|The latest in my HARPG storyline|
Look it's Marzanna's lil half-brother! Whose quite a studly two year old, dontcha think??
July pt 4
I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know, no you don’t, you don’t
I want to shine on in the hearts of man
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I’m so much older than I can take
If Hallie hadn’t been so sharply hungover the jock’s room at Saratoga on opening day might have felt awkward. There was Frankie, fresh off a win in the first race, being chatted up by Ezperenza Mendoza (who she wanted to hate but wouldn’t allow herself to, she had done all this to herself after all). And then in the other corner was Luc, who despite her half-assed text, was still being awkward as hell with her, although he did have a horse in the second so maybe he really was just trying to focus – hell she had a horse in the second maybe she ought to focus – but then she lost that thought as soon as it came. She actually missed Mal right now, or at least the Mal he had been and the Hallie she had been all those years ago (it really wasn’t that long ago but god how it felt it) during her first summer in Saratoga. Where Frankie had been a villain and she a heroine and Mal a hero who punched his dumbass for being a sexist dickhead and he’d given her Chronological – fuck that was a horse - and it was all drenched in golden light now that she thought about it. Memory believes before knowing remembers.
In reality Mal was a functioning cokehead, she had zero dollars and a handful of mounts, and Frankie was a fucking unlikeable prick. Now Mal was a recovering cokehead, retired, she had more than zero dollars, and Frankie wasn’t an unlikeable prick. Hallie wasn’t entirely sure which scenario was better, at least in the first one; she hadn’t broken her own heart yet.
Worst was that everyone knew it. They didn’t know specifics, but they now that it was over everyone knew that they’d been a thing and now they weren’t and patriarchal reflex meant everyone was casting her sympathetic looks and casting the blame on him. Which Hallie might have appreciated once, paint him a villain, but she’d lost hold of her black and white morality and now the world was all grey. She didn’t know what the fuck to do with grey, parsing shade from shade was making her sick, making her drink, making her insane.
The call came then, right, race time.
Dean had Ms. Foster on his arm as they made the walk to the paddock across Saratoga’s dirt. Scout and Estefan each had a side of the filly, who was actually walking rather calmly for her. Sure her ears were still pinned, but she hadn’t kicked or reared yet, so all in all a victory. Vera Rose, as he’d taken to calling her, was notably excited. They all were. They had a runner in the Schuylerville, G3, on Saratoga’s opening day. The weather was lovely, the track was fast, and the horses were glowing. What wasn’t there to like?
In the paddock he parted ways from Vera Rose so he could stretch the filly’s legs and toss up Frankie Deltino, who was already looking to have a hat trick on opening day even though it was only the fourth race of the day. They had the favorite horse, odds of 2-1, and the hot jock. Considering the chaos that had been the last few days, Renegade and Rebel shipping home, the arrival of the Clarke’s three two year olds, the media breathing down their necks about the move of Enthrall into their shed row, it felt wonderful to have things going so smoothly.
It continued to go as such. The filly was a bitch in the post parade, but they’d all expected that and Frankie pulled her away for the warm-up. She had to blindfolded to load (they had been schooling her near every day at the track’s request but it had made no difference) but she broke hot and quick right to the front, made a variety of mean expressions at her challengers, first a grey Tapit filly and then a chestnut Kitten’s Joy, and neatly won by three lengths. Vera Rose did not have the same overt reaction as last time, although she hugged each and every one of them and thanked them profusely. When they got down to the filly she promptly forgot that she was not supposed to touch the filly (the filly was a biter and none of them wished to bear witness to that) and hugged the filly. The filly, uncharacteristically benevolent, allowed it. Bloodhorse, Thoroughbred Times, and the Daily Racing form all got a shit ton of pictures of that, and then they all walked the filly back to the barn after she pissed clean.
“It was a good win for her,” Jonah explained, he now had the honor of Vera Rose on his elbow, “She’s proven she’s a stakes runner. We watch how she comes back from this and then we see.”
Vera Rose nodded in perfect understanding. She wanted the world, Vera Rose, but you couldn’t knock her too much, she was about as agreeable as a millionaire could be.
