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Description
Loooooooook at Gabe <3 I am desperately in love with this colt and was appalled to discover that the only picture I have of him is his old ugly auction bid (pre-photoshops days were not good) so I was compelled to make him the face of August even though he appears very briefly. Don't worry though, he and his handsomeness will be very important eventually

Freakin' long, you have been warned.

Travis wasn’t entirely sure why he’d bothered to come watch this race. Boredom probably, in truth hadn’t much of an interest in the racers lately, ever since he’d decided to invest the returned college fund money into show jumpers he hadn’t had the drive to bother coming out to Saratoga unless the day was big enough to warrant it. The jumpers had him busy enough, even though he wasn’t riding nor doing anything other than plotting and putting money out they’d wrapped their way snugly around his brain. It didn’t help that their rider was easy on the eyes, charming, and fiercely intelligent to boost. Yes, currently Travis was enjoying elite trainer Liam Kay’s barn in Jersey far more than the race track. The barn was new and painless, while the track was burdened with memories and lingering sensations of misery. The barn was a distraction whilst the track was all too real to feel anything but cold and hard.

Still he’d come out today. The truth wasn’t boredom but rather curiosity and masochistic tendency that took hold of him every once in a while, namely the desire to go bask in the pain of losing her and the track was the only place to truly feel the sensation. Which was how he found himself in Triple Birch’s box (he refused to call it his father’s, after all Travis hadn’t bargained for a quarter of everything to call everything his father’s) watching the post parade for the Honorable Miss Handicap (GII) his eyes glued to the filly in the green and black, a spunky little bay named Eminence. Eminence had been bought under the guidance of Hallie Jeffries, who’d never even seen the mare again after auction day, as much as Travis wanted to resent that the mare was clearly a good purchase. Jonah had only had his hands on her for a few months and she’d already put up a few noteworthy works and ran a very solid third in the Chicago Handicap (GIII).

Today was the opportunity for the filly to show that she could handle a step up in class, even if the distance was not her ideal mile.

Jonah arrived, quiet as usual, he shook Travis’s hand silently and settled into the seat next to him. The filly was pitching something of a fit that resembled play more than stress. Luc being as gifted as he was with hands and timing opted to turn her loose from the post parade a bit early. She veered and zigged and zagged but you couldn’t deny her speed and athleticism, Jonah and Scout had built her up to pure sprinting muscle and it showed.

“She looks good Jonah.”

Jonah nodded, “She’s classier than we give her credit for, it’s her damn brain that’s the problem not the rest of her.

“You have a course set for her?”

“She’s got the speed and the talent to be a damn good runner. If we can coax her brain to go along with the rest I think she’s got Breeders’ Cup written all over her.”

Travis was surprised but didn’t show it, so much could happen between now and November that it was scarcely worried to start thinking about it now, “Scout thought highly of her didn’t she?”

Jonah nodded, “Called her Jigsaw. I think though we’re getting close to the final few pieces. I’ve got Luc trying something a little different today if it works and she comes out alright I’m pointed her towards the Gallant Bloom next month.”

Travis gave another nod. That was something he missed about the track, all the what’s and if's. Currently all the if’s were coming true for Triple Birch, which inevitably meant that soon enough they’d all go wrong. It was a sobering thought but one that came with a sense of perverse excitement, curiosity to just see how all the chips ended up falling.

The filly, being the puzzle she was, proved to be a little tricky to get into the gate. Luc was knocked off once largely due to the filly’s display of tremendous balance, but he popped up quick and climbed on himself.

Jonah just groaned, “I’ve spent seven hours this week alone schooling her in the gate. She would. She would.”

Travis, who didn’t know the filly outside of words, simply nodded and waited.

The men got her shoved in last, which gave her no chance to think about pulling anything else. Within moments the bell clanged and the gates flew open and she out with them straight to the front. Luc rushed her on too, you could see it in his shoulders how he encouraged the early speed. The filly, full of such speed and too confused by the quick pace that everything had happened at obliged. The rest of the field seemed confused as well, the picked front runner, a six year old bay mare, was unable to keep up with Eminence’s pace and the rest of the field jostled around, unable to settle.

Jonah’s face cracked into a grin.

The filly was emboldened by the space in front her and the living chaos behind her kept up the clip, you could see her begin to unfold a bit, settle down as they curved around the first turn, only to gear back up to the final few moments of it as their bodies spilled out into the stretch of dirt before the finish line. There was no chance for the filly to even think of anything else but run and so she did. The bay mare seemed to figure herself out for the moment and provided some encouragement as she crept up on Eminence’s tail, but it was a gray closer who had it. The nearly white mare came thundering down the track, ears pricked forward, too experienced to have been phased by Eminence’s chaos causing move. Long and lithe she drew even with Triple Birch’s bay within three strides, and attuned with that rare sense of knowing where the wire was pushed ahead by half a length just in time.

Eminence surged after her, despite Luc’s hands hauling back, and set her short stocky frame out to conquer the elegant gray. The gray, satisfied and amused slowed enough to let the little white faced bay veer past her. Only then did Eminence slow.

Travis glanced over at Jonah, who was still grinning, just to hear him say, “Well damn it I think we just got ourselves a racehorse.”

