>> she just might

"Moody Bradley"

She was amazing. Never would I have thought the literally no-name filly that arrived at our barn just a little over a year ago would turn into such a prospect. Out of her four starts, she had yet to place out of the top two, even, and now she was entered in her first major race as a two year old, the Eagle Cup. Of course, I was worried. That goes without saying. Some of the toughest two year olds were entered in that race. In fact, Sophie was the long shot. She had the shortest record and the least amount of experience, but I knew she had it in her to win. She always ran to win.
I took her out of her stall in the predawn light, smiling softly when she tried to nip my arm when she thought I wasn't looking. She had character, that was for sure. Most of the other staff, all four of them, stayed away from her because of her temper. She had a short fuse and was quick to retaliate if disciplined. Good God, did she hate being reprimanded. Like any true woman, the concept of her being wrong is one that she absolutely cannot grasp. She stood in the cross ties, shifting from hoof to hoof impatiently as I brushed down her coat and began to tack her up. I knew she could tell I was out of sorts, because I wasn't yelling at her for nibbling on one of the ties, or stamping her hooves when I tried picking them, and she was taking advantage of my distracted state. I was anxious about her run in the Eagle Cup, mostly because she was the under dog. The race wasn't a lost cause, but just the same, we'd have to work hard in order to secure a win. Sighing, I tightened her girth another notch and slipped the bridle over her head (after taking off her halter, of course) before leading her out of the barn and walking toward our training track.
She was still her bratty self when we reached the dirt. On the way, she had tried stepping on my feet three times, and managed to clip the heels of my shoes twice. Still, I didn't reprimand her, too caught up in my anxiety over her performance. What if she didn't win? What if she slipped and broke a leg? What if she had to be put down? These were the common questions that I always fretted over before a big race, more-so if it was the horse's first major race. I bit my lip gently, waiting until the slight pain had taken the place of my worry before jamming my foot in the stirrup and hopping into the saddle.
Sophie didn't waste any time in breaking into a trot before I had even gotten my foot in the other stirrup. Growling quietly, I jerked back on the reins, pointing my heels downward as she gave a small buck in defiance. She settled into a bouncy trot, and I posted awkwardly on one foot before I found the other stirrup and retook my seat. "Easy does it, Soph." I murmured and slid my hands up the pliant leather, taking a firm hold once she was forced to collect herself because of my grip. She snorted, ears flicking and tail snapping in annoyance at the slowed pace. I ignored her complaints and began posting again, my arms straining as she pressed vainly against the bit to regain her head.
As we made our way around the first turns at a brisk trot, I decided to humor her and let her ease into a canter. Her stride was surprisingly lengthy for a filly of her size, and she devoured the ground eagerly, sticking close to the rail and refusing to budge an inch away from it until we reached the back stretch. The Eagle Cup was a sprinter's race, something Sophie was quite prevalent at. If there was one thing she liked to do, it was run. I'd have her breeze another furlong at a canter, then let her do her own pace for two furlongs. I kept her in check as she moved down the back stretch, the filly still pushing against the bit, trying to catch me off guard and rip the reins from my hands. But I kept a steady grip, and as the furlongs marker passed by, I crouched down on her back and gave her all the rein she would take.
Sophie shot off, head raised high and tail flagged out behind her. She ran up-headed for most of her races, which, in this case, wasn't a problem since she was a sprinter. But over longer distances, I had to keep her collected for most of the race to keep her from tiring out early on. She moved fluidly, every stride seeming to come faster and faster, until I could barely discern the separate beats. She wasn't as muscled as her stablemates, but her build was light and her movements were sure, and in my opinion, that more than made up for her lack of power.
All too soon, she was taking the final turns, which meant she had run over the two furlongs I had originally planned. I quickly reined her in, ignoring the heated head tosses and crow hops as she was forced to slow. "You'll be able to run your heart out in the Eagle Cup. Just wait until then." I finally snapped at her as I coaxed her into a trot. Snorting hotly, Sophie tossed her head a final time before collecting her gait. She had worked up a nice sweat, not too bad, considering it was early in the morning, but the middle of summer, nonetheless. I rested my hands against her neck and posted instinctively as she cooled down. Sophie definitely had the presence and the speed to make it big. A small grin turned up the corners of my mouth as I gave her a damp neck an affectionate pat. "Sophie, you just might win this."