Affinity, skittish and quick to lose attention, felt uncharacteristically focused and unafraid that day. The crowd was a new element, but it was exciting being watched and admired and contemplated. Their study of her lent to her focus. Another filly from the barn, that lanky bay, was among them too. Right in front of her, and then right beside her in the funny little half stalls they (the humans) had been walking her in and out of every day (which became immensely boring after the second or third time). Affinity didn’t really know that filly very well. She didn’t really know any filly very well. She had her spotted gelding, which they let live with her in that round pen, and she didn’t much care for anyone else. Her gelding wasn’t here though and it was unexpectedly comforting to see a familiar face.
All that said the filly seemed quite overwhelmed and afraid. Affinity, despite her faults, was not an unkind soul and so she offered whickers of support and comradery as any mare might do. It didn’t seem to help much, although Affinity did notice the filly calmed down a bit when they put a rider on her. When they put a rider on Affinity, that loud black haired man, she found herself very excited, a bit distracted for something was about to happen. They got taken through the grandstand, which was admittedly unnerving and she didn’t blame the other filly when she cried out and reared in fear – Affinity was near to doing so herself, but there then suddenly was her gelding and she forgot that she was even afraid in the first place.
She expressed surprise at his presence by enthusiastically nibbling on his crest and he tolerated it because he was excellent at all forms of tolerance. They warmed up, just like they did in the morning, and then like they had been doing she left him to get in that funny metal box. There were a lot more horses and men about, but Affinity remembered and understood the principal and loaded with minimal encouragement. Beside her the other filly went in with a grim expression. Affinity kept talking to her, but she’d gone catatonic. She kept talking though because you never knew when someone would come out of a state like that and because Affinity was vocal and chattering about was as natural as running or breathing.
The bell clanged and the gates opened, just like they had every other time she’d done this in the mornings, and just like every other time she sprung out quick. This time though, there were other horses, quite a lot of other horses. Affinity found that bizarre and unknown and so she stuck with what she knew and got herself well ahead of them, she was supposed to be alone doing this, after all.
So she ran and enjoyed herself until a big black filly suddenly came up awfully close on her, close enough to touch – which she did not like at all – and so she pinned her ears right back at the big black filly and changed strides and moved up and towards the rail just a little. The big black filly kept coming, which to be perfectly honest made Affinity angry – a deep in her bones fury – and so she kept running forward and away and away until the man up top applied pressure on her mouth to pull her up.
Affinity, having no concept of racing yet, did not know that she had just won her maiden by five lengths, under a hand ride, in excellent time. She had also forgotten all about the other filly, whose name was Elstow, who despite going catatonic in the starting gate and acting as though death was certainly a better option than whatever chaos was about her, managed to finish third by a head.
It was all in all, a very good start to Saratoga.
Hallie didn’t like a lot of things about her life right now, but explaining to Jonah and Dean and Scout and the owner lady what had gone wrong with the Elstow filly was oddly comforting if because on the racetrack failure was more usual, more comfortable, more familiar, then success.
“She blanked in the gate,” Hallie said, “Wasn’t even present.”
“Like not paying attention?”
“Like gone,” Hallie replied, “Might as well have been dead for as much horse I had under me. Once we got running and settled she came about slowly. The problem was when she had to get through other horses that she doesn’t like. Next time I won’t even waste time and horse trying, I’ll just swing her wide and let her get up as much as she can.”
“We’ll work her in company,” Jonah conceded, putting a kind hand on the owner’s shoulder, “And school her a bit more in the paddock. She’s just such a calm filly, I didn’t expect the crowd to unnerve her so.”
“She’s a maiden and a baby,” Scout replied with a shrug, “Alright, you need to weigh in.”
Hallie nodded and was surprised when Scout followed her and clasped her on the shoulder.
“You did good with her. Thank you.”
“Uh, your welcome.”
Strangeness aside with that, Hallie wasn’t having that bad a day for hating her life.
Lacey had won over a thousand dollars.
She had garnered, after the fifth race that Mal’s real purpose in getting her to gamble was to have her watch the races, not as a gambler or a horsemen, but as a jockey. The question of what horse she liked was more accurately, what horse would you want to be on, and you always wanted to be on the winner. He also had her watch the different ways jockeys rode and how a race tended to play out. He’d been sneak about it, getting her to think about jockeying again, but she didn’t hate him for it.
They’d settled in with their winnings and Aiden at the Club Terrace where they had a view of the paddock but didn’t have to keep fighting the growing throng of people to get to the front. Scarlett had come by, once Lacey texted her that was where they were, and offered to take Aiden up to their box, but the little boy was having far too much fun. Lacey was having a lot of fun too, which she hadn’t had in such a long time that she’d forgotten a bit what it felt like. Mal was funny and bright and told stories of Ireland and horses he’d known and all sorts of racetrack things.