***

It was shocking to everyone just how quickly Zahra bounced back from her third place finish in the Coaching Club American Oaks (GI). The vet had given her a lose dosage of bute but declared her perfectly clean. Jonah already had her pointed nose first at the Alabama Stakes (GI). In the same trip he guaranteed yet again that Marzanna was ship shape, he gave her some bute as well and suggested a few days off, but the next morning the filly was pawing to be released. Lacey had managed to convince Zannie, as she called her, that a trot was fast enough, but they were out for an hour as a result. She came back with ice cold legs and a ‘give me more’ mentality. Jonah was playing it easy though, he gave the filly a full week and a half off before breezing her again. She so resented being held back that she nearly knocked Lacey straight off her from the sheer power she demonstrated in the half mile clip. Needless to say she went straight back into her regular regiment.

Lacey, whose life had shifted rather dramatically in the last few weeks (not so dramatically as those times though) was beginning to form an attachment to the filly. No one else thought much of her except that a. she was talented and b. she was impersonal. Lacey was starting to feel a connection though, the filly’s unbridled passion for running was contagious and through their mutual love the filly was beginning to harbor some affection for the scrawny thirteen year old. Lacey, who’d solidly attached herself to Gunslinger, was attempting to detach from the big overo colt in hopes of making the winter a bit easier on herself. Everyone knew that Sling was retiring come this fall, granted he could go another year providing he stayed clear of injury, but Mr. McCailen wanted a return on his investment in the form of stud fees.

“Got everything Lace?”

Lacey glanced up from her empty bowl of cheerios in Mike Torrez’s pristine white kitchen into the face of the man himself. Scout had left for a while, the details were intentionally being kept blurry to her (she knew this too) and so she’d gone to live with Mike and his wife, Scarlett and two sons. It was the only change in Lacey’s life that she hadn’t resented on any level, strange as it was adjusting to being part of an actual family, Lacey had more or less let herself be reshuffled around without any protest. As a result of her lack of protest Mike and Scarlett had been extra attentive, concerned that her lack of protest meant that she was harboring some deep seated resentment. Lacey understood this but didn’t know how to convince them otherwise, in the end she’d decided they’d get used to it and that people all in all were very strange.

“Yup,” Lacey said jumping up from the counter stool, dumping her bowl in the sink, and grabbing her bag off the counter. Scarlett had just bought her it, a new Ariat bag, the sort that fancy rich show girls owned. It might have been the nicest think that Lacey had ever owned.

Together master and apprentice went to out to the driveway and into his modest Volvo XC60 Crossover and were off to Saratoga. The trip was a short one, Mike owned a rather large house on the outskirts of the town itself, up near Skidmore College. She supposed technically it was considered a mansion, a thought which gave her chills. Unlike Mal- who lived in a crammed little apartment in the Bronx, or Jonah-who lived in a crooked row house a block from the track, or even Scout- who lived in a nice but small loft, Mike knew how to invest his money and spent it on sensible things. Like really nice houses and dependable cars. Lacey, who had seen firsthand, just how quickly jockeys tended to blow their money (Mal had just bought a new obnoxious sports car that had already been in the shop twice, Frankie tended to buy every new electronic out there, and even Luc seemed to blow everything on clothing he only wore to walk into the track and out again) she appreciated seeing that not all jockeys were idiots. She’d heard that the girl jockey, Hallie Jeffries, had bought a horse with her money-which seemed entirely respectable to the horse crazed thirteen year old. Lacey, who was thinking of maybe becoming a jockey herself, was intending on sitting somewhere between Mike and Hallie, a nice house and a few nice horses and a nice car that got good gas mileage.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Mike said with a smile as he pulled down main street, an impressive testament to red brick and small town America.

“I’m thinking of how I’ll spend my money if I become a jockey.”
He laughed. Lacey loved Mike’s laugh. Most adults tended to laugh down at her while he always seemed to be laughing with her.

“Not like Mal and Frankie?”

“Or Luc.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that.”

She gave a little nod. Lacey wasn’t entirely sure where to categorize Mike in her existence. She’d never had siblings and past the age of seven she hadn’t had a father, she’d never known her mother, so where to put him had her confused. It seemed sacrilegious to say he was like a father to her, because of how much her own father had given and ultimately lost for her. Maybe like an older brother, she should have asked Scout what that was like, Scout had brothers.
Lacey wondered briefly where the woman had gone, everyone said somewhere, but never where exactly that was. She was starting to wonder if anyone actually knew.

Lacey had seen Scout’s breakdown coming. She’d stopped sleeping, talking, done much of anything but Lacey hadn’t really known what to do about it. She felt some residual guilt in that, but Lacey didn’t have the tools to help her, other than saying ‘survive.’ That was all Lacey knew how to do really, ride horses and survive. She was starting to get the feeling that Mike had figured that out too, namely what the surviving part had constituted. Being her legal guardian afforded him her records, which didn’t have much on them except that she’d been found living under a box in Philadelphia in that stretch that lay between Center City and Temple at age nine. Since then she’d lived in the system at orphanages until she was eleven and bolted to Aqueduct during a field trip to a nearby park. No one had ever fostered her (until now at least) and the system had no clue where she came from except that she was born in Maryland to a Raphael Moreno and an Alice Freeman in 2002.

The rest she was privy to and she alone at that. She was quite comfortable with it staying that way, buried long and far and deep, that way such things were supposed to be.

***

“Damn it,” John said staring up at the big white and brown horse. Gunslinger, unconcerned and exhausted stared right back his sharp brown eyes telling the man more than just ‘damn it.’

“That’s one hell of a colt,” was all Frankie was able to get out before gulping down an entire bottle of water.

