Raja, Story of a Racehorse Read Online Free PDF

wafted in and out of the cool sun-dappled morning mist. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. So many horses and people and so much activity! The charged air made me jig as I dragged Chris along while he led me on a walk, my ears pricked and head raised as I snorted at the newness of everything.
    I want to see it all. I can’t wait until I’m in the center of the action, RACING!
    We walked past endless green shed row barns. Overstuffed hay nets and well-scrubbed colored plastic feed tubs perched next to stalls shaded by baskets overflowing with pink and red blossoms. Gleaming leather halters with polished brass name plates glinted and winked in the golden sunlight. Horses, everywhere, jigging out to the track to train with their riders laughing and joking, hot walking in circles in front of barns, or standing as they were bathed, with steam swirling from their backs.
    Every second I heard something new: music from barn radios, horses whinnying, tractor engines rumbling, hooves thundering on the track or clack-clack-clacking on the tarmac road that lined the backstretch. And the smells, heady and complex: shampoo, liniment, poultice, flowers, fly spray and sweet flowery smells from the ladies in colorful dresses and hats — the owners— who occasionally walked through the barns with their trainer.
    The grooms gossiped as they rolled bandages and played cards in the shade of the old oak and maple trees. “Si, Annapurna, el caballo del Flash es muy lindo — mejor que los otros.” “Flash’s horse, Annapurna, is very nice — better than the others.”
    â€œMuy caro — el Flash es muy rico,” “Very expensive — Flash is very rich.”
    â€œYou must be the new crop,” a dark bay, almost brown, horse in the stall next to me drawled in a knowing, yet not unfriendly, manner. “I’m Rather Be, also bred and owned by the Sheikh. Everyone calls me ‘RB’. For some reason, he still has me out here banging away, even though I’ve been running for years. I guess I’m good for a stakes win or two despite being an old man of six.”
    â€œStakes win or two!” snorted a nervous, red, “blood” bay on the other side. “RB has forgotten more about racing than most horses, or people for that matter, ever know. He’s a race strategy genius. How many stakes have you won, RB? I know you ran in the Triple Crown races — the Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes.”
    RB rolled his eyes, slightly embarrassed.
    â€œHey, there’s Hollywood Bill.” He looked across the shed row, changing the subject. We all looked over to the next barn, where a man wearing dark glasses stood next to a very tall man while a group of photographers clicked their cameras.
    â€œI never see him at his barn unless he’s with one of his celebrity owners. He usually has his assistants do the training while he chats up the owners. I heard that he just bought Annapurna, the highest-priced horse at the Keeneland sale, for that guy. That’s Flash Jackson, a famous basketball player. People give him lots of money to chase a ball around a room. It seems silly. People are funny. But Flash wants to win the Kentucky Derby and he has the money to buy the best horses.”

    August, Saratoga Springs, New York
    â€œJog him, please.” Alex MacLaren, my new trainer, ran his hand down my legs to feel them, as he did with every horse, every day. He watched me intently and nodded.
    â€œOK, he looks good. Thank you, Chris. Bring the filly out next, please.”
    Alex looked me in the eye with approval and patted my neck, his manner professional, yet personal, at the same time. Tidy, contained, never without his blue baseball cap covering his short brown hair and penetrating eyes, Alex was constantly in motion, attentive and focused, coffee in one hand and cell phone in the other, noticing and remembering every detail.
    â€œThe filly