Later that night, as she lay in bed, seconds from sleep Lacey reaffirmed an old thought, she would be a jockey and she would win the Triple Crown.
Mal lay awake that night because sleep was hardly mandatory anymore and thought about the girl, and how she was going to be a jockey, and about how she would win the Triple Crown and every other G1 on planet earth and hell if the human race managed to colonize Mars in her life time and built a racetrack up there, well she’d do that too. Nobody, he had thought, could have that hot a streak of winners luck. Now all he had to do was get her to translate what she knew and felt and saw into action, into her body, and into the beast underneath her.
Jonah woke up tired. He ought to be waking up thrilled, alert, awake, but he wasn’t. His mind kept him up half the night and the over the counter sleep aids he finally succumbed too kept him groggy every morning. It was a blessing he had two very good assistant trainers under him who could handle the first couple sets of the day without his presence because there was absolutely no way he could get out of bed before five-thirty, which meant he didn’t get to the track until quarter till seven. His big set – who comprised it – varied on the day.
Today, it was Gabe and Gabe alone. It was his final work before the Haskell next weekend. The railbirds had gathered, the news guys too, and of course the handicappers and photographers. Gabe looked like a million bucks, Mal assured him he felt like a million bucks, and he breezed five panels in 59:57, which was excellent even for a fast pace horse like him. He came back blowing hard and a bit dazed at his own performance, he lacked the talent and fire and sheer power of Marzanna or even the half-mad brilliance of Quick Wit, but he was as well-bred as the best of them and a finely athletic animal to boost. The Haskell would be a good test and free of stablemates or any real competition. A few finishers from the Belmont would be present, and the fourth place horse from the Derby, but it was agreed upon that it was the weakest Haskell in a while.
Jonah was okay with that, a G1 win was a G1 win, and the winner’s cut of a million dollar purse was still six hundred thousand dollars no matter if the colt won against the second coming of Secretariat or a field of duds.
Gavri’el, who thought of himself strictly as Gavs – since that was what the people called him and he liked the people all in all – was very excited.
He had gone out and jogged a mile early this morning as he always did, and given a bath as he always was, but now it was well after breakfast and here he was getting another bath (the bath had not been intended by the people but he had a knack for getting himself immediately filthy as white horses tended to) and then after the bath he was covered in a sheet and walked all about the backside for a very long time. Then they brought him in and put the bridle on him and wrapped his front legs, but no saddle.
Gavs, who had to be a creature of habit out of necessity, knew all of this was not routine and got very, very excited. He vaguely recalled doing this whole process before, at another track, so he wasn’t too bad about it. He jigged and snorted and made a variety of expressive faces (made more expressive since they had his tongue pulled out) but otherwise he was very well behaved.
He was not the favorite in this race, although Bloodhorse had them picked for third in their trifecta and Battaglia, personally liked him and liked that they’d switched from Luc Martin to Hallie Jeffries, Arc winner and understood turf expert. The Form was less kind, sending him off at odds of thirty-to-one. His odd color paired with his sheer size and perhaps even, his odd personality had the betting public shift his odds to twenty-to-one as he loaded into the gate.
It was hard to say, in the aftermath, what did it for Gavs that day. Perhaps the four weeks of strict routine as effected by Scout had changed the colt for the better, or perhaps it was the jockey change – Hallie knew how to ride a European horse and brought something new that the colt responded to, but Gavs broke cleanly, a touch slow yet, and settled nicely along the back of the pack.
He also had the benefit of two turns this time around, and although the field was a staggering ten maiden colts, only two had never raced before, the majority were just searching for a win. Gavs was not yet searching for a win, but he certainly liked to run and he certainly did like the noise and bumping and flinging clods of dirt and grass that comprised a race, and he certainly did like the way the new person on his back dictated his place to him. She was very certain – and so he felt no reason to argue – but her hands were kind. So when she pressed her knuckles into his neck along the backstretch he moved up a bit, from about seventh to fifth, and then as they all stretched out and packed atop each other around the final turn for home a nice big gap appeared for him and he waited for her push, received it, and moved up into it.
