Sonoma King, Drinker of the Wind by Sarah McCollum

Sonoma King Sonoma King, Drinkerof of the the Wind Drinker Wind

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Sonoma King Drinker of the Wind

Gretchen Jones and Suzanne Graves

Capital City Books LLC

ISBN 978-0-9842881-1-3 Library of Congress Control Number 2010920530 All characters in this work, including horses, are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or horses, living or dead, is purely coincidental. While in most matters, the authors have done their best to faithfully depict the nature of horse raising and horse racing, they have taken select artistic liberties. Capital City Books LLC Richmond, Virginia www.capitalcitybooks.com

This book is dedicated to my good friend and confidant, Suzanne Graves. Without her help and support, this book would not have been possible. Cheers to a great and loyal friend.

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Table of Contents 1. The New Foal

2. The Foal and the Nanny Goat

3. Summer can be Fun

4. Back to School

5. The Two-Year-Old Year

6. Early Spring Races

7. Race Day

8. The Summer Races

9. The Allowance Race and King

10. Missing

11. Wine Country Allowance Race

12. Training for the Triple Crown

13. Drinkers of the Wind Derby

14. Racing at Sam Houston Park, Texas

15. Interrupted Journey

16. Fame and Glory (The Bob Magness Derby)

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List of Illustrations 1. Breezie with her New Foal

2. Sonoma King as a Yearling

3. King Forgets his Manners

4, Breezie and King

5. Breezie the Iron Horse

6. Robin, King, and Breezie

7. Winnerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Circle, Drinkers of the Wind

8. Loose in the Wyoming Desert

9. King Racing in Texas at Sam Houston Park

10. Have I Asked Too Much of You, My Friend, King?

11. King, Resting and Wondering about Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Next

12. Robin and Randy with King

13. Preparing for a Long Trip

We wish to acknowledge the Arabian Jockey Club for the work and dedication they provide the Arabian racing world.

The New Foal Breezie’s foaling! Dad, we might need your help too. “Mom! Hurry!” Robin exclaimed as she rushed into the kitchen

from the barn. The door slammed behind her as she slid across the kitchen floor. She was in such a hurry that she hadn’t bothered with her boots, so her shoes were wet and slippery from the rain. She had been waiting for this moment for months, but now she was nervous and anxious. She knew it was far too soon for the foal to be born. Bev, Robin’s mother, jumped up from the dinner table, rapidly pulling on her coat and rain boots. She looked worried. “It’s too early for her to have the baby.” They both ran out to the barn. Puddles splashed on their pant legs, but they hardly felt the cold water. The excitement of the moment gave them wings. Robin’s father, Robert, followed closely on their heels. The late evening light showed Breezie lying in the straw, sweat glistening on her neck and sides. She was in labor, but she was too far along for them to get the vet’s help if they needed it. “I don’t see the foal’s feet yet,” said Bev, concerned. Robin was talking to Breezie, “Come on girl, you’re doing good.” Just then, the mare got up, lifted her tail and the foal’s front feet appeared. The foal slid to the straw still in the fetal sac.