The hell of a colt was the Belmont winner, turned Haskell winner, turned Whitney winner. A burly dark bay by Bernardini who’d trounced his three year old age group only to trounce the older male division today during the Whitney (GI). Gunslinger lost by a hard earned nose, but second place was still only second, worth mentioning less on a stud advertisement than a first.

“Where do we go from here Jonah?”

Jonah, who’d been full of answers lately (his therapist said this was due to acceptance), simply shrugged and lowered himself onto a hay bale watching as Sal let the big colt roll around in a circle outside.

“We run him in the Woodward. Clearly we need to up his athleticism. We train harder, we race tighter, and we hope
we get to the Classic.”

“So what then, Woodward and then the Gold Cup?” Travis said from where he leaned against the shed row wall, partially hidden by a late afternoon shadow.

Jonah nodded, “We gear him up, get him breezing weekly, jogging twice as long. Maybe I’ll pair him up with Mar. She’s got the best work ethic in this barn. We push him until he can’t take it and then we haul back.”

“Do you think he can take it?”

Jonah gave another nod, “He’s a tough fucking animal John. He’s been injured, he’s been beaten, he’s had to build himself up from nothing twice. Let’s push him now while we can and call it after the Classic.”

“You think he has another year in him?” John asked quickly glancing at the colt.

“Well he had this year in him, so maybe. If he wins the Classic, or at least comes strong out of it, I say we look to Dubai. It’s a far look ahead, but if we keep it in mind we might get him there.”

“And if he comes out poorly?” Travis asked.

“Well then that’s up to you gentlemen.”

***

“I think he’s ready Jonah,” Mike said one morning after breezing the Medgalia d’Oro colt. That had been enough for Jonah.

Now, Wednesday, the colt had been entered in a 7f long maiden on Saratoga’s dirt stretch. Jonah had picked it because of the small field, three other colts, and the lack of any particularly big race. The oppressive heat had cleared out the stands by 2 o’clock so by the time Golden Age’s race rolled around it was just him, the empty grandstand, and a mostly empty track.

They’d been doing extensive paddock training with the occasionally anxious colt and he performed like a dream. Comfortable with Jonah, Sal and Mike he glided through all the motions. He loaded into the gate with all the elegance that resided in his blue blooded bones and broke nice and smooth, sailing straight to the front just like his sire was wont to do. From then on it was merely a matter of waiting, the golden colt kept climbing forward until he made it under the finish line, the other three not even having the chance to get even with the strands of his black tail.

Even Mike Torrez, the humblest jockey Jonah knew, looked smug in the winner’s picture.

***

Come the middle of August there had been two surprises and two non-surprises under the Triple Birch Colors of green and black. Marzanna and Paranormal both held the reins of their respective juvenile divisions, last weekend Marzanna had set a record in the Adirondack (GII) and Paranormal had crookedly won the Saratoga Special (GII). Both wins had been expected, received, and promptly filed away under the success file. No, more curious to Jonah were the actual surprises. First came Cryptology’s stunner of a maiden. Despite the colt’s worrisome nature and how he shook like a leaf till the gate flew back and let him run he managed to fight for a first in such an impressive manner that Jonah was beginning to think that maybe Hallie had truly seen something that day so long ago. After the experience the colt had calmed down considerably. He’d paired the Roman nose Eskenderya son with the occasionally anxious Medaglia d’Oro colt and let them sort their problems out together. Which funny enough seemed to be working.

Funnier even was Ash. Jonah had endured Marzanna’s panic attack for a day while Ash was shipped to Monmouth for his first start in the Tyro Stakes (ungraded). The little blitz ball of energy had put in three blistering workouts and Jonah had seen no reason to not drop him amongst classier company to see just how much of his mother was in him. To everyone’s shock the little bay bullet won by two lengths. It’d been a hell of a run, crooked and without discipline, but Frankie had gotten the little devil home safe and sound.

Fortunately Marzanna’s panic attack had occurred after she’d stormed home in the Adirondack (GII). This race had not prompted the grandstand to silence, but rather joyful screaming as the public began to dream to hope that another super filly was being built in front of their eager eyes. The panic attack however had Jonah concerned. As thrilling as Ash’s win was it was quite apparent that the two horses were entirely different classes of racehorses. Mar was destined for greatness, for GI’s and history books whilst Ash was destined for the lower echelon, the respectable but not necessarily enlightening GIII’s and GII’s. Ash would be moved around frequently, while Mar would follow the season, Aqueduct to Churchill to Belmont to Saratoga back to Belmont and then to the Cup wherever that lay in a given year. She was a Queen and he was a pauper and unless Ash suddenly gained a whole lot of talent Jonah could for see some serious problems arising come the future.

Serious, serious problems.

***

Jonah felt a certain combination of smugness and crashing relief as he watched Zee blow home in front in the Alabama Stakes (GI). The field had been soft, the rising star of a summer- a big California bay- was out on the west coast, and the two chestnuts who’d caused her so much trouble in the Mother Goose were being directed elsewhere. The winner was starting in the Travers next Saturday and the second place was training like a little flaxen maned monster for the Personal Ensign next Sunday. All three would no doubt prove trouble come the Ladies Classic, but until then Jonah was intent on letting Zee snatch up as many wins as she could, which meant clever and careful plotting on his part.

The pair, Luc and Zee, flooded into the winner’s circle. The filly was bright and showy, pawing and arching her neck for the masses and Luc was actually daring to grin.

