It’s that time of year again!

Last year, my baseline was 47 seconds. My final time ended up as 5:12. Yay me.

This year, my baseline is 25 seconds. I suck. I guess that leaves room for improvement?

I have…a lot of horse books. Way too many to lay them all out neatly like you guys have. I actually took some down from the shelf to lay them out and then thought about how everything in my house is a disastrous mess and I’d have to spend 20 minutes putting them all back, so. I did not do that.

Here, have pictures of the shelves themselves. My collection is heavier on fiction than on nonfiction, and what nonfiction there is tends toward the memoir & history type than the how-to. I also have another ~20 or so on my Kindle.

Of note: the Cherry Hill books. I love them. Also that lovely old edition of Black Beauty.

The whole collection, plus the new light that I will install in the library when I have five minutes to spare. Mainly sharing for that top shelf, outer layer. Thoroughbred series, Marguerite Henry, a couple of assorted books, including The Blue Sword, Everyday Friends, and Banner Year, which are all pretty close to perfect hrose books.

Top shelf, back layer. Of note, the USPC books and Jessica Jahiel’s books, as well as my childhood copy of Black Beauty, a few Black Stallion books, and the three on the far right – 1950s horse books written for boys that I loved as a kid. I should write about them someday.

There are at least 5-10 I can think of that aren’t on these shelves, too. I need to do a thorough reorganizing of my books (I have probably ~30 in a stack by my bed alone) but the thought makes me want to go take a nap instead.

In short, I read a LOT.

[George] said with attempted lightness, “No need to work over Symbol, heh, Jimmy? He’ll stir up enough wind to wipe him clean.”

Jimmy Creech looked sullenly into George’s grinning, tobacco-stained mouth. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s get the stuff on him now.”

Fuuuuuuck you, Jimmy.

Those are our three main characters; I’ll introduce others later.

The primary conflict in this book is the evolution of the sport of harness racing. Jimmy wants to keep it a small-time sport, with daytime races at local county fairs. The sport at large is moving toward dedicated tracks with evening races under the lights. That’s an interesting narrative, right? There’s a lot to be mined there. The thing that kills me is that Walter Farley gets it. His descriptions of the world of harness racing are as good as – or even better than – anything in the flat racing books. But the entire narrative is presented as one of Good versus Evil, through the lens of Jimmy Creech’s bitterness and anger.

George has some mild opinions on the changes, and Tom has no actual character (other than being a generally easygoing kid and having a natural feel for “the reins”) so the conflict is driven entirely by Jimmy. Jimmy is so upset about the way things are going that he works himself into a bleeding ulcer that has to have surgery. He eats like crap. He has temper tantrums. He screams at the people around him. He sees anyone who has anything to do with the night tracks as a “traitor” and not in the haha-teasing way, in the “you and your kin are dead to me unto the seventh generation” kind of way. He hates drivers at the big tracks so much that he crashes his cart into one of them and gets into a fistfight on the training track with another. Everyone is so afraid of his temper that they tiptoe around him, hide things from him, cater to his every whim, and yes-sir his every statement. Jimmy checks every single damn box on the abusive relationship list.

Jimmy was as highly strung as any colt and his emotions would vary from day to day and from hour to hour.

That’s just the kind of guy I want training horses and/or to be my friend, amirite?

The book has three main chunks: first, the colt’s birth and early life. Second, the colt’s training. Third, the colt’s racing. The colt, by the way, is a blood bay (hence the title) named Bonfire and despite being half-Arabian, half-Standardbred, he is the fastest harness racing horse EVAH. Because of the Black. Or something. Whatever, Bonfire has literally zero personality. After the Black and Satan, he is a big blob of nothing on four legs. He’s easy to train. He wins races. He’s awfully pretty. The end.

Among Jimmy’s more questionable decisions in the book is the decision to send Volo Queen, pregnant with the colt, with Tom for the summer to his aunt and uncle’s house. Tom displays creditable anxiety about this decision, tries to get a vet on-call, and in general takes this responsibility far more seriously than any adults in the book. What do you mean, sending a pregnant mare several hours away to live with a high schooler with zero horse experience is a great plan? On top of everything, Tom is charged with starting the colt – teaching him to be handled, led, etc. Somehow this turns out fine, though damned if I know how. (There are a few screw-ups along the way, but nothing Tom can’t overcome with the power of lurrrrrrve.)

