by Brian Cain
CHAPTER TWO
Was a fine Saturday morning, Dylan rose at first light dressing quickly and sneaking out the back door making sure not to wake his sister. He ran to the edge of the wooden fenced paddock clutching an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen and his horse galloped to meet him lowering his black head to Dylan's waiting arms. Dylan kissed his horse on the nose, gave him the apple and climbed the fence and they began to run around with the horse following his every move.
Neighbour Graham Harper was also up early, he lent on a fence next to his barn watching the boy and horse. The race track had just been mowed and he enjoyed the clean aroma drifting in the air. Harper had a keen eye for horse flesh and acquired a set of binoculars from his Range Rover glove box carefully studying the giant black stallion. The horses lines and manor caught Harpers eye and he dropped what he was doing and headed over to the Fields property directly next to his on the banks of the Greedy Piggy creek. He had been standing at the fence next to Dylan and the horse for some minutes in front of the Fields colonial homestead when he was joined by Bob Fields. Harper skipped formalities of greeting engrossed with the sight of the new arrival.
"Where the hell did you get this machine, what an animal. Must be seventeen hands," asked Harper.
Bob Fields had not dressed and wore his dressing gown in the cool morning air as the sun spread its wings. He was unshaven from working a late Friday, He was a wine maker and required long hours during the February harvest and had the distinct bouquet of grapes etched into his skin. "You wouldn't believe it, just like Meadow, picked him up for a hundred bucks heading for the abattoir," replied Bob.
"Have a name?" asked Harper.
"Flaxmead."
"Flaxmead," Harper looked at the ground in thought with one hand under his right armpit and the other scratching his chin. Harper was always dressed impeccably doing little manual work outside of his veterinary practice. His RM Williams boots and moleskin pants were perfectly clean and his RM denim shirt pressed without a crease. He looked back up at Bob Fields. "Flaxmead, I've heard of this horse. It's impossible to handle, rang a bell straight away, mentioned recently."
"Impossible, have a look at it play with Dylan."
"Yeah, can you get near him?"
"No wont have a bar of me, loves Anna as well."
"I wonder if it's the same horse. If it is Flaxmead the story is he can run like the wind, was Jimmy."
"Sure it's the same horse?" interrupted Bob.
"Maybe, it was Jimmy Cotton I remember mentioned the name only recently. Do you have any paperwork on him?"
"Yes." Bob Fields walked to his Toyota Land cruiser parked in front of the homestead and rummaged around in the glove compartment returning with some papers. "Here this is all that came with him."
Harper read the papers. "Import application, name Flaxmead. Dame and Sire no reference. Country of birth Ireland, last official country of residence UK. Owner's Australian contact name Roy Taggart Riverside Stud Wyong NSW. Well well, the only bloke in the entire industry I wouldn't trust. Bill of sale signed by Jimmy Cotton Taggart's manager, must be the same horse. Was Jimmy Cotton the bloke who sold you the horse?"
Bob nodded "Yes."
"Was Taggart there as well?"
"Taggart, never heard of him. We got the horse out in the middle of nowhere Cotton a little guy looks like a spindle twig did the deal he travelled a long way to check us out. Told me the horse was going to the abattoirs for dog food."
"Jimmy Cotton is a good bloke, one of the best jockeys in the world. Ridden more winners than you can poke a stick at, highly respected bloke and loves horses. Taggart hides behind him; Jimmy doesn't like a lot of what Taggart gets up to. If Jimmy went out of his way to make sure this horse was okay he had a damn good reason. Jimmy told me about this horse only a few days back when I saw him in Newcastle."
Bob looked concerned. "Can you talk to Jimmy find out more about Flaxmead."
"No not at the moment. You have a bill of sale from Cotton and an import application. I'll give it a health check and you can register it with RISA. Recourse will be nearly impossible then so we say nothing till then. Knowing Taggart anything could have happened to the poor bugger. If there are any problems they'll come to light in the registration process things are pretty clean these days but if Jimmy sold it to you knowing the kids would get it strongest chance is that it's okay."
"Sounds a bit sinister Graham."
"Jimmy Cotton's not stupid; he gave you that import application probably because it's the only thing with Taggart's name on it. Means nothing to you but it does to me and anyone else in the racing industry."
Anna had skipped breakfast and came barrelling across the yard with a quick hello as she climbed the fence and joined Dylan with Flaxmead. They watched as the three ran around in circles but Bob panicked when Dylan gave Anna a leg up onto Flaxmead's back. Harper held his arm stopping him from jumping the fence looking him closely in the face as he stumbled back down.
"I'll go with Jimmy Cotton any time, if he gave you the horse for the kids it's safe as houses," said Harper with a smile. Anna slid onto Flaxmead's back and he didn't move a muscle. The great stallion trotted gracefully around in circles with Dylan and Anna laughing at the top of their voices. "That horse was brought up with children; he loves the sound of their laughter. Taggart must have had his boys try to whip it into gear but he has the determination of a mule. Now I wonder how fast he can run?"
"Wonder if hell take a saddle," said Bob.
