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Description

Show: 2023 TS New Years Event
Class: New Years Maiden (Maiden)
Post Position Number:#2
Horse: HCS Suitcase
Rider / Jockey / Handler: Miles Davis
Training: N/A
Extra(s): N/A
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Story:

For a man with a name related to distance, he sure wasn’t gaining any.

The track was only six furlongs, not enough to waste time in the back section of the pack building up speed. It was only in these races that Miles hated the horse’s favoritism towards the Closers. Suitcase had a habit of relaxing towards the middle of the stretch before suddenly bursting in speed towards the finish. It seemed like a good thing, but the stroke of luck needed to win with that wasn’t always given.

“C’mon, Stamps, let’s get a bit of traction here. Yah! Yah!” Letting his grip slacken, Miles whipped the reins twice. The colt responded by chomping down on the bit and aggressively dropping his head forwards. His relaxed stride began to quicken, Suitcase’s legs moving back and forth in a scissor-like way. The dirt erupted in billows behind him, throwing it up into the treading paths of the other Closer horses behind them.
Suitcase glared at the other horses and their flying colors, his breaths getting heavier and his ears pinned back. Miles could tell he was getting into his combative nature, the telltale signs showing as sweat began to froth along the colt’s saddle cloth. A small bay ahead caught sight of the stampeding chestnut and whickered nervously. Suitcase snapped his bit at the filly, nearly causing the younger horse to lose her footing, leaving her behind to pick up her pace.

The two of them sped along the inner side of the left-handed track, passing one horse after the other in the colt’s reliable burst of speed. It wouldn’t be confirmation of a win but perhaps it’d be enough to gain the attention of a sponsor. All Miles would have to do now was hang on and hope not to fall off.

Words: 302
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Description

Show: 2023 TS New Years Event
Class: New Years Maiden (Maiden)
Post Position Number:#2
Horse: HCS Suitcase
Rider / Jockey / Handler: Miles Davis
Training: N/A
Extra(s): N/A
-----------------------------
Story:

For a man with a name related to distance, he sure wasn’t gaining any.

The track was only six furlongs, not enough to waste time in the back section of the pack building up speed. It was only in these races that Miles hated the horse’s favoritism towards the Closers. Suitcase had a habit of relaxing towards the middle of the stretch before suddenly bursting in speed towards the finish. It seemed like a good thing, but the stroke of luck needed to win with that wasn’t always given.

“C’mon, Stamps, let’s get a bit of traction here. Yah! Yah!” Letting his grip slacken, Miles whipped the reins twice. The colt responded by chomping down on the bit and aggressively dropping his head forwards. His relaxed stride began to quicken, Suitcase’s legs moving back and forth in a scissor-like way. The dirt erupted in billows behind him, throwing it up into the treading paths of the other Closer horses behind them.
Suitcase glared at the other horses and their flying colors, his breaths getting heavier and his ears pinned back. Miles could tell he was getting into his combative nature, the telltale signs showing as sweat began to froth along the colt’s saddle cloth. A small bay ahead caught sight of the stampeding chestnut and whickered nervously. Suitcase snapped his bit at the filly, nearly causing the younger horse to lose her footing, leaving her behind to pick up her pace.

The two of them sped along the inner side of the left-handed track, passing one horse after the other in the colt’s reliable burst of speed. It wouldn’t be confirmation of a win but perhaps it’d be enough to gain the attention of a sponsor. All Miles would have to do now was hang on and hope not to fall off.

Words: 302
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