Рита Браун - Puss 'N Cahoots

Ward was first in the ring, riding a large, somewhat unrefined bay with great action, Shaq Attack. He smiled to the cheers. Ward wore a tuxedo and looked very handsome.

Charly, slowed by having to split open the palm of his right glove to make it fit, didn’t worry about time. He’d be up there in two minutes. Before he mounted up, he had Carlos pop the cork of the Jacquart La Cuvee Nominee 1988. Carlos poured the Baccarat fluted glass full, handing it to Charly.

“I’ll celebrate before I ride and then after.” He knocked it back, handing the glass back to Carlos. The bubbles soothed his cut gums and loose tooth. “It will pick me up and kill some of this pain.” He swung a long leg over Frederick the Great. “My God, that’s good champagne.” He felt better already.

Harry, Fair, Joan, and Renata filed into the box. Paul and Frances were already there, as were most of Joan’s sisters and brothers, which meant it was a full box indeed. The men stood so the ladies could sit.

Miss Nasty spied the cats, Mrs. Murphy in Harry’s lap and Pewter in Joan’s. Cookie sat with Frances, and Tucker sat by Fair’s foot, until he picked up the dog so she could see.

Miss Nasty hurried down the tree just as Booty entered the ring on the brilliant chestnut, Callaway’s Senator, who was on tonight.

Larry followed on Point Guard, who gleamed like black patent leather, serving notice that the two favored horses couldn’t rest on their laurels.

The ring filled until, lastly, with an actor’s sense of timing, Charly blasted in, hands high but quiet and a brilliant smile under his perfect dark navy homburg, with small red-colored feathers stuck in the grosgrain hatband. Frederick the Great, a light bay, groomed to perfection, hooves glistening, two red braided ribbons sailing, one from his forelock, one up behind his poll, promised to match Senator stride for stride.

Before the class completed one round of the ring, the crowd was screaming.

Much as Renata loathed Charly right now, she had to admit he looked divine showing a horse.

The announcer allowed another lap at the trot, then called out, “Walk, please, walk.”

Larry moved closer to the rail, which, while farther from the judges, set off black Point Guard against the white boards.

As he moved away, Charly and Booty, now in the ring, jostled for position in front of the judges, each trying to block out the other. Ward hung back, slowed Shaq Attack, then asked the horse to walk out. The huge fellow ate up the ground effortlessly. While he lacked refinement, his motion compensated. Shaq should pin well and with any luck would retire to stud. Ward hoped the owners would keep the horse with him. He believed if the horse were crossed with refined mares, good things would follow, and he intended to show this horse at his best. Shaq wanted to show.

“Reverse, please, reverse.”

The contestants reversed direction, walked a bit, and the announcer called out, “Trot, please, trot.”

Deep in the curve of the ring, Charly cut off Booty, laughing as he passed. Booty nearly broke stride, only managing to pull it out in the nick of time by squeezing Senator hard, which then made the flashy fellow surge forward.

As the announcer called out the canter, Miss Nasty hopped through the now-empty midway, zoomed around the path in front of the western grandstand, vaulted onto the back of a chair in the Kalarama box, and jumped to the top rail.

Renata flinched as the monkey flew past her.

Miss Nasty sneered down at Pewter and Mrs. Murphy. “See! Worthless cats. Fish breath!” She pointed to Joan’s pin on her ecru bodice.

Mrs. Murphy, grasped firmly by Harry, could do little but thrash her tail. Pewter, catching Joan unaware, lunged at the monkey, who easily eluded her. The cat then pulled back, slipping off her turquoise collar in a move worthy of the monkey. Pewter, now free, stalked the monkey. Then Miss Nasty jumped onto Joan’s lap. The monkey, thrilled at her disruption, jumped from lap to lap. Fair put Tucker down to grab Pewter, an exercise in futility.

“My pin!” Joan finally had a second to concentrate on Miss Nasty, as the cat and monkey verbally abused each other.

Frances, hands to her face, pleaded, “Miss Nasty, you be a good girl. Give us the pin.”

“I’ll kill her,” Pewter promised, claws out.

As this transpired, the announcer called the slow rack, a beautiful, controlled gait.

Booty bumped Charly when both judges were looking the other way. Larry, three strides behind, with quick reflexes, steered clear. He concentrated that much harder. Nothing was going to deter him from making Point Guard’s debut memorable. Well, it would be for many reasons, not least because Miss Nasty jumped into the ring, followed by Pewter.

Joan’s eyes were darting to the drama in the ring, then back at the monkey. She knew Larry would skin Booty and Charly alive after this class. Competitive as he was, Larry would never stoop to anything like their hijinks. She thought she could see smoke coming out of her husband’s ears, but she smiled when she saw how readily Point Guard responded, how fluid his movement. He didn’t shy even when passing Miss Nasty and Pewter, who both prudently returned to the Kalarama box amid gasps from the crowd.

“This pin is mine!” Miss Nasty touched the pin as she perched on the rail.

Pewter lurked under the rail.

“Give Joan the pin.” Mrs. Murphy puffed out her fur while being firmly held by Harry.

“Or what? What can you do? Ha! Ha!” Miss Nasty turned a somersault on the rail, dropped under, and swung around then back up.

Pewter grabbed Miss Nasty’s tail, but the monkey jerked free. The cat then bounded into Joan’s lap to face her opponent.

Paul clucked to the monkey, who clucked back but eluded his reach.

“Maybe if we ignore her,” Joan suggested.

“I’ll kill her!” Pewter became repetitive.

“Rack on, ladies and gentlemen, rack on.” The announcer called for the most physically demanding gait, the rack.

The speed of the rack is much faster than a non-Saddlebred horseman can imagine, until he or she sits on top. It’s like driving a mighty racing Ferrari with a long hood, yet you feel the rear wheels grip the road.

Point Guard lifted his forelegs effortlessly while driving from behind. His hindquarters were not as big as Shaq’s. Ward made the most of that, using Shaq’s muscle to drive and fly. The rack was Shaq’s best gait.

Point Guard would develop further and his motion was truly flawless, although the rack wasn’t his best gait. Right now his trot was his best gait, his balance flawless, but his rack was showy enough.

Accustomed to the competition, Senator and Frederick went at it hammer and tongs. Each horse has a gait where they excel, and it’s a rare horse that’s equally fabulous at all gaits. Senator, like Shaq, excelled at the rack.

Charly and Booty wanted these horses, at the height of their careers, to win big. Then the animals could be sold at a huge price or retired to stud if the current owners were willing. Each time a horse sold, the commission slipped right into the seller’s pocket.

As for Ward, he didn’t want Shaq’s owner to sell, but he was tired of eating Booty and Charly’s dirt, so his competitive fires burned high.

For a split second Booty was distracted when he passed by the Kalarama box to behold Miss Nasty carrying on. He immediately refocused because Charly passed him, obscuring him exactly when he was distracted by his beloved monkey. Cursing under his breath, Booty pulled away from Charly to give the judges a clear view of Senator.

The crowd, many on their feet, bellowed to high heaven.

“Walk, please, walk.” The announcer had sense enough not to keep the rack going for long, as it was brutally strenuous.