Raja, Story of a Racehorse Read online

  “A compelling tale of the courage and resilience of a great thoroughbred, my favorite breed.”

  —Michael Matz, Show Jumping Hall of Fame, Olympic medalist,

  Trainer of 2006 Kentucky Derby winner, Barbaro

  In a quest to fulfill his destiny, Raja bounds from race-track to fox hunt, city police work, and steeplechase, in an adventure that slowly reveals itself to be a love story. Young equestrians will be thrilled by this fine story.

  —Alex Prud’homme,

  author of The Ripple Effect and co-author of My Life in France

  “A page turning adventure.”

  “The voice of an animal is not the easiest of genres to master but Hambleton’s lifetime spent with horses gives her an insider’s perspective to the psyche of horses of all personality types.”

  “Readers will want to devour chapter after chapter to see what’s next for her extraordinary horse. The book is a natural for young equestrians but as its plot is universal, good versus evil.”

  —The HORSE of Delaware Valley

  “Anne Hambleton’s enchanting book is fiction, but it might in actuality be true. There is a dark, hidden secret behind the surface glamour of thoroughbred racing. Once a racehorse, especially a gelding, proves insufficient on the racetrack, it becomes unwanted, unappreciated, and unlikely to find a safe harbor. Such is Raja’s fate. One moment, a pampered darling, the next a reject throwaway who spirals down, down, down, through a series of failed second chances, until he’s face to face with the saddest reality of all, the kill pen at the last chance auction.”

  “How he is miraculously saved, and how he struggles back to reach the pinnacle of another racing world is the climax of this ultimately uplifting story of destiny lost and destiny regained.”

  “Raja” is an authentic story. Most authors haven’t ridden what they write. Anne Hambleton has. She knows what it feels like to gallop down to the post of the Maryland Hunt Cup, and she conveys those sensations to her readers with a sharp immediacy that is certain to delight and enthrall.”

  —Denny Emerson, Hall of Fame Three Day Event rider/trainer, Olympian,

  Author of How Good Riders get Good

  “Captivating read! Anne has done an amazing job of putting the reader inside Raja’s mind. She takes you on a wild ride through Raja’s incredible (but still believable) journey into the varied disciplines that a thoroughbred could take. Very fun read and a great peek into the inner workings of the extreme equestrian sports world. A must read for any aspiring equestrian!”

  —Blythe Miller Davies, Two-time National Steeplechase Champion,

  Winner of the 2011 Maryland Hunt Cup

  “Hambleton is a horsewoman who knows all the disciplines intimately, and Raja’s adventures unfold believably and with authority. The characters in the story—both animal and human—are well-crafted, and we care about them.”

  “This is a wonderful book. I read it through in two nights, much of the time with a lump in my throat because it is a well-crafted and well-told story of triumph over adversity—the necessary ingredients of any great story.”

  —Norman Fine – Foxhunting Life

  “I come from a racing background and this book is very authentic! Great book for children and adults! (It’s) nice to read a horse’s point of view!”

  —Georganne Hale, Director of Racing, Maryland Jockey Club

  “Captivating…and inspiring, it will make you cheer!”

  —George Grayson, Chairman, Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation

  To Dave, the most patient man in the world

  and to “the boys”: Shaddy, Holzmann,

  Rather Be, Noco, Salute and Seamus, who all have stories to tell.

  Copyright ©2011 by Anne Hambleton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are entirely coincidental

  First published in the United States of America in December, 2011

  By Old Bow Publishing

  www.oldbowpublishing.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,

  Old Bow Publishing

  1816 Morgan Horse Farm Road

  Weybridge, VT 05753

  Illustrations by Margaret Kauffman

  Cover Photo by Cappy Jackson

  Book design by Sally Stetson

  Text set in Bembo

  Printed in the U.S.A., First Edition

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hambleton, Anne

  Raja, Story of a Racehorse/by Anne Hambleton; with illustrations by Margaret Kauffman.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-615-54029-0

  [1. Horses—Fiction. 2. Horse Racing—Fiction. 3. Horse Shows—Fiction.]

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011942177

  Table of Contents

  1. Mark of the Chieftain

  2. Youngbloods

  3. Road to the Roses

  4. Jumpers

  5. The “A” Circuit

  6. Change of Fortune

  7. The Man in the Cowboy Hat

  8. Ten Foot Cop

  9. The Ice Storm

  10. The Murphys

  11. Timber!

  12. The Big Sticks

  13. Last Saturday in April

  Glossary

  1

  The Mark of the Chieftain

  September, Ocala, Florida

  I could tell something was wrong by the way Princess Ayesha walked wearily across the field toward me, hunched over as she clutched a yellow shawl tightly around her slender frame. A row of glass bangles on her arm stood out cheerfully in a burst of color against the cloudy, grey sky, at odds with the deep sadness I could feel coming from her. She looked tired — defeated, somehow. Her long, glossy black hair, normally brushed neatly, was now loose and uncontrolled, messily framing her tear-stained face. She patted me softly and burst into tears. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed into my neck, sniffing and hugging me. Putting my head close to hers, I nudged her gently with my nose.

