s stall number seven, Felix was staring at his horse in silence, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Getting rid of him would not involve a sale, since nobody wanted him, even as a “claimer.” Getting rid of him could mean giving him up to a second career as a jumper or a show horse or an aging pet on a hobby farm. And retirement? They had already tried that, with disastrous results. Getting rid of him could also mean offering him up at an auction where horses are bought in large lots by the owners of slaughterhouses in Mexico and Canada. Although America has banned such butchery, its neighbors to the north and south have not. Sentencing a horse to death, by auction or otherwise, is such a horrid thought for caring horsemen that they can only speak of it in code: “A little girl fell in love with my horse.”
    Felix’s mind was in panic mode as he prepared Zippy for an early morning workout and the exercise boy stuffed cotton batten in the ass of his pants. The sheer weight of their situation came crashing down on him as he saddled up his brown-eyed boy. First came the chamois grip that keeps everything on top of it from slipping off the horse’s back. Should he simply and quietly hand him off to another trainer who might have better ideas and more luck? With this horse’s record and appetite, even a giveaway would be a tricky deal. He might get a few thousand dollars for Zippy, but what would a new owner do with him? On went the sponge saddle pad. A new owner would definitely not race him, and Zippy loved the track. He threw the wool saddle blanket over the pad. He couldn’t afford to keep Zippy as a pet on the farm – he neededthose paltry $500 and $300 paydays for fourth- or fifth-place finishes to help pay for the horse’s upkeep. He neatly arranged the saddlecloth across Zippy’s back, the one with the number seven on the sides. Felix had received, but never answered, a call from an entertainment agent who wanted to “exploit Zippy Chippy’s notoriety.” Finally, on went the saddle, and he tightened the girth belt around the horse’s torso. Everybody at the track had told Felix to get rid of him, but what did that even mean? Saddled up and ready to run, Zippy was just superstitious enough not to mess