Robin was fascinated as she watched the birth of the foal. The fetal sac had a clear, whitish membrane, and the foal was dark inside, but he wasn’t moving. Robin couldn’t tell whether the foal was even alive. Robin’s mom and dad opened the sac so the baby could breathe. “You are three weeks early, my dear. I hope everything will be okay,” said Bev, bending over the little form lying so still in the straw. Robin watched the shadows dance up and down on the walls of the stall in the dim light. She was almost afraid to look at the baby for fear that it might not be alive. Grabbing Robin’s hand, Bev pulled her into the stall, “Help me get him up on his chest so he can breathe.” Together they knelt on the straw and held the tiny baby up on his chest. “Breathe, baby, please,” Bev whispered softly. Finally the foal’s eyelids fluttered and the tiny baby started breathing on his own. “Since she foaled so early, she probably doesn’t have milk with colostrum in it.” Bev looked up at Robert who was standing at the stall door, “Would you call the vet to see if there is any colostrum to be had anywhere around? The baby will need it to build his immunity.” Robin watched worriedly as all the excitement took place. “Do you think he will be okay, Mom?” she asked. “Robin, if he lives the next twenty-four hours we will be lucky,” said Bev, holding the baby foal up. “Oh, look, he’s marked with a star on his forehead. He’s marked just like Breezie except he’s going to be black instead of grey. Look at how long his legs are! I hope he survives because if he does, he’s going to be tall and strong.” As the vet drove up the driveway, his tires sent gravel spraying. He jumped out of the truck and went directly to the barn.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Dr. Bill Johnson was tall and lanky. His personality was always pleasant and confident. He knew the Stevenson family well since they attended the same church and had always used his services as a veterinarian. “Let’s see what we have,” said Bill as he opened the stall door and walked in to see the newborn foal. The light in the stall was pale, casting long shadows in the corners of the stall. Lying still and motionless on the bright yellow straw, the foal looked small and helpless. When the vet walked in, the baby foal staggered to his feet, legs spread out to hold him up. He flopped down but tried immediately to rise again. Finally, he stood in the straw, his trembling legs barely holding him in place. “That’s good! Now we know you’re going to live,” said the vet with a big smile on his face. Bev put her arm around Robin’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “We have a fighter in this baby,” she whispered proudly. “I hope you’re right, Bev. It’s going to be a worry for a while until we are sure he will make it. I brought colostrum, so let’s get him to nurse,” the vet said. After many attempts, the baby figured out how to nurse on the bottle and energetically started sucking on the nipple. “Since Breezie has no milk yet, you are going to have to find a goat to milk or another mare to feed the baby. Perhaps we’ll even need to use milk replacer, which we have great luck with. If you can find goat’s milk, though, it will do fine since it’s a soft curd and won’t irritate the foal’s stomach. You’ll need to do this day and night, every two hours for the next few weeks,” said Dr. Johnson as he examined the mare. “She may not come into her milk at all since she foaled so prematurely.” Robin asked her mom, “Remember the Joneses down the

street? They have some milk goats. I’ll go and ask if we can use one of their nannies.” “We’ll have to pay for the milk, Robin, so wait and maybe your dad can go with you,” said Bev, as she wiped off the straw and muck from both herself and the newborn foal. “We have to go right now, Dad.” Robin tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Please, the baby needs milk.” Hungry as she was since she had missed dinner, Robin was more worried about the new baby. Rain still fell as Robin and her dad walked up the path from the barn. “Let’s take Mom’s car, it’s older and it won’t hurt to bring a goat home in.” Robert opened the driver’s door, reaching across the front seat to open the passenger door for Robin. “We need to get that door fixed one of these days,” he mused as they started down the street, the windshield wipers scraping noisily on the windshield. “You know, Robin, we will do all we can to save this foal, but I can’t let it interfere with your college fund.” Robin nodded but hardly heard him. She was too absorbed in her thoughts about the foal for her father’s words to register. The evening rain filled the night with the promise of green grass and fragrant flowers. Central California was pleasant in the spring: not too hot, not too cold. It was a perfect time to be alive and feel the promise of a beautiful future for a great racehorse. Robin jumped out of the car and ran up the front steps of the Joneses house, knocking on the door almost before she reached it. Mr. Jones answered. He was a short and somewhat heavy old man with twinkly blue eyes. “Mr. Jones, we need to get some goat’s milk; we have a new

foal!” Robin exclaimed. “My wife and I want to help, so take the big, white nanny goat. Since she is currently milking, she should be able to produce enough milk for the baby foal.” Together they caught the nanny goat and put her in the back seat of the car. “What do I owe you?” Robert asked. “I’m just glad to lend a hand for a newborn foal,” Mr. Jonesaid cheerfully, as he closed the door of the car to keep the goat in while Robin got in from the other side. Mr. Stevenson was grateful for the man’s kindness. Driving home, the goat chewed her cud happily in Mr. Stevenson’s ear, even getting in an occasional nibble of his hair while Robin held onto her to keep her from jumping into the front seat.