  What is it? Why are you so sad?

  I heard the gate to the field open once more and looked up to see Bob walking stiffly toward us with an uncharacteristic look of distress on his face, his yellow baseball cap in his hands. He stopped as he reached us and raised a leathery hand to his head in an unconscious gesture, smoothing his straw colored hair. Looking down at his well-worn cowboy boots, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a red bandana and wiped his forehead with it before clearing his throat.

  “Princess Ayesha, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. The news about the terrorist bombing is terrible. I feel so bad for the families of the people who were killed.”

  He paused to clear his throat and began again quietly in his deep, soothing voice, as if he were talking to a nervous foal. “Crazy people do crazy things, and then other people do even crazier things. Nothing like this has ever happened in this country before — all those people gone.”

  Princess Ayesha sniffed, keeping her fingers twisted into my mane. “Father says that I have to go back home, that it’s not safe for me here.”

  “Some people just want someone to blame. And even though you’re not from the same country…well…some people don’t care. It’s insane. People do terrible things to each other — and to horses, too, for
that matter. I don’t understand evil. But it’s out there, no doubt about that.”

  Bob reached out to pat my neck. “I know you’ll miss the horses and Raja, especially. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him. You’d better get inside. We’re gonna get some weather. There’s a tornado watch in effect. I just heard on the radio that the storm will reach us in about an hour. Are you all set in the big house if we lose power? The generators should be working. They were tested last week. I’m sure the house staff has everything ready.”

  She nodded. “Will the horses be OK?”

  “They’ll be fine. Usually they just stay in their turn-out sheds during storms. We put in extra hay so they have something to munch on.”

  Bob cleared his throat, patted me on the neck, and then wordlessly shuffled off to check a broodmare that had a hoof sized lump on her chest.

  Princess Ayesha gave me another hug. She scratched the tickly spot above my eye and whispered. “You are the most perfect thing in the universe and I love you.” She gave me one last pat and slowly turned and started walking away. I suddenly realized that this was it.

  She’s leaving me!

  Running along the fence line, I whinnied, again and again. Then I ran to my mother. She nudged me to comfort me. “In a horse’s life, special people come and go. That’s just the way it is. It’s better not to get too attached to a person or another horse or your heart will break.”

  The muggy afternoon dragged on, slower than an earthworm. Fat black clouds squatted heavily on the horizon and the thick air made me tired. After the mothers were fed their supper, a swirling wind kicked up, steadily growing stronger.

  It’s a strange day; something is going to happen. I can feel it.

  I stayed close to my mother watching as the relentless wind made the bushes and the trees spring to life. Trees dipped and bowed. Branches snapped. Deep angry rumbles of thunder growled their way forward as bright flashes lit up the dark clouds rolling toward us. The wind taunted and jeered as it started to take things with it. First, a peppermint wrapper and a paper feed bag, then an empty bucket. A barn door banged and chains rattled in protest as the gates in our field swung back and forth. A sense of dread, like a stone, grew in my stomach.

  This is silly; it’s just a thunderstorm.

  Feeling as though I was in a dream, watching myself, I pawed the ground in a frantic tempo, digging through the grass, growing more and more uneasy. Suddenly, the wind snapped a dead tree branch, flinging it through the air and onto the fence close to me.

  Whoa! What’s that?!

  I bolted across the field, then skidded to a stop to listen, rooted to the ground, flanks heaving, breathing quick, shallow sips of air. I was trembling in every limb. Shaddy suddenly appeared, nudging me with his nose. Max was behind him. I jumped.

  “Are you OK?”

  He looked me in the eye, holding my gaze for an extra moment. I just shook my head. The black clouds lumbered toward us, seeming to grow fatter and heavier, until they took over the sky. Illuminated by the lightning flashes, the trees looked like terrible monsters moving awkwardly to the wind’s wild beat.

  Suddenly, heavy raindrops pelted the ground. After a few seconds, Max, Shaddy and I were soaked. We galloped to the shelter of the shed next to the big oak tree. My mother and some of the other broodmares stayed grazing in the rain, unconcerned. Looking out of the shed at the wall of rain, we watched a jagged yellow streak split the sky followed by a loud CRACK, and a sizzle. Another followed. Then another, all accompanied by the terrifying howls and growls of the wind and thunder. I felt an electric surge and raised my head and tail, nostrils flaring and hair standing on end as the ground shuddered.

  CRASH!

  A huge bolt of lightning hit the big oak tree. It fell with a wood-splintering groan into the corner of the shed, letting in a torrent of rain through the new gash in the roof. Now a dangerous and unfamiliar landscape, the field was all lightning flashes, rain and thunder, all yellow and grey and black. I galloped out of the shed across the field crying out for my mother. She answered in a loud, clear whinny, “Don’t be afraid. Come to me.”

  Halfway across the field, the sky lit up again, this time an eerie yellow, as lightning stabbed the ground. My mother stood, neck arched and proud, outlined against the terrible sky. I galloped toward her as fast as I could.

  But not fast enough.

  I watched another bolt burst through the clouds. Her body collapsed in a heap on the damp ground. Skidding through a puddle in front of her, I touched her face with my nose. She was still. Not breathing. Steam rose off her body, accompanied by a strange, bitter smell — burnt hair.