“She felt good boss. Better than last time. More go from behind.”

Jonah nodded and slipped the filly a peppermint, “She still feel like she had some at the end?”

Luc gave an encouraging nod, “A mile and a quarter is nothing to her anymore. Field was easy, that dark bay could be something though.”

The dark bay in question glided by with a female jockey in her saddle, on that Jonah didn’t recognize. The girl glanced over at the three some in the winner’s circle and flashed a smile. She was pretty, Hispanic looking, with big golden eyes and a cat that ate the canary look about her.

“She knows it too,” Jonah said wryly, taking notice of Luc’s lingering stare as the girl dismounted and unsaddled her mount.

“I don’t know her. She’s from Cali,” Luc said pausing to grin at the flashing camera for the winner’s picture. Jonah was running out of wall space for the darned thing.

“The filly is too. A Baffert right?”

Luc nodded, “He has another filly too. A big black thing, wants to give me the ride for the Ensign.”

“Take it,” Jonah said firmly. Luc had been tentative since his burnout to take any rides that weren’t under Jonah. He’d been living meager as a result and Jonah didn’t like to see him go hungry without cause.

Luc gave another nod, measured this time, “I still have Zee though right?”

“Till you say otherwise kid.”

***

The month closed out quietly, a direct opposition to how it had roared in. You could feel the autumn coming, quietly though, as the nights dipped cooler and the days edged shorter. Double Up coated in the colors of the coming season seemed the right horse on which to end summer’s final month on. The chestnut filly was still immature, high in the back, a bit spaced out in the mind, but she had a hell of a lot of heart which was something that Jonah, a true horseman, could always appreciate. Dory, as they’d been calling her ever since Lacey declared it to be so after she saw the movie Nemo with Mike’s sons and decided the likeness between the two was perfect, was something of a slow study. Jonah didn’t think this was due to a lack of intelligence, or even a lack of a memory as the case of the fish, but rather was simply a facet of her patience.

The filly acted far older than two, never spooked, never even thought of being anything close to nervous. Jonah who’d trained and raced her spirited mother couldn’t quite figure out where the quietness came from, especially considering her sire had been known to be a bit on the skittish side of life. Dory as inquisitive, curious, and seemed to understand the world around her with startling accuracy even if it didn’t show in her race record, she’d been started six times already and the best she’d earned was fourth. It was discouraging to say the least, but Jonah wasn’t uncommitted yet. He’d picked today’s race because of its small field, three other fillies, and distance at 8f. He’d been dropping the filly into 6 f sprints thinking she would take after her mother, but maybe not.

She floated through the prerace engagements like usual, scarcely noticing that it was Mal on her instead of Luc. Mal had a bit of a hotter seat than Luc, although no Frankie Deltino, Jonah was hoping the experienced Irishmen would bring something to the table that Luc hadn’t. Forgoing the Triple Birch box Jonah settled in with Sal and Estefan along the rail, watching as the filly obliged her handlers and willingly stepped into the gate albeit after a moment’s pause.

“She’s a thinker,” Sal murmured.

Jonah nodded and Estefan-who was of the opinion that the filly was a blithering fool- simply rolled his eyes. They watched in silent as the tiny field broke and shifted. They’d all run before at this point, understood the nature of the race, but had yet to figure out how to get the hell to the front. Double Up, breezily settled in third, rocking a touch to the right and then back to the left. Mal let her, simply sat quietly. The filly flicked a single ear back, the race was a slow one, the front runner- a poorly constructed blood bay- was having a tough time settling into the dirt, and the others floated about aimlessly. Something seemed to flick on in Dory’s mind as they aimlessly rolled along the backstretch.

Suddenly without any cue or expectation or even reason the filly dug in and pushed forward. It was not quick, but it was smooth and steady. She sailed up to the horse in second, a gray, and matched her stride for stride. The gray seemed to take this as a threat and pulled ahead despite her jockey’s protest, Dory unconcerned kept her pace as they neared the turn for home. She skipped along on the gray’s tail, her stride opening up and her neck lowering as they entered the turn.

“Well look at that,” Estefan muttered as the chestnut glided up to the gray again. The bay in front was coming in hot and fast despite her awkward stride and it required Dory to speed up. This was where the filly usually backed off, decided against the entire affair and let herself coast along. She hung next to the gray as they hit six furlongs, and then she had another ephiany. She stretched out again, her too long back providing her with an incredible stride, one that Jonah had never seen her give before.

“She’s not wobbling,” Sal whispered.

Jonah hadn’t even noticed but it was true. Mal had her running cleanly straight, her own momentum keeping her long legs in check and her balance centered. She kept pushing against the ground, digging in, kept chipping away at the bay’s lead until she had a head in front, and then half a length, then a length, and then finally two as she came under the wire in first.

“Well look at that,” Jonah echoed.

***

Name: Golden Age
Barn name: Gabe, Pretty Boy
Gender: Colt
Age: 2
Breed: Thoroughbred
Height: Projected 16.2
Color: Bay
Markings: Blaze, Front socks
Genotype: Ee/AA
Discipline: Racing
Preferred Distance: 8+ furlongs
Running Style: First Flight
Temperament: Fun. He's bright and friendly and doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body. He's unfailingly polite and considerate towards just about everyone, that said he does have a bit of anxiety floating around, especially when large crowds of unfamiliar people are concerned.
Pedigree: Foundation (Medaglia d’Oro x Life at Ten)

Description
Loooooooook at Gabe <3 I am desperately in love with this colt and was appalled to discover that the only picture I have of him is his old ugly auction bid (pre-photoshops days were not good) so I was compelled to make him the face of August even though he appears very briefly. Don't worry though, he and his handsomeness will be very important eventually

Freakin' long, you have been warned.