2 The Foal and the Nanny Goat

eeding the baby foal soon became a chore. Robin and her mother took turns every two hours night and day. At the end of the first week, they were both exhausted from little sleep. By Friday afternoon, Robin was falling asleep in class. Robin awoke with her English teacher standing over her. “Are you having trouble staying awake, young lady?” she demanded in front of the whole class. Robin’s face turned red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith.” Robin blushed. “We have a brand new baby foal, and we have to feed it every two hours all through the night. I won’t let it happen again.” She could hear the snickers from some of her classmates that didn’t understand about new foals or, for that matter, anything with horses. Since the horses were Bev’s and Robin’s interest and not Robert’s, they couldn’t convince him to take a turn feeding the baby. He told them that since he worked forty hours a week, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t seem to care that Bev and Robin were losing their sleep or that they had busy lives too. Bev worked as a full time schoolteacher, and Robin attended high school, but Robin had made up her mind she could do it and still keep up with school and her homework.

“Robin, it’s time to make a change. You’ve been falling asleep doing your homework.” Bev’s voice was concerned as she stood beside Robin at the kitchen table. Robin’s tired eyes looked up at her, “We have to save the foal, Mom. I can do it, I know I can.” “If we’re going to save the foal and still get some sleep, we need to try something new,” Bev said. “Why don’t we try to get the baby to nurse the nanny goat?” said Robin, looking up at her mom hopefully. “I’ve been thinking of the same thing. Let’s give it a try,” replied Bev. Together they put the nanny goat in the stall with the baby and showed him how to reach under the goat and suck on her teat. In no time at all, he figured it out and followed the goat all around the stall, nursing when he needed to. The happy, exhausted pair walked back to the house from the barn. It was quite dark but both daughter and mother were satisfied that they had solved their problem. Thankfully, Robin and her mother had a good night’s sleep for the first time in a week. “What do you think we ought to call him?” Robin asked her mother as they left the barn late one evening. “Well, his mother’s full name is Sonoma Breezie. You know, she won quite a bit of money when she raced in the Arabian Races in California. She was second in the Daughters of the Desert Stakes Race and won some other black type races.” Robin gave Bev a puzzled look. “Black Type means placing first, secong, or third in a graded stakes race. Horses racing in graded stakes races are the top tier of horses racing, so we need to name him something great,” Bev

explained. “It will help him live up to the promise of his name. His sire was a Stakes Winner in Arabian Races in Delaware and his name was Viking King. Maybe something like Sonoma Viking,” said Bev. She furrowed her brow before continuing. “Let’s remember he’s a premature baby and not very strong yet, so we don’t want to fall in love with him, since there’s a chance he might not make it.” Bev knew that baby foals are not very hardy and need lots of care and loving, especially ones without their mother’s milk. “He will survive and grow up to be a famous Arabian race horse and make Breezie proud,” said Robin. She was as iron-willed as her father. She had resolved that the foal would live and become a famous racehorse, and she would be the one to help him in his career. Tears threatened to spring to her eyes. Although she knew her mom was right, Robin secretly thought, “How could I not fall in love with the most beautiful horse ever born?”

Breezie with her New Foal

Summer Can Be Fun

t was the middle of May and summer was definitely on the way. The trees shaded the ground. Grass grew lush and green. The small pasture Breezie and her foal shared was always cropped close, so they could eat as much of the good grass as they wanted. They were fed extra hay and grain to supplement the grass they got from the pasture. The foal raced around the pasture with his tail over his back. He tried to get Breezie to run, but she seldom ran with him, so he chased butterflies and shadows by himself. The sun was warm on Robin’s back as she sat on the fence. She was petting the foal and dreaming of him winning a big race. She thought of how he would win by ten lengths and the crowds would cheer him on from the grandstand. They would both be famous. Bev was always telling Robin to get back to her schoolwork, but for Robin, daydreaming about the foal’s future was an escape from the reality of ninth-grade algebra and makeup and boys. The mean girls at school didn’t make her life any easier. She could hear them teasing her, “Round Robin. Round Robin!” She looked down at her thighs and pinched her right thigh between her thumb and index finger. Maybe they were right, but at least she had her horse – her fast, lovely, beautiful horse – and she

