#Champion racehorse

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1968 – Champion racehorse, Arkle, is retired to see out the rest of his days in Bryanstown, Kildare.

It was a famous Irish Thoroughbred racehorse; a bay gelding by Archive out of Bright Cherry, his grandsire was the unbeaten (in 14 races) flat racehorse and prepotent sire Nearco. Arkle was bred at Ballymacoll Stud, Co Meath by Mrs. Mary Alison Baker of Malahow House, near Naul, Co Dublin. Owned by Anne Grosvenor, Duchess of Westminster, Arkle was trained by Tom Dreaper at Greenogue, Kilsallaghan…

[the-sturgeon-mary]

if you liked unstable hydrocarbon doggy, then you'll love hydrocarbon horsey

my beautiful thoroughbred 1-tertbutyl-7(2, 2-dimethylcyclobutyl)-3, 3, 5, 5-tetraethylcyclodecane

was fucking around drawing skeletal structures for OChem and made a little doggy

[horseracingweekly]

Stretch it out! This American Pharoah filly knows the importance of a good warm-up, especially before stepping into the spotlight for potential buyers. Hip 97, out of Just Louise, is ready to make her mark at the Keeneland September Sales. A full sister to 3-time G2 winner Forbidden Kingdom, she’s one to watch! ✨💙

[deltabaco]

Reposted from @horse.racing.club 🤯 WTF!!!!!!!!!!!…. UNREAL!!!!!…. WE LOVE HORSE RACING!!!!! #KentuckyDerby • 🇺🇸 🤯 UNBELIEVABLE!!!!!! 🤯 . RICH STRIKE (80-1 • $163.60) WOOON THE KENTUCKYYYYYYY DERBYYYYYYY!!!!!! 🌹 . 😱 BIGGEST UPSET since 1913 (Donerail 90-1)!!! . 🤯 Claimed for $30,000 in a Maiden Claiming race. . ✅ RICH STRIKE only entered the Kentucky Derby field on Friday as a last-minute replacement for Ethereal Road. . 🏆 (Jockey: Sonny Leon • Trainer: Eric Reed) 🏆 . ➡️ RICH STRIKE • Race Record: 8 (2-0-3) $1,971,289 • • • 🇪🇸 🤯 INCREÍBLE!!! 🤯 . RICH STRIKE (80-1 • $163.60) GANÓ EL KENTUCKYYYYYYY DERBYYYYYYY!!!!!! 🌹 . 😱 LA SORPRESA más grande desde 1913 (Donerail 90-1)!!! . ✅ RICH STRIKE entró a última hora en el Kentucky Derby por el retiro de Ethereal Road. . 🏆 (Jinete: Sonny Leon • Entrenador: Eric Reed) 🏆 . ➡️ RICH STRIKE • Campaña: 8 (2-0-3) $1,971,289 • • • #Horse #Horses #HorseRacing #Instahorse #Lovehorses #Horseriding #Horselove #Horsesofinstagram #Thoroughbred #Racehorse #Champion #Chile #Argentina #Jockey #KentuckyDerby #BelmontStakes #Caballos #CaballosDeCarrera #Enable #Turf #preaknessstakes #triplecrown #ThoroughbredHorses #richstrike #Secretariat (en Kentucky Derby) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClbKhDRDY1W/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[henk-heijmans]

Racehorse trainer Tommy Woodcock with his champion racehorse Reckless on the night before running second to Gold and Black in the Melbourne Cup of 1977 - by Bruce Postle (1940), Australian

[cazzyf1]

James Hunt with his budgie collection

An article about it under the cut

Last weekend, I found myself at the World Budgerigar Championships, held at Doncaster race course. My guide was James Hunt, world motor racing champion for the 1976 season and of late an ardent breeder of budgerigars: greens, grey- greens, sky blues, dominant pieds and the like. In return for carrying my share of his nine chosen birds in and out of the hall he would transport me from Flood Street to Doncaster and back again. We put our budgies under wraps in the Estate boot and drove north. As we drove, James ex- plained budgies, their infinite variety and perfections of type. Looking straight at a show budgie one should not be able to see the eyes; broad- ness of head is commendable, as is a steep lift to the plumage, a long straight back, sleek body and proud tail. The spots under the neck merit special attention. Usually there are six forming a broken ring but false spot feathers can emerge and these have to be tweezered out. Another area of concern is the head plumage, which can develop waxy quill feathers and blood specks.