Travis wasn’t entirely sure why he’d bothered to come watch this race. Boredom probably, in truth hadn’t much of an interest in the racers lately, ever since he’d decided to invest the returned college fund money into show jumpers he hadn’t had the drive to bother coming out to Saratoga unless the day was big enough to warrant it. The jumpers had him busy enough, even though he wasn’t riding nor doing anything other than plotting and putting money out they’d wrapped their way snugly around his brain. It didn’t help that their rider was easy on the eyes, charming, and fiercely intelligent to boost. Yes, currently Travis was enjoying elite trainer Liam Kay’s barn in Jersey far more than the race track. The barn was new and painless, while the track was burdened with memories and lingering sensations of misery. The barn was a distraction whilst the track was all too real to feel anything but cold and hard.

Still he’d come out today. The truth wasn’t boredom but rather curiosity and masochistic tendency that took hold of him every once in a while, namely the desire to go bask in the pain of losing her and the track was the only place to truly feel the sensation. Which was how he found himself in Triple Birch’s box (he refused to call it his father’s, after all Travis hadn’t bargained for a quarter of everything to call everything his father’s) watching the post parade for the Honorable Miss Handicap (GII) his eyes glued to the filly in the green and black, a spunky little bay named Eminence. Eminence had been bought under the guidance of Hallie Jeffries, who’d never even seen the mare again after auction day, as much as Travis wanted to resent that the mare was clearly a good purchase. Jonah had only had his hands on her for a few months and she’d already put up a few noteworthy works and ran a very solid third in the Chicago Handicap (GIII).

Today was the opportunity for the filly to show that she could handle a step up in class, even if the distance was not her ideal mile.

Jonah arrived, quiet as usual, he shook Travis’s hand silently and settled into the seat next to him. The filly was pitching something of a fit that resembled play more than stress. Luc being as gifted as he was with hands and timing opted to turn her loose from the post parade a bit early. She veered and zigged and zagged but you couldn’t deny her speed and athleticism, Jonah and Scout had built her up to pure sprinting muscle and it showed.

“She looks good Jonah.”

Jonah nodded, “She’s classier than we give her credit for, it’s her damn brain that’s the problem not the rest of her.

“You have a course set for her?”

“She’s got the speed and the talent to be a damn good runner. If we can coax her brain to go along with the rest I think she’s got Breeders’ Cup written all over her.”

Travis was surprised but didn’t show it, so much could happen between now and November that it was scarcely worried to start thinking about it now, “Scout thought highly of her didn’t she?”

Jonah nodded, “Called her Jigsaw. I think though we’re getting close to the final few pieces. I’ve got Luc trying something a little different today if it works and she comes out alright I’m pointed her towards the Gallant Bloom next month.”

Travis gave another nod. That was something he missed about the track, all the what’s and if's. Currently all the if’s were coming true for Triple Birch, which inevitably meant that soon enough they’d all go wrong. It was a sobering thought but one that came with a sense of perverse excitement, curiosity to just see how all the chips ended up falling.

The filly, being the puzzle she was, proved to be a little tricky to get into the gate. Luc was knocked off once largely due to the filly’s display of tremendous balance, but he popped up quick and climbed on himself.

Jonah just groaned, “I’ve spent seven hours this week alone schooling her in the gate. She would. She would.”

Travis, who didn’t know the filly outside of words, simply nodded and waited.

The men got her shoved in last, which gave her no chance to think about pulling anything else. Within moments the bell clanged and the gates flew open and she out with them straight to the front. Luc rushed her on too, you could see it in his shoulders how he encouraged the early speed. The filly, full of such speed and too confused by the quick pace that everything had happened at obliged. The rest of the field seemed confused as well, the picked front runner, a six year old bay mare, was unable to keep up with Eminence’s pace and the rest of the field jostled around, unable to settle.

Jonah’s face cracked into a grin.

The filly was emboldened by the space in front her and the living chaos behind her kept up the clip, you could see her begin to unfold a bit, settle down as they curved around the first turn, only to gear back up to the final few moments of it as their bodies spilled out into the stretch of dirt before the finish line. There was no chance for the filly to even think of anything else but run and so she did. The bay mare seemed to figure herself out for the moment and provided some encouragement as she crept up on Eminence’s tail, but it was a gray closer who had it. The nearly white mare came thundering down the track, ears pricked forward, too experienced to have been phased by Eminence’s chaos causing move. Long and lithe she drew even with Triple Birch’s bay within three strides, and attuned with that rare sense of knowing where the wire was pushed ahead by half a length just in time.

Eminence surged after her, despite Luc’s hands hauling back, and set her short stocky frame out to conquer the elegant gray. The gray, satisfied and amused slowed enough to let the little white faced bay veer past her. Only then did Eminence slow.

Travis glanced over at Jonah, who was still grinning, just to hear him say, “Well damn it I think we just got ourselves a racehorse.”