imagined that he would be great someday. “But Mom,” Robin had protested only the night before, “you always said imagination is a good thing to have.” A nip on her foot brought her back to reality. “Oww, you little beast, quit it,” she said as she made him move away. The colt never went far and always came back for Robin to scratch his neck and pet him. He was very fond of her and always came to see her when she was at the stall or the pasture. By now the baby was growing tall. His body had filled out and although he still had his fuzzy baby hair, he was shedding into a sleek, beautiful foal. Now they knew he would be black, even though his coat was brown on his back. He had black legs and dark rings around his large eyes. The star was a distinct white patch on his pretty face. Robin loved this beautiful foal, and together they had a bond that only animal lovers could understand. Robin was fourteen years old, and she was short and somewhat heavy. She had brown hair that she kept in a ponytail. Her round, full face had brown earnest eyes with long eyelashes and dark eyebrows. Her mother said it came through her Basque heritage from her father. Bev said she would grow out of her chubby body and blossom into a beautiful young lady one day. Impatiently, Robin waited, wanting to be tall, slim, and beautiful. She could hardly wait until that day came. “Boy, I hope that day comes pretty soon,” thought Robin as she glanced in the mirror in the hall next to the kitchen. “Maybe if I took some modeling lessons or started wearing make-up,” she thought to herself. Robin frowned at herself in the mirror. “Then the girls at school wouldn’t make fun of me behind my back.”

Robin grabbed a couple of chocolate chip cookies that were always in the cookie jar on the counter on her way through the bright kitchen. Her mother was hard at work cooking the dinner of pot roast and potatoes. Robin did her homework on the kitchen table after the dinner dishes were cleared away and washed. Bev always washed; Robin always dried. Robin left the house and went to the barn to halter the foal and teach him how to lead. Bev followed her out to the barn to see the progress the new foal was making in the warm afternoon. The sun was starting to last longer as summer became more pronounced with the passing of each day. As Robin put the halter on the friendly colt, Bev started telling her about the Arabian horse. “The Arabian breed has always been my favorite breed and that’s why this baby is different and special.” “Arabians are a distinct breed of horse. Some people say they have one less vertebrae in their back, and they usually have dense bone kind of like ivory.” Robin looked interested, so Bev went on, “Arabians look so distinct because their prominent foreheads make the nasal bone look like it’s concave, which means it usually curves in just slightly.” Standing in front of the foal, Bev ran her hand along his nose and forehead, tracing the outline of his unusual features. The foal nuzzled against her hand as she pulled a carrot from her pocket, breaking off small pieces for his tiny mouth to chew. He kept begging for more, and the nanny goat right beside him kept asking for carrots too. As Bev ran her hand down his neck she told Robin, “Arabians like this beautiful boy have a large loose hanging windpipe, large nostrils for air intake and a very round rib cage for large amounts of air. They have more red blood cells at the surface of the skin. This allows for greater evaporation of sweat and they don’t tire as

easily as other horses. Through the centuries they have been bred for stamina. That is why they are called hot bloods.” “Mom, when did they decide to start racing Arabians in regular races?” Robin asked as she led the black foal around the corral. The nanny goat followed her new baby. As far as the goat was concerned, the baby foal was her own baby. Poor Breezie was always close, but since she had no milk, she couldn’t feed the foal. “I think Arabians were always raced in their native land of the Arabian Peninsula, and the Polish people have always raced their Arabians as a way of determining the most athletic of the ones they kept for breeding. The sire to this baby is of mostly Polish lines imported to the U.S., and he has sired some major race winners. I took that into consideration when I bred Breezie. Her bloodlines came from Egypt and I was certain they would nick well together.” Bev loved the old white broodmare and brushed her whenever she had time. “She won a lot of money in the Arabian races, mostly here on the West Coast. I inherited her from Walt when she finished her racing career. Walt told me he had been offered a lot of money for Breezie, but he wanted a good home for her so he gave her to me.” “Mom, I think this baby could be a great racehorse. What do you think?” asked Robin as she took the halter off the foal. They both stood watching the foal nurse from the nanny goat. He had to get on his front knees to reach under the goat, but he was persistent and managed to get the milk he needed. “Robin, I bred Breezie to the best stallion I could afford. Keep the old saying in mind. ‘Breed the best to the best and hope for the best,’” said Bev as they went into the kitchen to start dinner. Bev was medium height, with dark hair she always kept

