August Story Contest
The Life of a Filly
by microphone and Black Mist age 11The Life of a Filly is a story about a foal named Krystal until she is four years old. If you like it, I will continue the story with the stories, The Life of a Young Mare, The Life of a Mare in her Prime, and The Life of an Elderly Mare. These stories will be about Krystal as she grows up. But, let the story carry you to where a foal is about to be born….
The first thing I remember is emerging into cold, dry air. I so wanted to stay in the warmth of my mother. But my mother was the one pushing me out. Of course she was helped by a two-legged. The boy was pulling my front legs, which I thought was quite rude. When I finally slipped all the way out, my mother licked the slime and goo off my bay coat. “It’s a girl!” exclaimed the boy, who, I now noticed, was speaking to his father. “She has a diamond on her forehead. Maybe her name should be Diamond.” “No,” said his father, “since her mother is Kristine her name should be Krystal spelled with a ‘k’.” I was busy drinking warm milk, but I still heard and understood all they said. They had given me a name! My mother had told me as soon as I could hear her that being given a name is a great honor to a horse. If you should be renamed it was a matter of great distress and disapproval.
I slept well that night, but, not being able to stand without wobbling, lay down to sleep on the soft straw. My mother lay beside me, keeping me warm. In the morning, I heard the farm’s rooster crowing as the sun came up. It was only about six o’ clock when the boy came and haltered my mother. “Here girl, come here,” he said to me, holding out a mini version of my mother’s halter. I backed away. He gently stroked my neck. I relaxed and he carefully and skillfully got the halter on my head. “Good-girl,” He said, still stroking my neck. I snorted and pranced in a circle. The boy clipped a lead rope to my mother’s halter and led her out of the stall. I started to follow, but he shut the door just so that my head stuck out. I watched my mother being led towards some grassy fields with fences around them. “The pasture,” I thought. I pushed my way out of my stall. I galloped to my mother, who was surprised to see I had escaped. The boy was surprised too. “Alright then, go in, both of you. You know Krystal, I was gonna go back for you.” I whinnied and stayed by my mother the whole day.
__________Now, you can’t separate a foal from its mother for very long, until it’s weaned at six months.
__________The spring wind blew into both our manes. It was a bit chilly being only six o’ clock in the morning, but my mother blocked me from most of the wind. She grazed on the dark green grass. “What was wrong with perfectly good milk?” I thought. The father soon came and put more horses into the pasture while the boy collected the chicken eggs. I noticed one mare had a colt – as black as midnight without a moon or stars. I overheard the man say, “Now Midnight, into the pasture.” ‘So Midnight’s his name, huh? Maybe he’d like to be my playmate.’ Three other foals also joined us, and two mares who looked pregnant.
About a month passed and all of us foals were running farther and farther away from our mothers. I ran up to a medium grey filly with a big star on her forehead. “Hello, I’m Krystal, what’s your name?” “I’m Moonstar.” “I wish I had that name,” I sighed, exhaling a deep breath. “You know Krystal, why don’t we have a daily race with the other foals? I’m sure they’d enjoy it.” “Yeah, let’s go tell them!” We decided that from the Big Oak Tree to Great Pine Grove was where we were racing. It was a long race. “Bye Mom, see you later,” I called as we trotted off to the Big Oak Tree. One foal had decided to be the referee and he called from Great Pine Grove, “On your marks, get set, go!” We shot off, wanting to be the first horse to win the first annual Foal Race. I was pushed and shoved, but I ran straight and fast, neck outstretched, legs stretching and folding beneath me. I pushed myself faster, and soon passed the leading horse. My nostrils were flared and sweat covered my bay hair. When I passed the first pine in Great Pine Grove, I slowed down. I had won!
The referee told us that, “Krystal’s first, Moonstar’s second and Firebreath is third.” The horses who didn’t place groaned, including Midnight. I went to him. “Midnight, you’ll get better. You’ll be placed next time.” I knew this wouldn’t be true, as he had come in completely last. “I’m never racing again.” he said, and ran off to his mother. I walked off to my mother.
The father and son had alerted the mother in the household to the race. They had watched, leaning on the fence. “That Krystal won by a lot. I bet she’d made a fine racer.” “Well, when she’s two why don’t you sell her?”
The next morning we were put into a small paddock instead of a pasture. All the other foals started the race. “Hey,” I neighed, “Wait for me!” No one answered. Moonstar came in first. I could see that because she was the only grey horse there at the race.
After the race we were moved back into the pasture. “Thanks for waiting,” I said accusingly at Moonstar. I stayed by my mother the rest of the day.