Budgies moult in October. Doncaster, the most prestigious show of them all, is held annually in early November. It is therefore a race to bring them back into good condition. Ten days before James had visited a couple of top breeders and found their birds in a shocking state. He doubted that they would be ready in time. I commiserated with him on their behalf. We then moved on to the question of breeding. James only shows birds he has bred himself. His prize accolade so far is second place in the Beginner Breeder class at Blackpool, almost as big an event as the one we were heading for. Pairing takes place in late November, so he was absorbed with the permutations. After this season, his second in the budgie world, he intends to put it all on a computer prog- rammed by an acquaintance in the blood stock industry.

`It's like breeding racehorses, only cheaper,' he explained; 'a good budgie can sell for a thousand pounds, more to a German or Swede, not that I pay anything like that. The most so far is a hundred pounds.' James, like many self-made millionaires, is prouder of his caution about money than its possession. If he gets his pairings right this year, the basis will be laid for a first-class stud. Cock it up and he's back at square one.

The action takes place in his back garden, an acre and a half just off Wimbledon Common. As he travels heavily for the BBC during the motor racing season he has a curator, the correct word, of budgerigars. Indoor and outdoor flight pens give his birds the freedom and communion which he believes are essential to their development. Not all breeders agree, holding that show budgies are as far removed from their cousins who flock in the Australian out- back as those dying generations are to Yeat's artifice of hammered gold and gold enamelling. It was not a simile I tried on James as I wanted him to concentrate on the road.

`Under your feet are some supplies for the journey.' I had already heard the odd crackle and rustle. Sure enough, there were packets of crisps and chocolate, all now washed in a litre of orange juice that had spilt from its plastic bottle and in- formed the road map. I apologised for my ineptness, but there was worse to come. Throughout the journey, which was nearing completion in the Doncaster one-way system, James had fretted about his feather-pulling tweezers, hoping they were buried deep in a trouser pocket. This proved not to be the case. They had fallen between his seat and the doings of the German hydraulic system. His hand could not reach them with ease. I volunteered mine as being slimmer. He warned me that if the tweezers fell any further they would be unsalvageable, lost forever. In went my hand, down went the tweezers. 'That's very naughty, Napier. I told you to be careful and what do you do? Charge at it without any thought.' So my first task on reaching the Danum Hotel, Doncaster, was to ask the lady receptionist — still agog at matching her booking name of J.S.W. Hunt to the reality — for tweezers without which our budgies might as well stay in the boot. Thank God for Allens the all-night chemist and their range of broad-, slant-, and curved-headed tweezers at £1.29p a shot.

By the time I returned, James and the budgies were in my bathroom — smaller than his, so less problematic if one escaped. Two needed their heads washed free of quill wax and blood specks. A sky-blue cock had developed an extra spot feather. The tweezers were presented and found adequate. Deftly he probed to the base of the feather and pulled. Out it came and we both felt relieved. Washed and petted, the budgies, each in a black- enamelled portable showcase, looked their full importance. It was time for us to take them to the show where they would spend the night, be judged in the morning and thereafter open to public view.

A night on the town in Doncaster. In our second pub there was a fight. Three girls, about 18, fell to the ground, two tugging at hair while their friend inevitably paid the higher price for interfering. No one else made the same mistake. A pause for breath and acrimony, then back into the routine. The moment they decided that no man was worth such punishment the bouncers moved in and swept them out. Later in the evening we saw the three of them together enjoying a joke. The pub and club centre of Doncaster is small enough to walk round. We kept on seeing the same faces circling and finally asking for James's autograph with lines like 'I know who you are, at least my father does'. In London he barely incurs a glance. But at the night club, Rotters, we found our entrance barred by a further charm of bouncers. `Where do you come from, please, gentlemen? London? What, may I ask, are you doing in Doncaster?'

`We're up for the budgie show.' The door was flung open. Budgies are great levellers.

Next day, James admitted what I had already begun to suspect, that exhibiting budgies was far more exciting than winning a Grand Prix. 'After the first third of a race you usually know you can win, barring mechanical failure. With budgies the adre- nalin is there right up to the moment you walk in and see how you have done.' We walked in. Stretching the length of the Doncaster Race Hall were showcases in three tiered lines, nearly 6,000 entries in 392 classes. It took adrenalin-pumped minutes to find any class James had entered. The world became a clearer place, full of stewards in purple badges, men last seen in our hotel lift, now turned into awesome judges, serious punters in cloth caps with a jaunty budgie feather. The floor was covered in brown seed, scuffed by the birds out of their cages. We passed the cages of successful champions, surrounded by plush velvet boards and trios with red, blue and green rosettes on them and sometimes extra awards from provincial bodies affiliated to the Budgerigar Society. We passed classes with names like 'Recessive Pied Breeder Hens' and swatches of colour the like of which Scott Crolla only dreams. We overheard snatches of conversation: `That's a big bird, champion,' Not enough feather on the little blighter,' and men rattling bars to get the birds onto their perches for a better look or photograph.