short. Her face was strong and gentle with a long thin nose and kind green eyes. Bev was a lover of horses and children alike; she spent her time between taking care of her family and teaching elementary school. Teaching her grade-school children was an easy vocation for her because she enjoyed the young, eager minds of the children. She spent hours preparing lessons and then grading papers when the tests were handed in. Bev also expected her daughter to get good grades and always be on time for dinner. The family attended church on Sundays and believed in good communities as well as good citizenship. Bev and Robert had grown up with respect for others and a good work ethic. They knew that Robin needed these values to have a good life. Summer wore on through July and August. This year the heat seemed almost unbearable, but Robin dutifully cleaned the stall and haltered and led the young foal to teach him manners and respect. She also taught him how to stand tied and be patient. She knew that horses learned by repetition, so she made sure she taught him how to lead and tie up everyday. She so enjoyed working with him. She loved to groom and brush him. The colt seemed to enjoy the attention just as much. “We need to fill out his registration paper,” remarked Bev to her daughter one morning. “Go out and draw his markings on the form and be thinking of a name.” Robin grabbed the paper, shot out the door and joyfully ran to the pasture to draw the foal’s markings. She tried to draw the markings on the foal’s legs, but he kept moving and turning to face her. Finally she grabbed the halter and lead, went to the pasture, and haltered the foal. After tying him to the fence, she finished drawing his white markings. She thought about a name for this future racehorse. It would have to be a name that would tell everyone what a great horse he would be.

Soon she returned to the house and told her mother, “OK, I’ve drawn them.” As she smoothed out the application on the table in front of Bev, she said, “I think I’ve got a name for him too. What do you think of Sonoma King? I wanted to include part of Breezie’s name and I think he will be a true King of the race horses.” Bev thought a moment and replied, “I really like it. It says he is capable of greatness.” Robin was ecstatic about choosing a name for the colt, “Let’s name him Sonoma King then!” She dashed out to the pasture to hug the colt and tell him of the special name she had thought up for him. As she was running out the door, Bev called after her, “Robin, your father and I are going to put your name on the foal’s papers as owner. We feel you truly deserve to own him.” Robin stopped in her tracks. Her mouth fell open and, for once, she was speechless. Finally, she gasped out, “Thank you so very much, and when Dad comes home this evening, I’ll tell him how much this means to me.” She was overwhelmed with happiness and resolved to teach the colt everything he needed to know. They would work together and he would become a great race winner like his dam Breezie. She pictured herself on her feet in the stands, cheering and yelling. She could see Sonoma King sailing across the finish line lengths ahead of the field of horses. By early fall, the gangly colt was starting to look like the future horse he would become. Tall and rangy, he still had long legs but his body was starting to show some muscling. When he trotted, he carried his tail over his back and held his head high as he strutted gaily around his pasture with his dam following closely. He had a natural sense of joy and love of life.

Back To School

lowly walking home after school, with her heavy notebook and school books held in her arms, Robin wondered why her friend Missy was asked to the school dance. “Why not me?” she thought as tears started down her cheeks. “I feel so hopeless right now. Why couldn’t it be me going to the dance?” “Robin, have you finished your homework?” asked her father as the family sat down to dinner in the late afternoon that fall. “Remember, you promised to keep your grades up and do your homework before you go out to play with your colt.” “Dad, I always do my homework and you know that,” replied Robin as she carefully took smaller portions of the dinner. She was trying to lose a few of those extra pounds she had gained during the summer. She wished her dad would cut her some slack. She did her homework. She worked hard in school. She felt angry. Why didn’t he see any of that effort? First, Missy was going to the dance and not her. Now this. She just wanted to go out to the barn to be with Sonoma King. She wanted to press her nose against his. “Well, I see you spending a lot of time at the barn with your colt, and I don’t want your school work to suffer,” said Robert. He loved Robin, but he had forgotten what it was like to be

