Free Raja, Story of a Racehorse by Anne Hambleton Page B

while Oakley filled up a large wheelbarrow with a bale of hay and pushed it down the aisle, delivering two flakes to each stall.
    â€œOakley, I think that Raja should take Toile’s stall at Wellington and you should ride him in the $10,000 Junior Jumper Classic. It’ll be a step up for both of you and you’ll be riding against a lot of nice old Grand Prix horses, but I think that you can rise to the occasion.”

    March, Wellington, Florida
    Wellington!
    Palm trees waved, golf carts zoomed, little dogs yapped, and colorfully dressed spectators crowded into the stands surrounding the big arena where the showy jumps flashed their colors in the morning sun, waiting for the action to begin. Electricity and anticipation charged the air. It felt a little bit like Saratoga.
    As Oakley sat on me, speaking with Michelle while we watched Mary and Legato’s round, I smelled something bitter, burning. I looked up sharply. Tony DeVito was a few feet away, speaking loudly, jabbing his cigar in the air for emphasis. He caught my eye, stopped talking and stared hungrily at me with his small, hooded eyes, as if I was an object he wanted to possess. Looking away abruptly, I turned my hindquarters toward him, pinned my ears and kicked the ground in warning, swishing my tail.
    â€œThere are 70 horses in the class, including some very good older horses. Every fence is big and unforgiving. You’ll need to be precise, especially to the water. If you have even the tip of a toe on the tape along the water, it’s four faults.”
    I swished a fly off my belly with my tail and tried to listen to Michelle, but I was still thinking about Tony DeVito and feeling strangely violated.
    â€œIf you open his stride up too much, you won’t have time to get him back. Right after the water, shorten your stride. Otherwise, you risk jumping flat and pulling a rail. Remember what we’ve been working on — rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.”
    She paused to adjust her crutches and leaned in closer, speaking quietly. “If you make the jump-off, the turn to the in-and-out is where it will be won or lost; whoever makes that tight turn inside the big blue oxer wins, but only if you are spot on. I don’t think anyone else will try it. It’s too easy to get wrong.”
    â€œThat big oxer is tough,” Mary told Oakley as she exited the arena, red-faced and out of breath. “It rides shorter than it looks. Everyone’s having problems there.”
    We trotted into the ring and circled, then headed off at an energetic canter to the first fence. Fence after fence I could feel my confidence building. As we headed toward the big oxer, I locked my eyes onto it and, with intense concentration, coiled my body, rocked back onto my hocks, and launched up and over.
    Oakley patted me as I landed, keeping his hand on the reins, “Good boy, Raja.”
    I sped up, wanting to go, but Oakley shifted his weight, asking me to steady. “Whoa, boy, whoa,” he whispered under his breath.
    I slowed as we turned the corner to the water. Oakley squeezed his legs, asking me to lengthen my stride. We flew it. Then, whoa, whoa, shorten. At the vertical, he squeezed again. I jumped hard, springing off the ground. He steadied me, finishing the easy long way around the outside of the big oxer to the in-and-out.
    â€œZero jump faults, zero time faults. Clear round for number 20, Raja.”
    Only five other horses were clean. Now for the jump-off, where the fastest time would win. I pawed the ground and tossed my head. The wait was unbearable.
    Let’s go! What are we waiting for?
    The first two horses had rails down — both went the long way around the oxer. The third horse went clear but slow, also going the long way around the oxer.
    A big, white mare entered the arena.
    â€œThat’s Luna, a former Grand Prix horse. She’s very well bred. Her sire, Abdullah, won the team gold and individual silver medals at the