Scores of
horses have come through the barn over the years
One thing
has remained constant
Standing in
back, doing his work when asked, beating back those younger and more brash
He is the
Warhorse
The other
stalls are empty now
Young horses
befallen by a myriad of afflictions
Some worse
than others, but all are gone for the season
He is the
only one left
The men are
talking at the end of the barn
Shaking
their heads. No doubt lamenting about
what has happened
Bad luck,
fluke injuries, unrealistic expectations on horses that had never proven
themselves
The Warhorse
has proven himself. Time after time
Through his
own injuries, he has remained strong
He hasn’t
been perfect. Has missed too much time,
but he always battled back
He battled
back and he won. Again, again and again
They now
look down at him. A mixture of sadness
and hope in their eyes
He meets
their gaze from down the row
Not with the
tired eye of a weary veteran
But with a
flicker and fiery glare
The look of
a champion. He knows it is his time to
shine
He needs to carry
the weight of the stable on his shoulders and he welcomes this challenge
As he walks
out of his stall, he starts with a limp. Years of battle have left him stiff
As he
reaches the halfway mark, the limp is barely noticeable
By the end
he is moving as fluidly as ever, old joints lubricated by the impending thrill
of competition
As they load
him on the truck, he stops and looks back at them
He can make
no promises of health, his body has failed him before
He will
promise to battle until the end, reaching for every last inch of racetrack
He is the Warhorse and his connections are forever grateful for him
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