And Tom, I’ve got full confidence in you. Use your own judgment if anything comes up. You’ve got a good head and, most important, the right feeling for horses, and that always pays off in the end.

NO. NO IT DOES NOT, JIMMY.

The training is ok? I don’t know. The horse gets trained. The whole middle bridge displays the fundamental flaw of this book. The training is actually suuuuuuper interesting. Jimmy clearly knows his stuff. I loved learning about harness racing from the ground up. (I have a soft spot a mile wide for harness racing, because all my earliest experiences with horse racing was at Scarborough Downs.)

But the whole middle bit is taken over by Jimmy’s illness (he spends the whole book in denial that he has an ulcer until it ruptures; I’m pretty sure it’s a long game for maximum attention) and by the burgeoning conflict with the night tracks. Two other horses that float in and out of the story are racing at fairs and night tracks, and they’re set up to be Bonfire’s big rivals, but they’re not, really. But the middle bridge means it’s time to talk about the best damn character in the whole book, and a top 5 for the entire Black Stallion series.

Miss Elsie. Miss Elsie is living the dream, you guys. She never married, and inherited her father’s fortune when he died. She spends that money to maintain the training track, breed her own horses, and train all her own horses. She gives exactly zero shits about what anyone thinks of her. She is friendly, but laser-focused on her horses. She is compassionate but doesn’t indulge anyone. She is in and out of the story and is absolutely perfect in every way. She has a filly named Princess Guy (which, ok, not the best name but whatever, she has a stallion named Mr. Guy that she loves and named her after) that is setting track records alongside Bonfire, and she has zero compunctions about going where the best races are – at fairs or at the night tracks.

So what does Jimmy think about Miss Elsie?

A month or so ago, Jimmy read on the back of [a newspaper clipping] you’d sent that Miss Elsie Topper had left the Ohio fairs and was racing her black filly, Princess Guy, a,t Maywood Park, the night raceway just outside of Chicago. I don’t have to tell you how Jimmy feels about the night raceways. He bellowed for days that Miss Elsie had betrayed him, and I had all I could do to quiet him down.

Once again, in chorus: fuck you, Jimmy.

“And although it isn’t for me or Jimmy or maybe for you,” George added sincerely, “it’s good for our sport in a lot of ways. Raceways like this all ’round the country mean a lot more people are takin’ to our sport, and in time they’ll learn to love it the same as we do.”

JIMMY DOESN’T DESERVE YOU, GEORGE.

Tom and George enter Bonfire in the Big Race (I don’t remember what it’s called, but it’s a Black Stallion book, of course it ends with a Big Race), pooling the last of their money to do so. It’s a tight race, but please use your best surprised face when I tell you that Bonfire wins. (I snark because I love; Bonfire’s races are arguably the most enjoyable scenes in the book, because they get back to what these books do best.)

They win a ton of money! They pay off all the medical bills, all the feed bills, all the travel bills, they buy ALL new equipment, and Bonfire sets a new record for the mile at 1:59. Happy ending, right?

lol. Remember how they have to go back to their abusive home?

Jimmy Creech stood at the other end of the shed, bellowing fiercely. He was holding the tall gold-plated trophy in his hands, reading the inscription on it. When he had finished he looke dup and saw them; then the trophy came hurling through the air as he hurled it at their feet. It rolled past them, striking with a sharp ring against the door. Bonfire shrilled at the sound of it, then moved uneasily back and forth in his stall. Quickly Tom went to him, going inside the stall to quiet the colt. He ran his hand up and down Bonfire’s head while Jimmy Creech continued raging without making his words understandable.

“You’re here…and that’s the way we wanted it to be. And I wanted you to see this colt race, Jimmy. You’ve never in your life seen a colt like this one…let alone owned one. He’s a world’s champion, Jimmy. He beat the best there is. He did one fifty-nine, Jimmy. Are you thinkin’ of that at all? Or are your mind and body filled with so much hatred for the raceways that you can’t even see a colt like this any more? He’s yours, Jimmy. You bred him. You own him. All your life you hoped this would happen to you…never dreamin’ it would come. But it has, Jimmy…and you’re not even looking at him.”