"If he'll take Anna on his back he will take a saddle. I need to tend to his shoulder wounds and check him out before we go any further."
"How he won't have a bar of us."
"Will give him an apple with something in it to calm him down, don't need long half hour of so."
"Okay, I'll have the kids put him in the holding yard and see you after breakfast I'm hungry."
"No worries I'll head home and grab my bag."
Anna led Flaxmead into the holding yard without any fuss at all. He scratched at the ground with his right hoof grunting in protest as they walked across the forecourt towards the house for breakfast. Meal times in the Field household were a little different the wafting tang of bacon and eggs was the same but other things could be trying. Everyone was at the table including George the pet cockatiel would often wade through your breakfast cereal milk and Harold the pure white rat who thought he was a human being as he sat watching the news on the telly from his position on the table next to Dylan. He would stop nibbling his egg or toast held between his tiny front paws sitting upright studying the TV screen, it was not know if he was interested in local affairs or just liked the changing colours on the screen.
"Get out of my snack George, yuk you're a disgusting bird," shouted Anna. "Mum George is bathing in my weet-bix."
"Stick it in you're eye stick it in you're eye," replied the parrot.
"Mum George is being rude again."
"You did teach him to say that Anna so don't complain," replied her mother.
"He supposed to say it to Dylan."
"Yeah well he's got real, I wouldn't walk in your weet-bix might catch something," said Dylan.
"Watch it mate or you'll cop it," replied Anna.
"You and who's army?"
"I'll do you up a treat any time sport."
"Stop it you two," said their mother. "Bob will you talk to them please."
Bob Fields came out from behind his paper putting it down on his plate of half eaten bacon and eggs looked ominously at the children and folded his arms. "Now how many times have we discussed respect? Now I have a bargaining tool bigger than life itself. Any more of this and access to Flaxmead will be withdrawn for an entire day."
"Oh what but she started it," added Dylan.
"Enough end of story," said his father.
Dylan and Anna exchanged glares as they finished their breakfast. The pets were put away and then everyone dressed for the horse yard. They heard Graham Harper return and walked from the home
stead front door across the wide bull nose veranda to the holding yard some fifty metres from the front of the house on the other side of the chalk white dusty courtyard. Their five acres of paddocks were green from heavy rains and the running water of Greed Piggy Creek could be heard from the rear veranda. The Harpers place next door was over four hundred acres and followed the creek line to the rear and the main road at the front as did the Fields. Harper had sold the old homestead with five acres to Bob Fields years back when Bob Fields became winemaker for a major local winery.
On the other side of the creek running adjacent both properties was the massive Greedy Piggy Creek Coal Mine a constant menace to the Harper and Fields. Claims of top industry standard dust suppression and blasting techniques in the mine had no support from the Harpers or Fields with the management of Greedy Piggy Creek Coal treating them with aggression and contempt. Their places were often covered in dust and shock from massive blasts in the open cut mining operation. They had been offered what was referred to as more than generous offers for their properties but the Harpers and Fields liked where they lived. An abundance of coal was available elsewhere but the Greedy Piggy mob was after the low sulphur and ash coal that lay beneath the rolling green paddocks of the Harpers and Fields properties. Bob Fields often took his parrot George with him on his shoulder when talking with the Greedy Piggy management another reason the parrot was taught to say stick it in your eye.
Harper waited a while for the sedative Acepromazine to take effect and Anna slipped a hood over Flaxmead's head. Anna and Dylan talked and laughed around him as Harper inspected his teeth and general condition putting his age at nearly four. He mad official logs of his markings. The horse was well kept with hooves and legs in excellent condition and professionally shoed, the only mark was a small gash on his shoulder that took a couple of stitches. Blood and tissue samples were the last task and the hood removed from Flaxmead while Harper was in the holding yard. Flaxmead caught site of Harper and he let him know he was concerned about Harpers close proximity. "I don't think the ace had much affect on him we need to weigh him. Walk him to my surgery in the barn at home and lead him through the scales," requested Harper.
Walking was something Flaxmead didn't do well, flicking his head and breaking into a trot from side to side wanting Anna and Dylan to walk faster, if race horses were warm bloods Flaxmead was a hot blood. Changing smells had Flaxmead on edge as well as they neared the barn surgery, the smell of fresh mowed grass gave way to stable mate feed and disinfectant. He eventually mounted the scales lead by Anna inside the barn with no objections. He filled the holding bars just touching the edges with his flanks. Six hundred and forty kilo sixteen point eight hands on the height marker. "Phar Lap was seventeen point one he's nearly as big as him. Hold him there a minute Anna I want to listen to his heart." Harper carefully moved his stethoscope around Flaxmead's rib cage and Harper's eyes looked like dinner plates. "That's the strongest heartbeat I've ever heard by a mile," commented Harper. He ran a hand held scanner over the left side of Flaxmead's neck and it beeped. He's chipped that will be a big help. "Now can he run? Lead him out Anna and put Meadows saddle on him should fit him fine."