At the far left of the hall we reached the Beginner Breeder section and the end of our quest was bitter disappointment. A fourth, a fifth, and two sixth places. Not one rosette to show for it all, let alone the Best Beginner Breeder trophy that had seemed possible.

`Bad luck, James, it's a bloody high- standard show. Nice looking birds, I must say. Wouldn't swop your one for anything but the winner.'

The commiserations in broad and know- ledgeable Yorkshire were far more effective than my plaintive twittering. James took his disappointment well: 'It's all good experience. I now know how good one's birds have to be, so good that there's no dispute.'

`So you'll be coming back then, James?'

`Certainly.'

[silly-fox-in-sox]

Laminitis takes another great one. RIP Black Caviar

[liketwoswansinbalance]

See Rafal? They are celebrating you!

Rafal: [sighs and says with abject cynicism,] By that name, there can be no celebration. If anything, that sign means someone wants to call in favors or mock me. And I don’t take well to toadies at any rate.

Rhian: [appears and interrupts] Not everything’s about you. [He addresses the audience:] My brother’s utterance translates to “bah humbug.”

Rafal: What do you want?

Rhian: [too quickly] Nothing. I’m just… more… festive than you are. [He pulls a garland from a box and drapes it over Rafal’s shoulders as if Rafal is a champion racehorse.]

Rafal: [looks at the garland with scrutiny and then at his brother with hard suspicion.] Well, l don’t care enough to find out at this point.

Rhian: Fine. [Rhian trots off, nervously.]

Rafal: …fine. [Once Rhian has left, he lets the garland drop to the floor, and starts to turn everything upside down, scouring the place for errant mistletoe and recently purchased pirate paraphernalia. He finds the small Christmas train has been replaced by a miniature replica ‘Jolly Jaunt Jolie Mercantile Barque’—according to the print on its box. He tosses it, box and all, into a nearby fireplace and gets a face full of ash in return for his deed.]

[edosianorchids901]

The Calm

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "Silver Sparks"

Cw: past drug use, depression

“Holmes, you’re in the paper!”

Holmes groaned and curled up, pulling his favorite blanket tighter around himself. He had been ensconced on the settee since last night’s return to London. He had no intention of moving. “Really, Watson, must you make me even more miserable?”

“Listen to this,” Watson said. “The headline is ‘Silver Sparks Fly!’, and the story runs ‘Despite a mysterious detour, sparks flew as Silver Blaze soared across the finish line. The champion racehorse, which was reported missing earlier this week, returned to the track due to the heroic efforts of the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes’.”

“Heroic? Well, well, well.” Holmes stared across the room at the desk drawer which had once housed his cocaine bottle and syringe. At the moment, he missed it dearly. “Out of all my services for humanity over the years, it is my recovery of a horse which is deemed heroic.”

Watson gave him a look full of admiration. “It was a splendid resolution of the case. I do not know that I have ever seen you in better form.”

“Not you too, Watson.”

“No, I’m serious. It was a magnificent triumph.” Setting the newspaper down, Watson leaned forward. He was sitting in Holmes’ armchair at the moment so they could see each other. “And that’s why you are having such a severe reaction.”

He was entirely correct, but Holmes groaned in protest anyway. The usual post-case reaction had set in quickly, in fact even before he had finished revealing all the answers to the interesting questions posed by the case. Every noise had started to trouble him, the ringing of a dinner bell deeply offensive, and he lost all appetite.

By the time he and Watson boarded the night train to return to London, he had been lost in the mire of his melancholy, sinking lower each moment. Watson, as devoted as ever, had sat close beside him and tried to keep him at least somewhat stimulated while he smoked his way through every cigarette in his case, and then started on Watson’s supply.

Holmes had slept horribly, boredom keeping him from relaxing enough to drift off. When he did manage to doze, his dreams were full of malevolent horse trainers, lost horses, and the annoyingly omnipresent Moriarty.