fourteen – awkward and out of place. Not too much different than the colt Robin adored. He just wanted to make sure Robin always did well in school so she could go to a good college. The school year went by so quickly. Robin studied hard, and it paid off with straight A’s. She trained King, studied, trained King, and studied some more. She built calluses on her hands from holding the lead, teaching King to follow her. By spring, the beautiful Arabian colt had grown into a tall yearling, full of energy and mischief. His odd grey-brown coat had shed out to a glossy black, and his mane and tail were growing longer. Although it still had a tinge of red at the ends, the rest was coming in black. His dam, Breezie, could hardly keep up with him as he charged around the pasture. It would soon be time to separate them, as he was getting too rambunctious to stay in the same pasture with her. Robin wanted to teach him to ride, but knew he was still too young for mounted work. Instead, Robin spent her time teaching him to wear a bridle and saddle, which he was happy to do since it meant being with his friend Robin. Late in May, Walt Davis, Bev’s old friend whom she had worked for at the race track, stopped by to see what progress Sonoma King had made. “He really looks good, almost like his mother, Sonoma Breeze. I ran her as a three-year old. She was so honest and always tried so hard. She bloomed late in her three-year-old year, but when she was finally ready to run there were few horses that could keep up with her,” Walt commented. “Have you considered a racing career for him?” Walt asked of Robin’s dad. “He’s certainly bred to run, with both his sire and dam racing as well as they did. He should have a lot of speed. It will be just a matter of finding the best distance for him.”

Before Robert could answer, Robin interrupted, “Oh yes,” she said proudly, “I know he can run, so we’re going to plan a career for him.” This outburst caused both men to stop and look at her. Robert told her not to interrupt and then promptly agreed that Sonoma King could make a good race prospect. “The only thing is,” he said, “I don’t have enough money to pay for his race training.” “Why don’t you let Robin help clean stalls and groom horses for me? That would pay most of his training. You could pick up the small difference, and if Sonoma King makes a decent racehorse, we can split his winnings,” suggested Walt. Robin could barely contain herself with joy at the prospect of her prize colt being able to race. She knew he was capable of great things if he only had the chance. She was elated that her dad was taking an interest. As the group left the house to walk to the barn and visit Sonoma King, Bev looped her arm through Robin’s, “Robin, you need to remember that King is an Arabian, not a Thoroughbred. If he gets to 15.2 hands he will be a big Arabian, and he needs that size if he’s going to be able to outrun the competition.” Robin’s face fell, and she was quiet for a moment, “Don’t you think King can make it as a race horse?” Robin could manage her dad’s hesitation, but not her mom’s. “Mom, he’s going to be a great racehorse, I’m sure of it.” “He’s going to be a nice looking horse when he grows up,” said Walt to the family. Robin nodded in agreement, too happy about Walt’s encouraging words to talk much. The next year promised to be a long one until King could go into training.

Sonoma King as a Yearling

The Two-Year-Old Year

rue to his promise, Walt took King to the track to begin his mounted training early in the fall of his two-year-old year. Thanks to his prior training by Robin, it was easy to train him to have a rider on his back. Robin faithfully bicycled to the racetrack every day after school to clean stalls and groom the racehorses for Walt. The track was three miles from her house, and she soon became a regular at the back gate that she rode her bike through. “Wow! My jeans are getting looser, and I am looking much better,” she thought as she looked in the mirror after her shower one evening. “Mom was right, I’m getting slimmer as I keep riding my bike more.” Robin smiled to herself, thinking that both she and King were changing and maturing. The shed row barn was located at the middle of the rows of the barns. It was made of cinder blocks. The stalls opened under the overhang so the beautiful racehorses could stand looking out over the bottom door. There were trees between the barns for shade, but almost no grass. The horses’ shod hooves wore down what little grass was there. “I think King will be a great race horse, Walt, don’t you?” asked Robin as she helped groom the big colt.

