Thoroughbred Village

Track Work

by Fran Cleland

Three forty five am... the lights go on in the stables, the heads poking over the doors nodding up and down, anxious to be loaded, driving to the track in the blackness before dawn, with the remains of the moon and stars flickering. It's a time the aborigines call Piccaninny Dawn, when the day's a baby, and when babies usually wake - I tried to get it for a horse's name once, but they must have thought it politically incorrect.....with the big lights ahead on the track turning the sky silvery. Truck headlights everywhere, ramps dropping, thousands of feet clip clopping on the tarmac. Greetings called. it's not a glamorous time of day, pale faces, ruffled hair, parkas, jeans, track pants, smokers' coughs, a high percentage of people who limp - an occupational hazard.

Out on the track, thudding feet and the brr brr brr brr of nostrils, trotting back, looking like dragons of old with twin gusts of steam from both nostrils. Jockeys rugged up to the ears... Vonny telling me that they often wear garbage bags under their parkas to work up a sweat to lose a few pounds, jingling cross ties, pawing hoofs on concrete, one after the other out to the track with instructions for each, back and a quick discussion between trainer and jock, to the roll and hose, more trucks in, Emma arrives with another load, and takes another one home... shivering and wishing I had put on thicker socks... the sky lightens, stars fade, and you can actually SEE horses on the back straight, the delicious smell of the bacon and egg sandwiches in the canteen, that you think must be torture for the jockeys, good luck wishes from everyone to those racing today, discussions on the problems of a certain trainer with the stewards, a yell as something comes back loose, it's tail over it's back, caught by it's trainer, swearing.. the constant clip clop of feet, hoofs kicking the back of the stalls. Snorting, bright eyed babies with ears pricked, shivering a little with the excitement of it all, the experienced campaigner, laying ears back and threatening with a back hoof as the girth is tightened. "Watch him" called to me as I take one to the wash,"He like to shake hands," Oh, ta.. thanks for the warning..."

The last one done, and loaded, back home, feeds in, aisles swept, legs checked, up to the house and BREKKIE! oh yes, toast and honey please, and two cups of coffee.

Phones ringing, owners, entries, fax going, Bruce runs off to get ready for races.. quiet falls, Vonny and I discuss our other love, roses, and play in the garden for a while....

The above work of Fran Cleland is for review purposes only and is permitted under the Copyright Act as such.