As I rode Final Call today, I realized it’s been two months since he came home with me. In some ways it feels like a lot longer – his sweet personality made bonding pretty easy (oh those flighty, loveless OTTBs!). In other ways, it feels much briefer – there definitely hasn’t been sixty days’ riding, since the weather hasn’t cooperated.
But today was lovely, as we trotted those cursed circles, he put his little nose to the inside without the yawing and complaint, he bent his spine around the track, he even moved off my inside leg – yes, in both directions. His transitions were clean, his halts were polite.
We even went past the Evil Corner of Death without issue.
And speaking of the ECoD – I had an epiphany. It isn’t the hang-out for Dementors, after all (I admit that was a long shot.) I have a much better theory – it is haunted by the ghosts of pit bulls past. In the corner of the neighbor’s yard there is a morbid little connection of crosses with the epitaphs of what I assume were family dogs; names like “Budweiser” feature largely here and I’m guessing they didn’t bury a six-pack.
Like the Dead Horse Patch in “National Velvet,” horses don’t like ghosts! How’s that for a hypothesis?