It would be easier to manage this crushing sense of meaninglessness if he could indulge in artificial stimulants. With cocaine, his scattered, desperate thoughts coalesced and focused. Cocaine would steady his mind, ease it from a frantic gallop to a steady, even canter.

But he had given it up, and although he had an emergency supply in his bedroom, it would worry Watson immensely if he surrendered to that particular little craving. Perhaps he could find some small relief through more ordinary means of stimulation.

Scattered and agonized as his mind was, it took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to even speak. “Watson?”

“Mhm?”

“Would you perhaps do me the courtesy of providing me with an inexhaustible supply of coffee?”

Watson chuckled and stood. “Well, I don’t know about inexhaustible, but we do have an almost full coffee pot. And I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will be happy to make more if you need it.”

“I shall likely need it.” Holmes did not wish to sit up, even for coffee, but it would be worth the exertion if it eased his misery even a little. “All my apologies for troubling you, Watson. I know I am difficult.”

“You are not difficult.” Rising, Watson came to the settee. He did not rest his hand on Holmes’ arm as he ordinarily would, which was fortunate as most touch sounded utterly horrific right now. But he bent, lightly kissing Holmes’ brow, and then gave him a kind smile. “I knew you would be struggling today. I have been with you for a long time.”

“So you have, and you are most patient.” The gentle understanding made Holmes nearly feel like crying, but he would not permit himself to indulge in such nonsense even while wallowing in self-pity. “I fear this may continue to be something of a strong reaction. This case did prove quite compelling, and the solution of it most satisfactory. The horrors of commonplace life seem all the more inescapable now.”

“You will escape them.” Watson returned with the coffee and offered a hand up. “I’m quite sure you will have another case soon.”

Although Holmes still did not wish to be touched, he took the helping hand and struggled upright. His head pounded, and he tugged his hand free of Watson’s in order to press it to his brow. “Another case cannot possibly come soon enough. All this idleness will kill me, Watson.”

“You have only been idle for a little over twelve hours.”

“Precisely.” Holmes took the coffee cup and stared into its dark depths. “It is horrible.”

“All right, old man.”

“I do not expect you to understand.” That wasn’t an entirely fair thing to say, but he knew Watson would not hold it against him. “You are the sort of man who enjoys idleness.”

Watson snorted. “Admittedly, I do like having time that isn’t solely devoted to working.”

“I do not, unless it is well-occupied with other stimulating activities.” And what could possibly compare with the excitement of this recent case?

“Well, for now, drink your coffee and see if that settles your nerves.” Looking primarily amused, Watson drew the armchair closer and sat. “And while you drink, I’ll read you the rest of the article on your triumph. Then I can read you what I have written so far.”

“Written?”

“My first draft of our case with Silver Blaze, Holmes.”

Holmes groaned again, but he drank his coffee. Regardless of activities, today would be miserable. But pointing out all the errors and romanticism in Watson’s account of their adventure would certainly occupy his mind for a time.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

After doing some thinking on this, I think the most interesting movie in the Creed-Rocky universe is “Creed II”:

While most of the movies in the franchise are good, Creed II fascinates me since it’s actually different in how it approaches the main conflict. Most of the movies follow the same formula of underdog boxer must triumph over superior opponent, while Creed II feels more focused on the behind-the-scenes drama and history.

This movie could’ve easily just been a revenge story. Adonis wants to avenge his dad, so he beats up the son of his dad’s killer. However, it feels like the writers of the movie wanted to dig deeper into this. While the revenge story would be simpler and more theatrical, Creed II instead asks the audience how this would be realistically.

And the answer is…really sad, actually.

You’d think that Adonis would be at Kill Bill-levels of vengeful, but he’s not. Instead, he’s more frustrated by how he’s expected to want to avenge his father. He just became world champion and yet the media is only talking about him fighting Viktor Drago. Even Donnie admits you can’t talk about the Creeds without talking about the Dragos. Sure, he does resent Ivan, of course he would. But he doesn’t have a beef with Viktor, and it shows.

Viktor wasn’t doing any better. Although he was trash talking Donnie, you can tell how frustrated he was with how he was being used to “restore” Ivan’s honor. He hated how the Russian leaders, especially his mother, were only treating him and his father well after he started winning in the ring. None of it felt genuine, it’s like he was just a racehorse to them.

When you look at Donnie and Viktor’s arcs as a whole, it’s fascinating just how the arcs work as an overall discussion on legacy. Legacy ends up being the true villain of the movie:

1) Donnie can’t establish his own legacy since he’s chained to his father’s legacy. Even though he has the belt, no one cared. They just wanted the spiritual successor to Apollo vs. Ivan.

