Legendary Strides (The Story of Barbaro)

[Bratterratt]

Legendary Strides (The Story of Barbaro)


Written by Bratterratt

[Author’s Note: This story is based mainly on facts. All of the names, places, and dates are true, though all of the opinions and thoughts are completely fiction.]

I’d like to say my beginnings were humble, but that wouldn’t be the truth. And this is, in fact, a true story. The story of my life.

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The date was the evening of April 19th, of 2003, my birthday and my beginning. My mother’s caramel bay coat was damp with sweat as she delivered me. Her dark tinted legs were splayed across the expanse of the stall, her muscles tight beneath her frothing hide. It didn’t take long before I was born, lying damp in the thick bed of straw, covered in the thick translucent covering of my birthing sack. My mother took no time at all to lick me clean and by the time morning had arrived, I was suckling happily with my bushy black tail swishing behind me. It was not long before I was given a name, one that I’ve always managed to be pleased with. And so I came to be called the noble Barbaro.

Right from the start I was a tall, gangly colt with a dark bay coloring. I had several ivory markings, a dainty star atop my forehead and a tiny snip at the end of my muzzle. I was the perfect example of a young Thoroughbred horse, lanky and built for a life of racing.

I was the pride of my home, Lael Stables of Pennsylvania, but my mother was the one who truly took the most pride in my accomplishments. My dam was the beautiful and prestigious, La Ville Rouge, a light bay Thoroughbred brood mare. She was by my side for every second those first six months, teaching me to graze and playing with me in our grassy paddock.

Then in the evenings, lying under the brightly lit starry sky, she would tell me stories of my father, the great Dynaformer. He was a famed sire who had won an average of $700,000 during his career. But he retired not long after his young beginning and following that, I came along. My mother would tell of his close wins and grand placings, as I created in my mind a colorful picture of my father. Though I never had the chance to meet my legendary sire, he became my hero, the one who I always looked up to.

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[This is the first "chapter" of an inspirational piece I'm working on about the famous racehorse Barbaro. Looking for critique and comments! Tell me if you want more and I'll post the next chapter!]

[Fire Opal]

Spectacular! The whole setup reminds me a bit of Black Beauty. Anyway, so far so good. Keep it up!

[Bratterratt]

Finally the time came. It started slowly, a gradual separation. Several times a day I was taken from my mother’s side for multiple reasons: an examination, to begin my gentling, etc. And then they came to take her away, for good.

Michael Matz, the stoutly-built middle aged man I’d come to know as my trainer, appeared at our stall door, rubbing his dark mustache in a thoughtful way, a simple cotton lead rope in his other hand. After a few coaxing words murmured from his lips, Matz clipped the lead onto my mother’s kneaded leather halter.

At first I tried to follow, using my broadening chest to push through the stall door. But Matz forcefully used his strong arms to keep me back. A worried whinny erupted from deep within my throat as he shoved the wooden door closed and latched it quickly. Leading my mother, they approached the barn entrance, her hooves clunking on the floor strewn with stray pieces of twine and hay.

Again I called to her, an edge of accusation on my voice. How could she leave me? Just before she disappeared outside, my mother’s chocolaty head turned to peer over her shoulder. I caught the expression of sorrow in her dark mahogany eyes and then she was gone. I never saw my mother again.
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