The Eighty-Dollar Champion - Elizabeth Letts [78]
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After Snowman was fed and groomed, Harry led him out of the stable, to an exercise paddock. Harry held his breath as he unclipped the lead rope and shooed the horse away from him. Snowman trotted away, happy to be out of the stall, shaking his head a few times. Harry watched closely for the telltale bobbing head of a lame horse—but Snowman showed no hint of soreness. Harry allowed himself to exhale.
Still, there was no telling if Snowy would be able to take the stress of the high jumps in the stakes class. When a horse jumps, all of his thousand-odd pounds comes down on his two front legs. The higher the fence, the more pressure is applied to those slender forelegs. A horse who is injured or sore will be likely to falter on the landing, and favoring one leg might cause the horse to be unbalanced—which can increase the risk of permanent injury or even cause a gruesome fall.
Snowman looked okay turned loose in the paddock, but the true test would come when he had to carry a rider, so Harry saddled him up. Harry had slept barely at all, and he felt stiff in the saddle, like an old man. This was hardly the first night he’d spent keeping vigil over a horse in a barn—he remembered the time he’d bought a horse with a bad case of colic and had stayed up all night squeezing black coffee and Jack Daniel’s into the horse’s mouth with a dropper. In the morning, the horse was all right. Harry would do anything for his horses. All he asked of them was to jump.
Harry spent the entire morning walking Snowman on a lead rope, then rubbing him down, then walking him more, trying to keep the gelding loose and limber so that the injured leg wouldn’t stiffen up.
When it was time for the afternoon class, he carefully bandaged both front legs, then slipped rubber bell boots over Snowman’s hooves to protect his heels. During the warm-up, he tested the horse for signs of tenderness, turning him first one way and then the other. Finally, reassured that the horse was steady on his feet, he guided Snowman toward the schooling fence. The gelding gathered himself and soared—then landed and resumed his measured gallop. That’s when Harry knew for sure that his horse was ready to compete.
Soon it was time for the final jumper stakes. By now, the crowd was paying attention, anticipating a showdown between the reigning champion and the upstart. Even without being aware of his close brush with disaster, spectators had gotten behind the big gray horse. In the press box, Marie Lafrenz was one of many reporters present—nobody wanted to miss a good story.
At the in-gate, Andante was keyed up, her ears pinned back, nervously twitching her tail back and forth. But in spite of the mare’s fidgeting, Dave Kelley looked completely unperturbed. Holding the reins bridged in one hand, his crop in the other, he sat loosely in the saddle, the relaxed grin of a winner spread across his face. Next to the mare, Snowman seemed to be half asleep. Harry sat astride with the reins held loose.
In the first go-through, both Andante and Snowman sailed to clear rounds, the only two horses to score no penalties. Now it was time for the jump-off. The jump crew moved quickly around the arena, raising the hurdles another six to eight inches and spreading the jump supports, called standards, farther apart to create more width. An American Horse Shows Association judge stood in the middle of the ring, supervising the modifications. After a few minutes, the jump-off course was ready, and in spite of the horses’ fatigue from three days of grueling competition, this was the most daunting course