I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
We are sitting in a Starbucks, taking advantage of free wi-fi and one very sweet glass of iced coffee – seriously, ridiculously, insanely sweet – and I suddenly remembered that about a week ago, I received an e-mail that was too large for my BlackBerry to open. Typically, I’d filed it away and forgotten all about it.
As we leaned over the screen, waiting for the massive picture file to preview, we saw something hairy and black and white and altogether un-Final-Call-like. “Is that. . . a pig. . ?”
Here is the proof:
I miss Final Call. I wish I’d taken Barb’s advice and brought him to New York with me. I wish I rode him on the track every morning. It wasn’t really a financial option, of course. Still, I think about it.
I have a lot of new readers since this blog flipped from OTTB training to racetrack life. If you haven’t read the backstory, Final Call was a five year old Family Calling gelding that I picked up in Ocala in January. The plan had been to blog his training, get him going as an eventer and foxhunter, and maybe sell him a couple of years down the road. In reality, I sold him, with much agony and difficulty, in June, just before we came to New York City. I broke all my rules. I broke the Don’t Fall In Love With a Horse rule. It happens.
But Final Call is clearly a happy camper, and Elizabeth is clearly a good mummy. She writes of Final Call that he is a good and patient teacher, that she is a horse-crazy girl with him, and I know it was all meant to be.