***

It was shocking to everyone just how quickly Zahra bounced back from her third place finish in the Coaching Club American Oaks (GI). The vet had given her a lose dosage of bute but declared her perfectly clean. Jonah already had her pointed nose first at the Alabama Stakes (GI). In the same trip he guaranteed yet again that Marzanna was ship shape, he gave her some bute as well and suggested a few days off, but the next morning the filly was pawing to be released. Lacey had managed to convince Zannie, as she called her, that a trot was fast enough, but they were out for an hour as a result. She came back with ice cold legs and a ‘give me more’ mentality. Jonah was playing it easy though, he gave the filly a full week and a half off before breezing her again. She so resented being held back that she nearly knocked Lacey straight off her from the sheer power she demonstrated in the half mile clip. Needless to say she went straight back into her regular regiment.

Lacey, whose life had shifted rather dramatically in the last few weeks (not so dramatically as those times though) was beginning to form an attachment to the filly. No one else thought much of her except that a. she was talented and b. she was impersonal. Lacey was starting to feel a connection though, the filly’s unbridled passion for running was contagious and through their mutual love the filly was beginning to harbor some affection for the scrawny thirteen year old. Lacey, who’d solidly attached herself to Gunslinger, was attempting to detach from the big overo colt in hopes of making the winter a bit easier on herself. Everyone knew that Sling was retiring come this fall, granted he could go another year providing he stayed clear of injury, but Mr. McCailen wanted a return on his investment in the form of stud fees.

“Got everything Lace?”

Lacey glanced up from her empty bowl of cheerios in Mike Torrez’s pristine white kitchen into the face of the man himself. Scout had left for a while, the details were intentionally being kept blurry to her (she knew this too) and so she’d gone to live with Mike and his wife, Scarlett and two sons. It was the only change in Lacey’s life that she hadn’t resented on any level, strange as it was adjusting to being part of an actual family, Lacey had more or less let herself be reshuffled around without any protest. As a result of her lack of protest Mike and Scarlett had been extra attentive, concerned that her lack of protest meant that she was harboring some deep seated resentment. Lacey understood this but didn’t know how to convince them otherwise, in the end she’d decided they’d get used to it and that people all in all were very strange.

“Yup,” Lacey said jumping up from the counter stool, dumping her bowl in the sink, and grabbing her bag off the counter. Scarlett had just bought her it, a new Ariat bag, the sort that fancy rich show girls owned. It might have been the nicest think that Lacey had ever owned.

Together master and apprentice went to out to the driveway and into his modest Volvo XC60 Crossover and were off to Saratoga. The trip was a short one, Mike owned a rather large house on the outskirts of the town itself, up near Skidmore College. She supposed technically it was considered a mansion, a thought which gave her chills. Unlike Mal- who lived in a crammed little apartment in the Bronx, or Jonah-who lived in a crooked row house a block from the track, or even Scout- who lived in a nice but small loft, Mike knew how to invest his money and spent it on sensible things. Like really nice houses and dependable cars. Lacey, who had seen firsthand, just how quickly jockeys tended to blow their money (Mal had just bought a new obnoxious sports car that had already been in the shop twice, Frankie tended to buy every new electronic out there, and even Luc seemed to blow everything on clothing he only wore to walk into the track and out again) she appreciated seeing that not all jockeys were idiots. She’d heard that the girl jockey, Hallie Jeffries, had bought a horse with her money-which seemed entirely respectable to the horse crazed thirteen year old. Lacey, who was thinking of maybe becoming a jockey herself, was intending on sitting somewhere between Mike and Hallie, a nice house and a few nice horses and a nice car that got good gas mileage.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Mike said with a smile as he pulled down main street, an impressive testament to red brick and small town America.

“I’m thinking of how I’ll spend my money if I become a jockey.”
He laughed. Lacey loved Mike’s laugh. Most adults tended to laugh down at her while he always seemed to be laughing with her.

“Not like Mal and Frankie?”

“Or Luc.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that.”

She gave a little nod. Lacey wasn’t entirely sure where to categorize Mike in her existence. She’d never had siblings and past the age of seven she hadn’t had a father, she’d never known her mother, so where to put him had her confused. It seemed sacrilegious to say he was like a father to her, because of how much her own father had given and ultimately lost for her. Maybe like an older brother, she should have asked Scout what that was like, Scout had brothers.
Lacey wondered briefly where the woman had gone, everyone said somewhere, but never where exactly that was. She was starting to wonder if anyone actually knew.

Lacey had seen Scout’s breakdown coming. She’d stopped sleeping, talking, done much of anything but Lacey hadn’t really known what to do about it. She felt some residual guilt in that, but Lacey didn’t have the tools to help her, other than saying ‘survive.’ That was all Lacey knew how to do really, ride horses and survive. She was starting to get the feeling that Mike had figured that out too, namely what the surviving part had constituted. Being her legal guardian afforded him her records, which didn’t have much on them except that she’d been found living under a box in Philadelphia in that stretch that lay between Center City and Temple at age nine. Since then she’d lived in the system at orphanages until she was eleven and bolted to Aqueduct during a field trip to a nearby park. No one had ever fostered her (until now at least) and the system had no clue where she came from except that she was born in Maryland to a Raphael Moreno and an Alice Freeman in 2002.

The rest she was privy to and she alone at that. She was quite comfortable with it staying that way, buried long and far and deep, that way such things were supposed to be.

***

“Damn it,” John said staring up at the big white and brown horse. Gunslinger, unconcerned and exhausted stared right back his sharp brown eyes telling the man more than just ‘damn it.’

“That’s one hell of a colt,” was all Frankie was able to get out before gulping down an entire bottle of water.