Gavs, who had yet to be in the front of a race, was immediately taken aback by the hard intent of the other colts. He wasn’t a coward, not by a long shot, but he was a baby yet and he hadn’t cultivated his daredevil quality that he would be immortalized for. Hallie, however, was a good rider used to quirky turf colts, and egged him on with her voice and flashing the whip – she didn’t hit him yet – and he responded by digging in and holding a game third. She got him locked onto the one horse, a big dark bay, and brought the whip down a couple times, not too hard, but hard enough to hopefully allow him to make the connection.
The connection was made. Gavs inadvertently switched leads at the whip out of surprise, but it provided his tiring muscles with a burst of speed. His body returned wholly to him and an old memory of being young and playing chase came to him. So he chased.
Afterwards Hallie explained to Scout that the colt had no intents of getting past the winner, because winning hadn’t yet clicked for him. Gavri’el wanted to play chase, and win at chase, and so he did.
Second, at twenty-to-one, wasn’t bad.
The Sanford Stakes (G3) was getting a lot more press than it might have otherwise. Travis blamed his own colt, Aponivi, who had the unfortunate fate of being a half-brother to Marzanna. Travis had been asked no less than two dozen times about the fate of the famous filly, presently, he told them, she was still in equine limbo. But she was healthy and sound and putting weight back on.
Aponivi, for his fate, did not look much like Marzanna at first glance. Where she had been big and mysterious, he was small and more a salt of the earth type. Horsemen could see the similarities, a long back, excellent hind legs, and ideal pasterns all inherited from Saba. The filly at home, who looked nothing like either of her elder siblings, had those very same things. Saba’s impact was quiet, but vital and consistent. The only other similarity between the siblings, was their manner. Aponivi was not omniscient and eerie as Marzanna had been, but he was quiet, aloof, and supremely focused. He was going off as the favorite, fresh off a shocking maiden win, and the horsemen and horseplayers couldn’t stop talking about him.
Travis watched the colt in the paddock, walking calmly with that big step, watching everything without concern, and taking Frankie Deltino without even a toss of his head. Jonah’s other entry, Adam’s Trap Effect, had reared once already and was attempting to do so again as Dean and Estefan walked him in dizzying circles as they fought to get him tacked up. Hallie, to her credit, was just grinning at him.
As their colts stepped onto the track he and Adam shook hands and then departed for their separate boxes. Jonah and Dean went to their box, Scout had remained at the bottom with Estefan and Salvatore. Sienna greeted his with a kiss and his mother a quirked eyebrow.
“Jonah has new clients?”
“Yes, mother,” Travis replied, “That’s the game.”
She made a disapproving sound but otherwise said nothing. Travis focused on his colt. Aponivi looked good, he jogged neatly and galloped out under Frankie without issue. He loaded well and broke slow but with the pack and Frankie had managed to convince him to not sink so far off the pace. Trap Effect had gone straight to the front and was setting blistering fractions for a two year old race. Hallie, low on bullshit as she was, was no doubt feeling the colt’s brute strength. The horses in between Trap Effect and Aponivi shuffled, but the blackish colt remained first and Aponivi remained last.
About the turn, the big shift came. Trap Effect still had quite a bit, but the flip had switched in his own colt. Sienna squeezed his hand. The colt began his charge. Frankie, who’d become quite clever, threaded the little colt between the others until he spilled out in the third lane, right at the front. The announcer was screaming about it. Trap Effect, still eyeing up the chestnut stalker who’d been pursing him, never saw his colt. Aponivi, didn’t care.
It was only at the sight of his colt’s haunches two lengths ahead of him did Trap Effect realize. The bigger colt rallied and pinned his ears and pushed for it, but he was empty. Second, would have to do.
The excitement didn’t end once they crossed the wire. Trap Effect, who’d never lost, banked right hard and got the bit away from Hallie and attempted to run Aponivi down. Aponivi, who’d come down neatly from his full blow gallop, swiveled an ear, switched leads and booked it like the devil was after him – which wasn’t all that far off. It only lasted maybe forty-five seconds, the chase, but it was enough to get the grandstand gasping and the announcer going off about it.
Hallie got the bastard’s bit back and slammed him down to a standstill that involved quite a bit of rearing and carrying on. Aponivi, safely out of danger, went back to a calm trot and came about to a roaring grandstand.
“That’s our cue,” Travis said.
The press was waiting, eagerly, but Dean had already stepped in. Down on the track, Estefan and Scout had wrangled Trap Effect down to a jittery walk, but the two stud chains and what looked like apple slices had him mostly sane again.