Anna lead Flaxmead to a saddle rail inside the barn just inside the main doors gave the lead reins to Dylan and threw Flushing Meadows blanket on his back neatly between his loin and his withers. Flaxmead didn't give a flicker. She threw the saddle over him and lapped the girth strap pulling it tight the smell of dubbin filled her nose from the neatly polished leather. The stirrups were already adjusted for her to ride Meadow. She showed the bit and reins to him and he lowered his head for her to gently run the halter of the reins over his head and pulled the bit up in his mouth adjusting the straps for Flaxmead's larger head, Flaxmead grunted and shuddered as he smelt the mares scent on the bridle. Anna stood back and put her helmet on in front of him. He began to become agitated and lifting his front legs from the ground slightly and grunting. Anna climbed the saddle rail next to him and jumped on he grunted with approval and Dylan let go.
The barn doors led out to the one thousand metre test track surrounded by a standard height white wooden railing the grass in top condition from recent rains. Anna lined Flax up with the centre of the track and yelled but he needed no firm encouragement rearing up with a loud whinny lunging forwards spraying turf over the three onlookers as he raced to a gallop. Anna let out a yippee and laughed aloud as she shot to full speed in a trice. She tucked her head in behind Flaxmead's ears her eyes watered as the wind swept by, he hugged the inside rail with inches to spare and Harper hit the stopwatch at the first marker. He clicked one watch and started another as Flax thundered past them clipping the time marker, he looked at Bob Fields with sheer disbelief. "One minute three seconds for the first thousand." Flaxmead held speed giving Anna the ride of her life he thundered past a second time clipping the marker he looked even more shocked. "Two minutes four seconds for two thousand." again he switched watches they watched as he appeared to drive even harder he thundered past for the last time and Harper waited to the twelve hundred metre marker for the final watch time. "Combined time of three minutes ten for three thousand two hundred metres give or take a little who cares. Bloody thing just won the Melbourne Cup, in fact with from like that it could win anything you throw at it. It's the fastest horse I've ever seen. Three sixteen is the fastest time for the cup Kingston Rule in 1990."
Flaxmead hadn't finished running and pulled up after another lap flat out standing directly in front of Graham Harper and Bob Fields looking straight through them prancing and grunting. Harper looked away from Flaxmead's gaze Bob wondered why and after a few seconds he walked straight passed them giving a distinct bouquet that was unique he walked into the barn along side the saddle rail so Anna could dismount. Anna dropped the stirrups balanced on the rail then jumped to the ground walked around to Flaxmead's head, he bowed and muzzled her chest grunting and snorting. Anna looked at her father with tears in her eyes. "Daddy he's the wind, I've dreamed of him, now he's home."
"Jesus what are we gonna do Graham," asked Bob.
"Get this paperwork in today, your kids wanted a horse that could win the Melbourne Cup. They've got one. He's highly trained, my guess is he can run a lot faster than he just did."
Bob Fields walked around to the front of Flaxmead and held his daughter as she snuggled Flaxmead's head, it was the first time Flax paid him no mind. He looked into Flaxmead's eyes from near point blank range then stood back a little. "Well Flax me old mate, you've made a little girl and boy very happy." The horse tossed his head and grunted as if he understood. "You're a champion mate and I promise you'll be one," he added. Flaxmead reared up and screamed out dropping back to the ground tossing his head and mane around.
"This horse has been trained well someone put some work in on him I reckon. I wouldn't have been interested in him when he was a foal he's to big, he's legs would have been thin and long it would have been obvious he would be carrying a lot of weight when he grew. Only a small percentage of long legged big horses are any good, interaction of the front and rear legs is paramount with a horse like this, to foster one to this stage is a big risk. He's got big strong powerful legs now like the rest of him; well managed diet and exercise horses don't grow like this eating straw in a dusty paddock. I tend to go for small to medium horses they're generally more versatile. He shot away like he came out a gate hugged the rail and never looked back, didn't even look like slowing up. Once in a lifetime a horse like this is born feed and trained properly. Flaxmead was found and trained by someone who had a goal but somehow didn't quite get there. Who, where, how, one things for sure it certainly wasn't Taggart. This thing isn't a horse it's a weapon. I'm going to take the paperwork to the stewards myself tomorrow in Sydney see what we can dig up. I'll use my stable name and colours for registration for now and list you as the owner Bob.'
Bob shook his head and grimaced. "No, can you list Dylan and Anna as the owners."
Graham walked Bob out o
f the children's earshot. "No, they can consider themselves the owners and you can assure them they own him but you'll have to be registered as the owner. The stated owner must be over eighteen. You'll have to think of colours for yourselves to race."
"Mmmm, think I'll stick to wine making, you take care of the racing colours and all and the kids have their heart set on it so really the horse is theirs. Be a wool over the eyes job with them, wont hurt."
"Take him home, he'll keep you busy. This is the horse Jimmy spoke of, I'm sure he said it was a big black stallion from overseas called Flaxmead. Jimmy just wouldn't mention something like that unless he thought it was important. If only he could talk I bet he has a story to tell," added Harper.