The hell of a colt was the Belmont winner, turned Haskell winner, turned Whitney winner. A burly dark bay by Bernardini who’d trounced his three year old age group only to trounce the older male division today during the Whitney (GI). Gunslinger lost by a hard earned nose, but second place was still only second, worth mentioning less on a stud advertisement than a first.

“Where do we go from here Jonah?”

Jonah, who’d been full of answers lately (his therapist said this was due to acceptance), simply shrugged and lowered himself onto a hay bale watching as Sal let the big colt roll around in a circle outside.

“We run him in the Woodward. Clearly we need to up his athleticism. We train harder, we race tighter, and we hope
we get to the Classic.”

“So what then, Woodward and then the Gold Cup?” Travis said from where he leaned against the shed row wall, partially hidden by a late afternoon shadow.

Jonah nodded, “We gear him up, get him breezing weekly, jogging twice as long. Maybe I’ll pair him up with Mar. She’s got the best work ethic in this barn. We push him until he can’t take it and then we haul back.”

“Do you think he can take it?”

Jonah gave another nod, “He’s a tough fucking animal John. He’s been injured, he’s been beaten, he’s had to build himself up from nothing twice. Let’s push him now while we can and call it after the Classic.”

“You think he has another year in him?” John asked quickly glancing at the colt.

“Well he had this year in him, so maybe. If he wins the Classic, or at least comes strong out of it, I say we look to Dubai. It’s a far look ahead, but if we keep it in mind we might get him there.”

“And if he comes out poorly?” Travis asked.

“Well then that’s up to you gentlemen.”

***

“I think he’s ready Jonah,” Mike said one morning after breezing the Medgalia d’Oro colt. That had been enough for Jonah.

Now, Wednesday, the colt had been entered in a 7f long maiden on Saratoga’s dirt stretch. Jonah had picked it because of the small field, three other colts, and the lack of any particularly big race. The oppressive heat had cleared out the stands by 2 o’clock so by the time Golden Age’s race rolled around it was just him, the empty grandstand, and a mostly empty track.

They’d been doing extensive paddock training with the occasionally anxious colt and he performed like a dream. Comfortable with Jonah, Sal and Mike he glided through all the motions. He loaded into the gate with all the elegance that resided in his blue blooded bones and broke nice and smooth, sailing straight to the front just like his sire was wont to do. From then on it was merely a matter of waiting, the golden colt kept climbing forward until he made it under the finish line, the other three not even having the chance to get even with the strands of his black tail.

Even Mike Torrez, the humblest jockey Jonah knew, looked smug in the winner’s picture.

***

Come the middle of August there had been two surprises and two non-surprises under the Triple Birch Colors of green and black. Marzanna and Paranormal both held the reins of their respective juvenile divisions, last weekend Marzanna had set a record in the Adirondack (GII) and Paranormal had crookedly won the Saratoga Special (GII). Both wins had been expected, received, and promptly filed away under the success file. No, more curious to Jonah were the actual surprises. First came Cryptology’s stunner of a maiden. Despite the colt’s worrisome nature and how he shook like a leaf till the gate flew back and let him run he managed to fight for a first in such an impressive manner that Jonah was beginning to think that maybe Hallie had truly seen something that day so long ago. After the experience the colt had calmed down considerably. He’d paired the Roman nose Eskenderya son with the occasionally anxious Medaglia d’Oro colt and let them sort their problems out together. Which funny enough seemed to be working.

Funnier even was Ash. Jonah had endured Marzanna’s panic attack for a day while Ash was shipped to Monmouth for his first start in the Tyro Stakes (ungraded). The little blitz ball of energy had put in three blistering workouts and Jonah had seen no reason to not drop him amongst classier company to see just how much of his mother was in him. To everyone’s shock the little bay bullet won by two lengths. It’d been a hell of a run, crooked and without discipline, but Frankie had gotten the little devil home safe and sound.

Fortunately Marzanna’s panic attack had occurred after she’d stormed home in the Adirondack (GII). This race had not prompted the grandstand to silence, but rather joyful screaming as the public began to dream to hope that another super filly was being built in front of their eager eyes. The panic attack however had Jonah concerned. As thrilling as Ash’s win was it was quite apparent that the two horses were entirely different classes of racehorses. Mar was destined for greatness, for GI’s and history books whilst Ash was destined for the lower echelon, the respectable but not necessarily enlightening GIII’s and GII’s. Ash would be moved around frequently, while Mar would follow the season, Aqueduct to Churchill to Belmont to Saratoga back to Belmont and then to the Cup wherever that lay in a given year. She was a Queen and he was a pauper and unless Ash suddenly gained a whole lot of talent Jonah could for see some serious problems arising come the future.

Serious, serious problems.

***

Jonah felt a certain combination of smugness and crashing relief as he watched Zee blow home in front in the Alabama Stakes (GI). The field had been soft, the rising star of a summer- a big California bay- was out on the west coast, and the two chestnuts who’d caused her so much trouble in the Mother Goose were being directed elsewhere. The winner was starting in the Travers next Saturday and the second place was training like a little flaxen maned monster for the Personal Ensign next Sunday. All three would no doubt prove trouble come the Ladies Classic, but until then Jonah was intent on letting Zee snatch up as many wins as she could, which meant clever and careful plotting on his part.

The pair, Luc and Zee, flooded into the winner’s circle. The filly was bright and showy, pawing and arching her neck for the masses and Luc was actually daring to grin.