I was now five months old and was beginning to eat the dark green stuff that my mother spends her whole day eating. I found that I liked it very much. Every race that was run after that Separation Day I won. As I grew older, when I tried to drink milk, my mother pushed me away. I went to Moonstar to help, because she had already gone through this. “It’s called weaning. It’s when your mother makes you eat grass and hay and grain and no milk. Just stop trying to get milk.”
Finally I was seven months old. I had long, strong legs and good muscles in my neck and chest and my rump. I was put in a stall of my own, and at last detached from staying by my mother. And I was right next to Moonstar. Now we were put into the paddock and had to race from Small Pine to The Gate. Moonstar was in there before me, and I ran up to her. “Hey Moonstar! Why are you so worried?” My voice turned serious. “They’re selling you.” “What?” I neighed and reared. “To who?” “To Wild Wind Racing Stable.” I stood, shocked. “When?” I managed. “This evening.”
That day neither of us ran the race. We spent time grooming each other and talking. At long last a crunch of gravel came from the driveway. I looked at Moonstar, scared. The boy came and clipped a lead rope to me with great difficulty because I was rearing and galloping off. But Midnight, the traitor that he was, cornered me. “Thanks Midnight,” said the boy, and I detected sadness emanating from him. He led me away. “Moonstar!” I neighed and strained to get back to her. She ran to the fence whinnying. “Krystal!” The boy was strong though. “Goodbye,” I whinnied, and was led away.
I felt ripped in half by the events. I wanted Moonstar, but I loved to race. The trailer finally stopped and I was unloaded. “She’s practically wild!” a man said, seeing me rear and buck. “All that time with other foals in a field.” I stopped bucking and took the man by surprise by stamping hard on his foot. “She reminds me o’ Seabiscuit. And what sort of a name is Krystal? Starlight Fury is more like it.” My eyes looked at him, horrified. He had changed my name. I hadn’t been good enough to have a name like Krystal. I walked sadly to the stall I would be occupying for the rest of my life.
The next day a woman came to my stall. “Wow Starlight, you’re a real beauty.” She poured my grain, which I didn’t touch. I had heard that sometimes a horse can die from shame if their name is changed. “Your owners told me you had a large appetite. It seems not.” The woman fed the other horses. The two on either side of me ate ravenously. An extremely light grey chewed on his hay because he had no grain. I had heard the woman call him Stardust. The other one was an orangey Red Chestnut Thoroughbred. I thought his name was Sun Explosion. After we ate we were escorted to a large pasture that reminded me of home. I was the first one in, and I walked to a Shade Tree and drooped my head. I was thoroughly unhappy. A mud Brown horse came next, who’s name was apparently Lord Earth. The next to come was a Dappled Red Chestnut. I heard the woman call him Jupiter’s Moons. King Pluto, a smoky gray horse, was next, trotting in like he owned the place. He walked right up to me and snorted a, “Who the heck are you?” “I’m Krys – I mean, Starlight Fury.” “The ‘I’m so crazy I’m gonna Rear’ horse? Yeah, I heard you were coming. Thought your name was Krystal.” “It was, but they changed it.” “Oh, well, I think I see Saturn Star. Bye,” Saturn Star was yet another Red Chestnut with a large star on her forehead. Right behind her was a black horse called New Moon who was only two. The last was a Blood Bay yearling called Space Rocket. She came up to me, and, a little shyly, said hello. “Hi,” I snorted. I still stood with my head drooping. “I heard you had your name changed. Me too, it used to be Fudge. They change all these horses’ names unless they’re already ‘space’ related. King Pluto used to be Smoky.”
The next day we started serious training. Their trainer (by their I mean humans) did not allow training only one horse at a time. There had to be at least two horses within a year of each other in age. Rocket and I were within a year of each other. The Trainer would put these big things on our backs called ‘saddles’. Then he would put halters with a metal rod on them onto our heads, forcing the metal rods into our mouths. I kept licking mine, trying to get used to the metallic taste. ‘Yuck,’ I thought.
Then the trainer would walk us around with the metal ‘bits’ in our mouths and the ‘saddles’ on our backs with a strap around our bellies so we couldn’t get it off. My nostrils flared as I got ready to rear, but the trainer was smart, and gave a quick jerk on my ‘bridle’. My nostrils flared again, this time in pain and annoyance. I walked calmly after that.