“Well we learned he’s a sore loser,” Dean joked to the press.
“Colt ran well,” Travis said, shaking Jonah’s hand.
The colt came back far less shaken by it all then his people. He walked into the winner’s circle calmly, stood nicely, and accepted his congrats graciously. Travis went over and stroked the colt’s face. The colt stared at him calmly, blinked, and calmly spat out his bit as Salavtore pulled his bridle off in favor of his halter. Travis surrendered himself to the press.
“Quite an ending there huh?” one of the reporters asked.
“Yes quite an ending,” Travis replied with a smile.
“Colt isn’t shaken by much, huh?”
“No. Apparently not,” he replied.
“Great race for him and the way he just blew away at the end,” another commented, “Safe to say we’ll likely see him next month out again?”
“We’ll see what the horse wants to do, as usual, but that’s what we’ll hope for.”
Peyton Clarke was having a wonderful time at Saratoga being a race horse owner. That last race yesterday had been a bit frightening – truth be told the colt scared her although she dared not say it – but they’d nearly won hadn’t they? And Travis was such a gracious stablemate and a humble winner, and that colt of his was sweet – she had slipped him a peppermint for the win – and as gracious as the owner. Today, Sunday, that fancy winning filly they’d bought was going off right now in the Coaching Club American Oaks. Which she understood was a very big race, but they had a very classy filly who was going off at 7-2 which meant she was likely to win and thus a poor choice to put money down on.
“The other filly to watch,” Jonah explained ever so patiently, “Is the grey, Colpevole.”
Colpevole – who had such a clever name in Peyton’s opinion although she didn’t much like the filly, she thought she looked rather mean to be honest – had beaten their filly in her last time out. Double Up, who had won, was sitting this race out. Despite having lost by a nose to the grey, the handicappers all agreed that Enthrall was the horse to beat.
The fillies, all professionals at this point in the year, all broke well and assumed their ideal positions. Colpevole was in the front and Enthrall in the back, and then about the final turn Enthrall chased them all down from behind and then it was just the two of them out in front, light and dark, battling it out.
“Oh god who won!”
Jonah shook his head, “Photofinish.”
“I think she had it,” Dean replied with a nod.
“Oh she had it,” Adam said.
Enthrall did have it. By the nose. It was all very exciting after that, the win picture, and there was s trophy this time around, and naturally they took everyone out to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Saratoga in a back private room and all had a wonderful time. The next morning she woke up in her and Adam’s bed alone, which was usual, the dogs on the floor beside her. She got up, slipped on her silk robe and walked out into the kitchen of the mansion home they’d just bought for the occasion of being at Saratoga where she found Adam very quietly sipping on his cup of coffee.
“Adam, darling, you look strained,” she said calmly in defiance of the pricking anxiety in her belly, she like usual, went and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Our filly has been retired, honey.”
She raised her eyebrows, “Darling what are you talking about, she just won yesterday.”
“She was lame this morning. They brought the veterinarian in and she did some x-rays and the filly’s broken her leg.”
“Oh god do we have to kill her? Oh god.”
He smiled, “No, darling,” he glanced down at a piece of paper, “She won’t die.”
“Oh god,” Peyton said as she took a seat at their island counter, “What do we do?”
“Nothing. Pay for it,” he said with a disappointed sounding chuckle, “She’s in surgery at New Bolton now. Jonah will have the vet call me as soon as the procedure is done.”
“Oh god,” she repeated, “I just feel awful. Can we visit her?”
He gave her an odd look, and jotted something down, “I’ll ask, but I don’t see why not.”
“Well what do we do from here?”
“Well it seems we’re meant to breed her.”
“A baby horse? Huh, what a thing, of what a morning.”
Peyton had learned her first real lesson about horses that morning, anything at any time can happen.
ENTHRAL, CHAMPION FILLY RETIRED
Misfortune has befell the fortuitous filly. Following her rousing win in the Coaching Club American Oaks (G1) yesterday at Saratoga it has been discovered that Enthrall has fractured her first phalanx and went under for surgery this morning at the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine's New Bolton Center. It has been reported that the filly came out of surgery well and is recovering. Enthrall’s new owners, Clarke Racing’s Adam & Peyton Clarke, and Triple Birch Farm’s Travis McCailen, have spoken to several members of the press to assure the filly’s fans that no expense will be spared for the filly’s recover and the veterinarian’s at the New Bolton Center expect the filly to make a full recovery, although she will not race again. The filly will retire to Triple Birch Farms (NY) where a breeding with either resident stallions, Chronological (Street Cry – Timeline by Opening Verse) or Genghis Khan (Unbridled – War Thief, by Lord at War) is being considered for spring 2016.