I wish I could say that either George breaks up with Jimmy and goes and lives his best life, or that Jimmy has some kind of amazing revelation and about-face, but the ending is much less satisfying than that. The only thing Jimmy says is to order Tom to take Bonfire’s blanket off so he can look at the horse, because somehow that’s supposed to be an apology AND a thanks for everything he put them through and they did for him?

I don’t know you guys. This was not a fun book to read. The good parts (training, racing, Tom being sweet if in over his head, Miss Elsie) were totally obscured by the rage that fueled the narrative conflict.

Have you read it recently, or not-so-recently? What did you think?

I am among the least superstitious people on the planet. I don’t really do lucky things. I have things that I like, and things that I have imbued with meaning, but I don’t think the world will go wrong if I don’t have rituals, objects, or anything else that I feel blesses my endeavor. (My husband, on the other hand, has elaborate charts that he uses to keep track of what jerseys he was wearing when his sports teams win or lose so that he can make sure he gets it “right.”)

I’m not in the slightest bit religious, either. I don’t really care whether ghosts exist or not. I’m really kind of boringly pragmatic in a lot of ways. I like to work hard and figure things out and love the things that I love, and mysteries that can never be solved are kind of boring to me.

I tell you this mostly as context to the story I’m about to relate to you, so you can understand how weird it is.

Maybe a month ago, Tristan’s pasture mate was euthanized. He was in his 30s, and he had the variety of health problems you’d expect from an ageing horse. He was exquisitely well cared-for and much loved, but he was getting increasingly neurological. Getting up and down the hills of the farm was hard for him, and getting harder.

I can’t stress enough how hard everyone worked to keep him comfortable and how lovingly the final decision was made. The barn manager brought him out to handgraze with Tristan for a while so they could say goodbye. They’ve been turned out together reliably for a few years now, because they had similar needs for grass (type and/or lack of), because Tristan doesn’t play hard, and because they were just calm and happy together. So it was lovely that they got to say goodbye.

Tristan rarely gets attached to other horses. He has some horses that he likes, especially longtime pasture buddies, but he’s never been a horse to make instant best friends on a trailer, for example, and he’s always been perfectly happy to be turned out alone when that ends up being his situation. For a horse that spent his formative years running wild in a herd, he has an awful lot of loner-like tendencies. I’ve always thought that if I did bring him home with me someday, he’d be content and happy alone for quite a while.

That’s just more context for you.

On Monday, I took Tristan out for a long walk around the field. Nothing taxing at all; just a walk with some nice trots up hills. We’ve circled this field I don’t even know how many dozens of times.

At the end of our ride, we were coming up the last bit of hill, and he was on a loose rein, and he scooted forward, hard and fast. It wasn’t really a spook or a bolt. It was a short launch, a stride or two of energy and alertness. I didn’t even have time to pick up the reins, just sat it with my seat, and he came back to a walk by himself. I thought that it was the new trailers that were parked at the top of the hill, though those had been quite visible for our entire walk up the hill and were no surprise.

I walked him around the trailers a bit, and he was alert but not bratty. Then he stopped and let out a long, loud, neigh. Really long. Really loud. Then again. I was totally baffled – he’s also not a vocal horse. Mustangs rarely are. There were no other horses in sight, no other people, no other animals. Nothing at all.

I was confused but shrugged, and we turned for home. As we were leaving the hill, he called out again, long and loud. This time, there was a horse in the outdoor, so I guessed he’d been calling to her. It’s a mare that he’s never actually “met,” though they’ve been ridden in the ring together maybe two or three times. Still really weird for him to be calling for her, but I guessed that’s what happened.

As I dismounted, a thought occurred to me, and I walked into the barn and poked my head into the tack room for the barn manager.

“Hey S,” I said. “Where is Pari buried?”

I knew generally where the barn buried horses, but S. described to me a spot precisely where Tristan had had his first scoot.

I’m not sure what to think. S. was very close to Pari and thought that Tristan saw something. That’s comforting for her, and it really is a lovely thought. But it’s so far outside of how I usually interpret things that I’m just not sure. Most of my practical brain just thinks he smelled that other horse, or he just had a weird whim.

What do you think?