When people began to know of the Big Red's ability whilst he was in training, a genetically modified horse came into the world, just about a year younger than Secretariat. He was made to win against Big Red. And he would. He had to….
~The colt's hooves clopped on the barn's floor, his knees rose dangerously high near Jeremy, the stable hand. His sweaty hands gripped tightly on the colt's lead rope that connected to his halter. The colt came out into the early morning sun, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, but not out of fear, or rage, but out of excitement. The colt's muscles bulged as he was led onto the fine gravel path and then was tied up to a post. Jeremy took the racing tack from the small shed nearby, and then came up to the colt. He slid his hand slowly beneath the saddle so it would stop making such a ruckus. He gently laid a saddle pad on the colt, his hands shakily smoothing it. Gripping the lightweight saddle like it was precious gold; Jeremy lowered the classical saddle on the horse's back. Then he slid off the halter. He paused for a second, but the black colt just stood there. He let out a relieved sigh and softly put the bridle on, still trying to steady his hands. Jeremy rubbed the colt's small snip before he left, handing Criser over to Steven. ~
I flicked my ears at the loud sound my hooves created as I walked through the barn. I rolled my eyes with ecstasy, kicking my legs up high. Jeremy pulled me along. I could sense his worry, but I didn't understand it. Shouldn't he be excited, too? I was going for a run!
Jeremy led me onto a gravel pathway out into the early morning sun. My black coat seemed darker in the dim sunlight. I thrusted my head up and down as Jeremy led me to a post. A quiver was sent down my spine as he laid the white diamond-plaid saddle pad on my back. He lowered the onyx black saddle on the pad. His trembling, clammy fingers gently slid the bridle over my nose and ears. He gently shoved the bit in my mouth, his fingers quivering from nervousness. Was he scared of me? I tossed my head in the air, my mane flopping as I lifted my head. I pawed the ground as he left, my reins tied to the post.
Steven emerged from the house just a little ways away, whip in his hands, shimmering jockey silks flowing gracefully behind him. I nickered to him, my ears rotating towards him as he murmured to me. A man came toward us and gave Steven a leg up. I let out a low snort as Steven settled on my back and slipped his feed into the stirrups. The man untied my reins and handed them to Steven. They exchanged words before Steven gave me a light kick. I sort of side stepped before I settled into a trot, my hooves kicking up the silt on the pathway. People congregated to watch me breeze the track. I whinnied to them, flicking my ebony tail as I started at a canter and then began to gallop. The dirt sprayed like mist beneath my hooves. My tail and mane blew through the air as I thundered around the bend, my nose flaring to keep good oxygen content. I let out a shrill whinny. I felt the reins tug back and I tossed my head in annoyance. I was a born front-runner and I hated the feel of the bit pulling on my mouth. I licked at the solid metal bar, trying to get a hold of it with my teeth. Steven yanked back and I jerked to the right.
"Dang," Steven yelled as he pulled the reins to the right. I snorted and caught the bit. I held it firmly between my teeth as I picked up speed.
"Just let him run!" I heard my owner shout. What they said, I wanted to say to Steven. He grunted in answer and nudged me on with his heels. I whinnied again, my nostril lifted in the air. Steven waved his whip as if saying, No, don't whinny! I knew he was right, but it was fun. I was a trouble horse, and it was fun. People couldn't control me easily, which was ironic because they practically made me. Trust me, I knew my duty. I was 'created' to defeat Secretariat, the horse of the time. He was already racing while I was struggling in practices because no jockeys could ever control me correctly. Or ride me well. Maybe it was my towering height of 17.6 hands, higher than the average thoroughbred, or maybe it was my spirit of racing and my stubbornness. My unwillingness to cooperate with the jockey was the biggest complaint about me. If only they could find a great jockey, though, then I would be fine!
I snapped out of my thoughts as I felt the whip land on my flank. I widened my eyes and missed a step as Steven let me out all the way. I raced around the final bend, the dirt flying behind me in a whirlwind. Lather built up on my neck and chest as I came from around the turn. Steven didn't ask for me to give it my all.
I could hear people cheer and yell with excitement as they watched me. Did they think I was trying? I was just messing around. I didn't want to reveal my abilities until the race. But the problem was, Secretariat seemed to like running near the front, like me. This would definitely be the race human kind would be talking about for a long while, and I would be the champion! Steven yanked back on my mouth as I finished the lap. I reluctantly slowed into a canter, my tongue almost lolling from my mouth as the sun peaked above the mountains, heating the world up.
Steven slowed me to a complete stop near the exit of the track. My pitch-black body heaved as I caught my breath as the mugginess overwhelmed me. I nodded my head up and down as Steven dismounted, saliva dripping from my mouth. Steven led me over towards my owners, who, strangely, I barely knew.
"He was amazing," Steven exclaimed, "besides the fact that he's always fighting commands." He turned and scowled at me. I lowered my ears and let out a soft nicker. They laughed.
"Yes, but this one will sure put up a fight against the Big Red," one said. I looked to my right at the track. Yes. Yes I will.