Jonah was quite certain he was tired of fillies with leg injuries after the whole bullshit with Enthrall. Adam and Peyton had taken the whole thing rather well, all things considered and seemed rather excited at the prospect of having a broodmare. Eminence, once again, had nearly been forgotten in the chaos, but being the mare she was she had not forgotten herself or her own greatness and took them all for a ride on Wednesday.
Eminence was without a doubt the top sprinting mare in the New York colony presently, and the betting public and handicappers agreed. So it was without surprise that she ended up winning the Honorable Miss Handicap (G2) over six furlongs on the Saratoga dirt, but rather it was the manner in which it was done. She broke fast, went to the front, and then around the backstretch realized what a soft field she was up against and took Luc Martin for a spin. By the turn for home she was ahead by eight lengths and when she crossed under the wire she had won by double that. The rest of the field was obsolete.
And although it was only July, everyone said it, Breeders’ Cup Sprint, Breeders’ Cup Sprint, and they weren’t talking about the girls’.
Golden Age, who’d been slated for the Haskell Invitational (G1) for near a month now, had been expected to win up until a few days ago when it had been revealed that Archaic, Westbrook’s three year old, would be running. Archaic had arrived at Monmouth looking appropriately on his game and was appropriately cast the role of the likely villain. He walked about the paddock calmly, pausing every so often to cast a discerning eye over the rest of the colts and the crowd.
Gabe was soaking wet and jigging in place like he was doing calisthenics. Dean and Estefan were doing their best to appease the anxious colt, but it wasn’t doing much. Jonah’s instruction had been to just keep him moving. In the colt’s defense it was a sweltering ninety odd degrees and the famous New Jersey shore breeze was nowhere to be found.
Mike, who’d picked up a few races at Monmouth, was fresh off two wins today and took the colt’s antics in stride. You always wanted that, the jock to be reassured even in the face of an anxious animal. Dean tossed Mike up and they all walked out to the track. Hallie up on Archaic winked at Jonah as she jogged by.
Golden Age was an asshole through the post parade and warm-up and kicked at one of the starters as they loaded them into the gate. Archaic, by contrast, was calm and respectful to all pony horses, outriders, and starters. Golden Age broke poorly and had to scrambled to get his preferred front running position, but once he had it he seemed to relax a bit. Archaic buried himself in the pack and waited. Golden Age was setting decent fractions, but not fast enough that he would be burnt out and an easy target for a stalker like Archaic.
Through the backstretch Jonah kept an eye on Archaic, moving easily through the pack up towards the front. He hung about fourth through the turn for home and then pulled out through a gap as the field bunched up straight to the front. Gabe fell back for a moment, but with a wide rein and a push from Mike he hooked up with Archaic down the homestretch.
Neither colt wanted to give an inch, but in the end Gabe had it by about a half a length. In the aftermath a lot of questions had been asked of him by the press, did he think Archaic’s allowance two weeks prior took too much out of the colt, was Golden Age just peaking and his acting up in the paddock new form for him? Jonah told the press, honestly, because they’d caught him at a moment where he was rather drained and tired from all the winning he’d done over the last few days that maybe, sure, why not, but the heart of the matter was the colt just didn’t want to keep losing and that sometimes, that was enough.
Couldn't tell you who I ref'd from, a breezing horse from a 2 year old and training sale that I found literally years ago...because this season has lasted forever and then some. Also song lyrics to the Killers for All These Things That I Have Done, which is off their excellent Hot Fuss album.
ALSO GUYS I MADE IT TO AUGUST WE ARE SO CLOSE TO ROLLOVER I CAN TASTE IT
Nickname: Apo, The Dwarf
Height: Projected 15.1 hh
Markings: two hind socks, star, snip
Genotype: EE Aa
Preferred Distance: 8+
Running Style: Closer
Sire/Dam: Achak x Saba
For Stud/Lease:no too young
Personality: Stoic. Nothing gets under his skin or pushes him to any extreme emotion. If anything he's a touch on the grouchy side, but even still he tolerates everyone and everything. He's essentially a miniature boy version of his mother.