“Remember, Robin, I raced his dam for five years and she won quite a lot of money for me,” Walt mused as he watched Robin groom the colt. “Arabians don’t run quite as fast as Thoroughbred horses, but they can have a lot of speed and some of the purses for these races are paying very well.” A group of grooms and exercise kids walked by the wash rack, and when they reached Robin and King, they stopped. “He sure looks strange with his tail over his back. Why would you want one of those Arabs? Don’t you know they can’t run?” were the jeering comments from the group. These boys couldn’t understand why an Arabian was in race training. Robin’s face turned red with anger at the insulting remarks from the crowd of boys. Walt reassured Robin that the Arabian as a racehorse was indeed the original racehorse. “The Arabian horse is the founding blood of the Thoroughbred horse. There were three founding stallions: the Byerly Turk, the Darley Arabian, and the Godolphin Arabian. These were bred to native, English mares to create the modern Thoroughbred racehorse. All Thoroughbreds trace back to these thre stallions, so don’t let those kids make you feel bad about your Arabian horse,” said Walt as he helped Robin put King in his stall and fill his hay net with fragrant green hay. Walt reached out and stroked Sonoma King’s mane. “He has the credentials he needs to be a truly great horse. You’re his owner, and you should take pride in that.” The colt immediately started eating his hay. As Robin got on her bike to leave, he whinnied after her as she rode towards home in the late afternoon. As she rode home, she resolved to make King into a famous racehorse and prove to those boys that he was capable of great fame and fortune. King went into training in September of his two-year-old

year. At first, he progressed well with learning how to carry a rider, but as time went on his behavior changed. Sometimes the exercise boy would come back from the track with King and tell Walt what tremendous speed King had once he lined out at the gallop. Other times, King squealed at the other colts, rearing and striking instead of galloping like he should. Robin was frustrated. King had to learn how to gallop and respond well to other riders, but he was so tough and hardheaded. “He seems to want to please you, Robin, but no one else,” said Walt. Robin furrowed her brow. “I think he’ll settle down as he grows up, so let’s not worry too much right now. I have seen other young stallions act this way and usually they outgrow it. If they don’t, they are gelded.” Walt led King into the stall that Robin had just cleaned and bedded with clean, fresh-smelling straw. “I know he can run. I just hope he can grow up enough to outrun the other colts his age when he’s ready for his race,” a worried Robin replied, watching the black colt as he grabbed a mouthful of hay and then came to look over the stall door to see what was going on in the barn aisle. “If he can train reasonably through winter, there is a small race very early in the spring that we can enter him in so he can get a feel for racing,” Walt added. “It’s a maiden race for colts that haven’t had a win, so he should be reasonably matched in speed and experience with the other colts his age.” He was as hopeful for the black colt as Robin was. “I know he can run like the wind!” exclaimed Robin. “He just needs a chance to prove it.” She felt a great sense of pride in her beautiful black colt and hoped he would get his mind right so he could learn his lessons and do well in his training. “Please King, I know you can do it,” Robin buried her face in King’s mane as she whispered to him.

Walt smiled kindly at her words. They sounded just like the words her mother would have said when she worked for him. Bev had felt the same way about King’s dam, Breezie. King continued in his training, learning to gallop on the track and be ponied back and forth from the barn to the track. Holding on to the exuberant colt was a task, and more than once King had jerked away and tore off down the shed row barns causing lots of excited horses and grooms to scurry out of the way. Unfortunately, irate grooms and trainers reported him to the track management, and they warned Walt to get him under control or he would be ruled off. “When a horse or rider is ruled off the track,” Walt explained to Robin, “it means that they can never be on the racetrack grounds again and will be unable to race.” “Robin, if we don’t get him to straighten out and start applying himself, he might be ruled off the track, and then we will never be able to run him,” admonished Walt. Robin had seen what happened that afternoon too. She bit her lip until it almost bled; she didn’t want to cry in front of Walt, but she felt like it. At first, Sonoma King was trotting along just fine with his head and tail high, then he reared up and tore away from the lead pony; his hooves hit the ground hard as he raced around the track, dumping his exercise rider in the process. Late that afternoon, as the sun was going down, the barns slowly quieted down from the activities of the day. Horses were eating the fragrant hay that hung in the hay nets next to their doors. There were a few birds chirping, and a gentle calm descended on the barn area. Inside King’s stall, Robin brushed her beautiful colt. His gleaming black hide reflected the last rays of the sun. His small, keen ears pricked at the sound of her voice, and his large lustrous