“She felt good boss. Better than last time. More go from behind.”

Jonah nodded and slipped the filly a peppermint, “She still feel like she had some at the end?”

Luc gave an encouraging nod, “A mile and a quarter is nothing to her anymore. Field was easy, that dark bay could be something though.”

The dark bay in question glided by with a female jockey in her saddle, on that Jonah didn’t recognize. The girl glanced over at the three some in the winner’s circle and flashed a smile. She was pretty, Hispanic looking, with big golden eyes and a cat that ate the canary look about her.

“She knows it too,” Jonah said wryly, taking notice of Luc’s lingering stare as the girl dismounted and unsaddled her mount.

“I don’t know her. She’s from Cali,” Luc said pausing to grin at the flashing camera for the winner’s picture. Jonah was running out of wall space for the darned thing.

“The filly is too. A Baffert right?”

Luc nodded, “He has another filly too. A big black thing, wants to give me the ride for the Ensign.”

“Take it,” Jonah said firmly. Luc had been tentative since his burnout to take any rides that weren’t under Jonah. He’d been living meager as a result and Jonah didn’t like to see him go hungry without cause.

Luc gave another nod, measured this time, “I still have Zee though right?”

“Till you say otherwise kid.”

***

The month closed out quietly, a direct opposition to how it had roared in. You could feel the autumn coming, quietly though, as the nights dipped cooler and the days edged shorter. Double Up coated in the colors of the coming season seemed the right horse on which to end summer’s final month on. The chestnut filly was still immature, high in the back, a bit spaced out in the mind, but she had a hell of a lot of heart which was something that Jonah, a true horseman, could always appreciate. Dory, as they’d been calling her ever since Lacey declared it to be so after she saw the movie Nemo with Mike’s sons and decided the likeness between the two was perfect, was something of a slow study. Jonah didn’t think this was due to a lack of intelligence, or even a lack of a memory as the case of the fish, but rather was simply a facet of her patience.

The filly acted far older than two, never spooked, never even thought of being anything close to nervous. Jonah who’d trained and raced her spirited mother couldn’t quite figure out where the quietness came from, especially considering her sire had been known to be a bit on the skittish side of life. Dory as inquisitive, curious, and seemed to understand the world around her with startling accuracy even if it didn’t show in her race record, she’d been started six times already and the best she’d earned was fourth. It was discouraging to say the least, but Jonah wasn’t uncommitted yet. He’d picked today’s race because of its small field, three other fillies, and distance at 8f. He’d been dropping the filly into 6 f sprints thinking she would take after her mother, but maybe not.

She floated through the prerace engagements like usual, scarcely noticing that it was Mal on her instead of Luc. Mal had a bit of a hotter seat than Luc, although no Frankie Deltino, Jonah was hoping the experienced Irishmen would bring something to the table that Luc hadn’t. Forgoing the Triple Birch box Jonah settled in with Sal and Estefan along the rail, watching as the filly obliged her handlers and willingly stepped into the gate albeit after a moment’s pause.

“She’s a thinker,” Sal murmured.

Jonah nodded and Estefan-who was of the opinion that the filly was a blithering fool- simply rolled his eyes. They watched in silent as the tiny field broke and shifted. They’d all run before at this point, understood the nature of the race, but had yet to figure out how to get the hell to the front. Double Up, breezily settled in third, rocking a touch to the right and then back to the left. Mal let her, simply sat quietly. The filly flicked a single ear back, the race was a slow one, the front runner- a poorly constructed blood bay- was having a tough time settling into the dirt, and the others floated about aimlessly. Something seemed to flick on in Dory’s mind as they aimlessly rolled along the backstretch.

Suddenly without any cue or expectation or even reason the filly dug in and pushed forward. It was not quick, but it was smooth and steady. She sailed up to the horse in second, a gray, and matched her stride for stride. The gray seemed to take this as a threat and pulled ahead despite her jockey’s protest, Dory unconcerned kept her pace as they neared the turn for home. She skipped along on the gray’s tail, her stride opening up and her neck lowering as they entered the turn.

“Well look at that,” Estefan muttered as the chestnut glided up to the gray again. The bay in front was coming in hot and fast despite her awkward stride and it required Dory to speed up. This was where the filly usually backed off, decided against the entire affair and let herself coast along. She hung next to the gray as they hit six furlongs, and then she had another ephiany. She stretched out again, her too long back providing her with an incredible stride, one that Jonah had never seen her give before.

“She’s not wobbling,” Sal whispered.

Jonah hadn’t even noticed but it was true. Mal had her running cleanly straight, her own momentum keeping her long legs in check and her balance centered. She kept pushing against the ground, digging in, kept chipping away at the bay’s lead until she had a head in front, and then half a length, then a length, and then finally two as she came under the wire in first.

“Well look at that,” Jonah echoed.

***

Name: Golden Age
Barn name: Gabe, Pretty Boy
Gender: Colt
Age: 2
Breed: Thoroughbred
Height: Projected 16.2
Color: Bay
Markings: Blaze, Front socks
Genotype: Ee/AA
Discipline: Racing
Preferred Distance: 8+ furlongs
Running Style: First Flight
Temperament: Fun. He's bright and friendly and doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body. He's unfailingly polite and considerate towards just about everyone, that said he does have a bit of anxiety floating around, especially when large crowds of unfamiliar people are concerned.
Pedigree: Foundation (Medaglia d’Oro x Life at Ten)