  I nudged her.

  Wake up! WAKE UP!

  I nudged her frantically, again and again, trying to wake her, but nothing I did could help my mother. Deep down, I knew she wouldn’t wake, that she’d never come back. A cry of despair escaped out of my body and into the roaring, indifferent wind.

  I was suddenly exhausted. I could barely move. I curled up next to my motionless mother, trying to shelter from the driving rain. As I nestled into her still warm body, drinking in her mother smell, trying to hold onto it, memories came to me. All night, with the wind and rain howling around us, I thought of happier moments. I couldn’t believe that I would never see my mother or Princess Ayesha ever again.

  It was the worst day of my life.

  Three months earlier, June, Ocala, Florida

  “Pip, pip,…trrreat, trrreat…coo-ee, coo-ee.”

  In the cool dark of the early morning, when you aren’t sure whether it’s still night, or if the day had finally made up its mind to arrive, deafening caws, whistles and warbles fill the air. Then the sounds of breakfast — nickering, whinnying and impatient kicking of stall walls from the barns. In the field, our mothers all lined up patiently at their buckets at exactly the same time every day.

  A group of shadowy horses and riders jogged out of the morning mist along the endless white board fences past paddocks filled with horses and by our field to the track. After a few minutes, the horses appeared again on the other side of the track, jigging with steam swirling and billowing from their backs as they headed home past the moss-covered live oak trees to the tidy yellow and white barns.

  We stood still, watching and snorting. Then, Max stamped. The signal to go! As one, we spun and bucked and raced back to our mothers, where we pulled up to a trot, tails straight in the air, snorting and blowing.

  I was scratching my ear with my hind hoof, watching a worm slowly crawl across the ground when I heard them. I looked up quickly, snorted and froze. Half a field away a line of shiny black cars slithered into the farm driveway, passing the big live oak trees and rows of hibiscus before slowing to a halt in front of the main barn.

  Something’s going on!

  Men wearing dark clothes spilled out of the cars and walked quickly across the green lawns surrounded by colorful flowers. I shivered and played with Max, my best friend, nibbling his neck and rearing up, all the while keeping an eye on the men, watching their every move.

  Who is that? Let’s check it out — race you to the fence!

  A tall man wearing a bright yellow shirt and a young girl with her head covered by a yellow scarf emerged from one of the cars and began to walk toward the barn. The girl slowed her walk and stopped to greet the yearlings in the shed row who were watching her every move, their ears pricked and flicking back and forth, not missing anything. She reached into her bag and fed something to one of the horses who lipped her hand and then tossed his head up and down as he chewed.

  “Come along, Ayesha, the foals are waiting for you. Ah, there’s Bob.” The tall man spoke impatiently, as though he only had a little bit of time before heading on to the next thing.

  I looked in the direction he was pointing. Bob ambled out of the stable office and then picked up his pace when he saw the man and girl, covering the ground easily in his relaxed way. Pulling a faded yellow baseball cap off his head, he offered his hand
to the man.

  “Welcome back, it’s nice to see you again, Sheikh.” He bowed slightly to the girl. “Princess, it’s always a pleasure to have you back at the farm.”

  “Hello Bob. Wow! Everything looks wonderful. I’m sooo happy to be out of school for summer. That boarding school is a prison! I can’t wait to spend time here. I’m only going back home for a little while this year because I have to take SATs here in the U.S., so you’ll see a lot of me. My mother and grandmother are coming next week and we’re going to the Belmont Stakes. I can’t wait!”

  “I think that you’ll be pleased with this year’s foals. That black colt, out of Roxanne, is quite special. Shall we go and see them?”

  The Sheikh nodded yes.

  Squinting into the sun and using both hands, Bob placed the cap on his head.

  “After you, sir,” he gestured as he began walking across the lush green lawn toward the white board fence at the edge of the field.

  “Ah, the ‘youngbloods.’ I have great hopes for you.”

  The tall man, the Sheikh, is looking at me!

  “Bob was right — you’re a handsome colt, and big, too. What a powerful hind end. You have the ‘look of eagles,’ just like your sire. That is an interesting marking on your forehead, like a scimitar, an Arabian sword. Are you ready to win the Kentucky Derby? Maybe the Triple Crown, eh? You’ll need a good name.

  “Ayesha, any ideas, my girl? A good name for a Derby winner? The chestnut and the bay next to him already have names — Shadrach and Maximillian — after his sire, Millionaire. You were too young to remember, but Millionaire won the Derby ten years ago, when you were six. He’s been our best stallion ever since.”

  Ayesha turned toward me, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “They’re so cute! The black one is the most beautiful foal I’ve ever seen.” She sighed dramatically, tilting her head and frowning in concentration.

  “I hope he wins the Derby! I hope, I hope, I hope…” She thought for a moment. “How about Raja? Raja means ‘hope’ in Arabic,” she explained to Bob, “and in India, Raja means ‘king,’ or, ‘ruler,’ so the name has a double meaning.” Her eyes lit up as she drew a breath in and held it, waiting for her father’s response.