Once Rocket and I (we were now best friends) were used to wearing a saddle and bridle, and having a person on our back (though not for very long because we were only a year or so old) they put us in Starting Boxes. They opened and closed the gates. The next awful thing was the Starting Bell. It rang loud and clearly. The trainer would whip us on the flank every time it started, and we soon came to realize that when the Bell sounded, we had to be off. The Starting Boxes and Bell were put together, and, when the Bell rang, the gates opened and we shot off. We had to race each other – it was too irresistible. It reminded me of the Foal Race I would have been running. No doubt Moonstar would win. The turf that we were currently racing each other on was sandy dirt, much unlike the hard dirt and grass back on Grange’s Farm. But I shot ahead and kept to the rails, because I realized that there was probably less to run along that side. Rocket was far behind me by now. My legs stretched and folded, with my neck outstretched and made my legs go even faster. I knew the owners were timing us. I shot faster and faster until everything seemed like a blur. I crossed a line near a post and kept running. I got back to the Starting Boxes so I stopped. The trainer was gawking at me. ‘What?’ my kind brown eyes said. “You beat the track record set by Secretariat!” Rocket whinnied her approval. “Great job!” “Starlight, I believe you are descended from jet air planes!” The trainer never joked – but then again, he just did.
After a year of racing all the horses at Wild Wind Racing Stables, I became faster and stronger than ever. At two, I began to race with people on my back and a light-weight saddle. I soon got used to these things and beat Sun Explosion at a race. Apparently he wasn’t the fastest at the stable anymore.I was well fed and well groomed and loved, and extremely well trained, but what I longed for now was Moonstar.
I was entered in my first race at two and a half. My jockey, Jane Wilbert, was very small and weighed only 90lbs. In secret she gave me carrots.
The Starting Bell sounded and the front gates opened wide. I shot off like a cannon ball, joining the herd or trampling hooves pounding the earth. They sun was high and made us horses sweat. This race was for 2s to 4year olds only, and I noticed a grey horse with a purple racing mask on. Number 8 – strange, I was Number 7. I had an electric blue racing mask that matched my jockey’s silk shirt. Electric blue Bell Boots covered my pounding hooves. The grey horse was in the lead, and I was second. I shot ahead and raced off, on my own at last. The grey horse was catching up, very slowly, like an inchworm. I made myself go faster and crossed the finish line. The grey horse raced across next, followed by a black horse with a blaze and no mask. Then the trampling herd came, thundering across the finish line. I almost reared with happiness. Jane trotted me off to a circle of white fence, the Winner’s Circle. Photographers snapped flashing things at me as someone put a blanket of roses around my neck and gave Jane a big, shiny Trophy. I finally couldn’t hold back a rear. I reared and photographers and the people cheered and clapped. Someone was asking Jane how she felt about winning. Everyone fell silent. “I love winning, but I’m giving this Trophy to the horse who has rightfully earned it, Starlight’s Fury!” a man wrote down what Jane had said and the next morning it was in the newspaper with a picture of me rearing on the front page!
Jane gave me a bath and right next to me was the grey horse. Without her mask on, she seemed familiar. She turned her head towards me, obviously thinking the same thing. I noticed a star on her forehead. “Moonstar?” I asked, my hopes rising so high I nearly popped. “Krystal?” My hopes fell. Obviously she thought I was someone else. But that name stirred something in me. Hadn’t that been my name when she knew me? “I think so,” “It is you!” Moonstar moved closer to me and nuzzled my cheek. “If missed you so much,” I said. “Me too!” Jane noticed that Moonstar and I were very close and told her employer. My owner went over to the man who owned Moonstar and offered a large amount of money. “If you can use her, I’ll take that money.”
That night Moonstar and I talked and talked about how we were doing. “I was sold soon after you were Starlight. Midnight is as much of a traitor as he was. I kept winning the Foal Race. At least I don’t have to have my name changed.” We finally fell asleep, laying near the side the other was on. It felt safe again, warm, and reminded me of home and my mother, and of being born….
__________________
This concludes The Life of a Filly. If you like it, I will continue with Krystal’s life with The Life of a Young Mare. Here is a sneak-peak:
I woke up in my warm, cozy stall. Today was my fifth birthday. I missed my mother, but not as much as I had missed Moonstar. I had completed what seemed like tons of races since I turned three. But now I was going to be given a year or two off, for some reason. And I knew why. My owner’s had decided to breed me. I was already in foal. It had been done last week. Moonstar was also in foal. It was late summer, in mid-August, the Mating Season. We were due in the spring with our foals. I sighed, got up and yawned. I went over to my water bucket and drank the cool water. I munched was remained of my hay and went to the wall where a large window had been knocked out so Moonstar and I could see each other. Moonstar was awake too. The woman (who’s name is Sarah) came and took both of us to the pasture at once, knowing how we hated to be apart, after we had been separated so many years ago…