2) Viktor was literally raised in hardship because of what happened to his father in the 1980s. Then, he realized he was being used as a way to restore his father’s legacy, which disgusted him.

3) For both Adonis and Viktor, neither of them harbored any actual hate to each other. Any feelings of resentment came solely from their fathers’ actions.

4) Rocky wouldn’t even put up pictures of his fight with Ivan, which makes sense since there wasn’t anything uplifting about that match. Sure, he ended the Cold War (lol) but it doesn’t change the fact that the fight was about vengeance.

5) Ivan was so traumatized by his defeat that he felt like he deserved his exiling. Exiled…for losing a damn boxing match. It took nearly losing his son in the ring for him to realize that reclaiming his lost glory was not worth it.

The end fight is, in my opinion, the most interesting showdown in the franchise. Instead of feeling like a battle between a hero and a villain, it felt more…therapeutic? It’s like Donnie and Viktor knew that they couldn’t move forward with their lives until they got this fight over with, so that’s what they do. You can tell there’s a feeling of relief on both ends once the fight finishes since Donnie got the win over Viktor (thus ending the media’s obsession over a Creed-Drago revenge match) and Ivan affirmed to Viktor that he’ll always have his father’s love.

I should note that there’s a deleted scene (it shouldn’t have been!) where Donnie, Viktor, and Ivan all make peace with each other. I feel like that was the point of making this sequel. It’s not a revenge story like what most people thought, it’s a story of healing, past trauma, generational conflict, and moving on from the past. That’s also why Creed III is a brilliant follow-up since, for the first time in the Creed series, it’s a movie that’s about Donnie’s legacy, not Apollo or Rocky’s.

Basically, Creed II treated the fight between the sons of Apollo and Ivan as an obligation that needed to be fulfilled. It’s funny since that actually works as meta commentary on the audience since that was what a lot of people wanted to see when the first Creed movie was announced. Once that obligation was finished, Donnie and Viktor were able to move on with their lives and establish their own legacies, as seen in Creed III.

And that’s kinda beautiful.

[insipid-drivel]

Read the horse fact post, with all the things that isn't actually true of horses and stuff and.

Yeah the weight limit is a time.

The most horse riding i have done is Sit on the back of a horse in kindergarten while an adult lead the horse around in a big circle pretty much.

However, my older sister used to do horseback riding, and spesifically like that one fancy sport where you have then jump over things and stuff.

But, she isn't that healthy, i Will be fully honest, she is overweight. And she had to stop because she became too heavy. Which sucks! Because i Know she loves horses and would love to do it again.

Unfortunately, a lot of equestrian sports can be limiting to heavier people depending upon what the sport in question is. It's pretty unusual to see anyone over about 200lbs doing impact-heavy sports on horseback (such as jumping fences) without a horse that's appropriately sized and trained to deal not only with the regular weight of their rider + tack, but also the shocks of jumping/jolting around with ANY kind of heavy weight directly over their spines. Even in professional horse racing (like the Kentucky Derby), the riders of the racehorses (jockeys) are specifically hired based upon how small and lightweight they are, which has negatively impacted how we see horseback riding + big people today in a serious way. Jockeys only need to be small and lightweight for racing because being smaller means the horse has less extra weight to carry while trying to outpace other horses, and since it's professional racing most of us get any knowledge of horse-related stuff from, it's very easy to fall into the trap of self-gatekeeping if you're not a tiny little jockey-sized person when you shouldn't feel that way!

It SUCKS telling someone they're too heavy to Do A Thing or, in some cases (especially if you're in spaces with very limited sizes of horses), too heavy to ride at all, but I would still recommend you and/or your sister look around for teaching ranches with horses or alternative riding techniques for accommodating larger bodies in a way that won't put the horse or rider in danger. Your sister should not have to go on an extreme diet to lose weight in order to have a great time with horses. That is a myth perpetuated by the racing industry.

If your sister and/or yourself would like to try to explore equestrianism in a much more weight-friendly setting, try looking into Carriage Racing. It looks like this:

Carriage racing is an awesome way for people who, due to mobility issues, weight restrictions, or outright disability, want to work with horses, ride, and even compete with a more accommodating setup to traditional saddle-and-bridle riding. It's a throwback to Roman and Egyptian chariot warfare, racing, and sportsmanship, and is still practiced casually and as competitive sports today:

Because the horse is pulling the rider rather than carrying the rider, you're likely to find much more accommodating forms of horsemanship for people with bigger bodies if you forego riding and instead try out something like a carriage setup. Without as much direct weight on their spines, a horse is likely to handle a heavier person much better, and carriage setups also give the option of more than one horse to share in pulling a carriage or cart.