eyes calmly watched as she groomed him. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Please King, you have to try harder. This is your destiny. Your mother was a great racehorse, and I know you can be one too,â&#x20AC;? Robin whispered to him, petting his silky mane. After shutting the door on the stall, Robin rode her bike home, knowing her parents would worry if she was too late.

Early Spring Races

he first race King ran in March was a dismal failure for the colt, and he had run sixth out of six. By the end of April, though, the black colt settled into his training, and Walt Davis felt he was ready for his second race. Robin was more determined than ever. King was now a magnificent, gleaming, black stallion, and his muscles rippled as he galloped. He carried his neck and head high; his tail flowed gaily in the wind. “We’ll put him in a little overnight sprint,” said Walt to Robin and her mother as they watched King sweep around the turn of the track in a fast gallop. Running beside him was his stable-mate. Walt, Robin, and Bev admired King’s strong, proud gait. Just as they all began congratulating themselves and making plans for King’s next race, King grabbed the bit and burst into a hard run and pulled away from the his stable-mate in a flash. He kept gaining ground on the backstretch until he was twenty lengths in front of the other colt. “Brilliant! That speed is amazing!” exclaimed Walt with the stopwatch in his hand. Once King had slowed down, however, Walt came back to his senses. King could have put himself and his rider in serious danger.

“What the heck were you doing?” thundered Walt to the exercise rider as he came trotting off the track. The colt was blowing a little but not very much considering the effort he had just put in. “Hey, he just grabbed the bit and took off! I couldn’t hold him!” complained the rider as he pulled the saddle off. The black stallion danced and pranced, wanting to run some more, but Walt kept a firm grip on the reins as he led the colt back to the barn. Robin ran up to the colt and the trainer with her mother following closely behind. “Gosh, he can really run, can’t he?” she squeaked out. “Maybe we can enter him after all! I know he can win!” Robin loved King and knew he had the speed to win races. She also knew he needed enough discipline and training not to buck or act up. This was truly tough love. After much discussion, Walt and Bev decided to try him in a short sprint for his next race. “Robin, don’t hold too much hope for this race. King is very green, and we can only hope for the best,” Bev said as she enlisted Robin to chop vegetables for their dinner that night. “Your father is starting to complain about you spending so much time at the barn, plus the extra cost of keeping him in training is starting to put a strain on our finances.” Robin chopped slowly, a lump coming up in her throat, “I’ll work harder with King. I know he can do it.” Even as Robin spoke those words, she felt doubt gnawing at her heart. The thought of losing King to someone else was overpowering. She could imagine King’s empty stall and his saddle tucked away at the bottom of her closet. Nothing could be worse. The days were mellow and warm. Green leaves moved gently

in the breeze, and shadows appeared under trees where all winter there had been none. The beautiful horses on the racetrack gleamed in the sun, their coats shiny as they pranced and danced to the paddock to be saddled for their races. Today was race day and Robin woke at 6 a.m. She raced into the kitchen for breakfast. “What are you doing up so early?” asked her dad as he came into the sun-filled room that was filled with the smell of breakfast – eggs and bacon – cooking on the stove. “King runs today at about 2 p.m., so I have to get to the barn early so I can give him a bath before he runs,” was the quick reply from Robin as she finished her cereal. “I hope he runs well today, because we can’t afford very much more training,” said Robert as he sat down to the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. “Dad, I know we are going to win today! I just know it!” Robin exclaimed. “Are you coming to watch him run this afternoon?” “I’ll be there with your mother. You be careful getting him ready to run,” admonished her father, as she ran out the door to ride her bike to the barn at the racetrack.

King Forgets his Manners

King Racing in Texas at Sam Houston Park, Three Abreast Around the Final Turn