Funny old stable. Riverdee. Eclectic, at least. The majority in Virginia, a few in Maryland, one in South Carolina, one in England. Some turned out. Some need to be turned out. Some dappled and thriving, others making hard work of it. Some cause fights – er, discussions – at home. Others, high tide and smooth sailing. A few around the world don’t even know they’re coming this way.
Today, the old soul goes to Upperville Horse Show for the meter 10 (or something). A son of Arch works a half. The grade II stakeswinner makes steady progress from surgery, one step, after one step, after one step. The fall import goes for a bone scan. The newest import acclimates. The long-legged red one tries to salvage a career where he’s beaten three horses in three starts. The girl gets equipped with blinkers for a morning school. The Brit rests for a chasing foray in the fall. The Atlanta winner squeals for his morning trot. The Fair Hill winner squeals to get outside. The GQ model continues to be a stone in my shoe. The white one eats grass, waiting for his trepid owner to stop writing and get riding – is that a hunting horn I hear?
Saratoga looms, we could have eight horses running – or none. That’s the game.