Carriage racing is more commonly viewed as a sport in Britain and the former UK due to Prince Philip championing it during his later years when he wasn't healthy enough to play conventional games of polo or take part in more contact-heavy sports. Carriage racing is also practiced in North America, but it isn't nearly as popularized or discussed as traditional racing like the Kentucky Derby. You're more likely to find carriage racing and teaching schools wherever you can find Amish and Mennonite communities in the US and Canada, but looking into teaching ranches in and around your area may reveal places to go that you never knew were actually there! (Horse people are kind of notorious for sucking at networking outside of facebook and very niche community pages, ngl)

If horses really bring a great benefit to your sister's life and she's struggling to find accommodations so she can ride, let her take a look at single-person carriage riding and see if that's more of an attainable thing for her! "Racing" is the usual term applied to it, but carriage riding can be learned and practiced in very quiet, non-competitive, low-impact settings for fun rather than as a full-on professional sport, and can even be a marketable skill! There's very much a business industry around carriage horses and riders, especially in the wedding industry.

Please know that I am not, and will not, in any way pressure you or your sister to lose weight in order to ride again. There are accommodations out there, and nobody should feel hopeless that they'll never achieve their dream of spending time working with horses if that's what they want to do. What is a problem is how little these alternative and more weight-and-disability-friendly equestrian sports are publicized and shared so disabled and overweight people can feel welcome in equestrian spaces.

Horses and equestrianism is not, and never has, been limited to one particular body type or a person's physical ability. There have ALWAYS been weight- and disability- friendly forms of equestrianism, and horses are increasingly popular in therapeutic settings as therapy animals for helping people suffering from major issues like PTSD find confidence and a sense of comfort and non-judgment. No matter your weight or degree of mobility or ability, you shouldn't feel "too" anything about looking into horses, riding, and equestrianism as an outlet or passion.

[horseracingweekly]

This American Pharoah filly out of Just Louise sold for $1,350,000 at the Keeneland Sale today! 🌟 Congratulations to the breeders, consignor Paramount Sales, and new owners Amo Racing! We’re excited to watch this fabulous American Pharoah filly’s career. 🏇🏾💙

(i)

[deltabaco]

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[thelastspeecher]

Uhhhhhhh here's more Horse Boy Stan. I've actually been sitting on this for a couple days lol. It takes place immediately following this.

——————————————————————————————

                 Stan, Lute, and Tuesday arrived at, according to Lute, who chattered the entire trip, the McGucket horse ranch.  There was already somebody waiting for them when Lute led the two horses into the stable.  A middle-aged man stood in the middle of the stable, his arms crossed.  He looked very similar to Lute, with the same dark hair and large nose.

                 His dad, maybe?

                 “Howdy, Pa!” Lute chirped.

                 Yep.

                 “Lute, why did the auction house call me sayin’ I had to pay fer a new stallion?” Mr. McGucket asked.  Lute gestured to Stan.

                 “I had to rescue Stan, here.”

                 “Stan?”  Mr. McGucket looked at Stan.  “Leo said the horse didn’t have a…name…”  Mr. McGucket’s eyes narrowed, then widened.  “Hoppin’ taters, he got the gift!”

                 “Ya see now why I had to get him,” Lute said.  Mr. McGucket walked up to Stan.  He circled the stallion, looking him over curiously.  “He seems awful confused ‘bout his sit’ation.”

                 “Well, when the gift was new to the fam’ly, it was confusin’ to ‘em.  Am I right that this is new to ya, Stan?”  Stan nodded.  Mr. McGucket stroked his chin.  “Hmm.  What’s Stan short fer?”

                 “Stanley.  Stanley Pines,” Stan neighed.  Mr. McGucket nodded.

                 “All right, Mr. Pines.  I think we can get ya into somethin’ a bit smaller, but I ain’t sure how long it’ll last.”

                 “You- are you saying you can make me human again?” Stan asked eagerly.

                 “Until ya go back to bein’ a horse,” Mr. McGucket said.  Suddenly anxious, Stan shied away from him.  “Look, ya got the gift of switchin’ ‘tween horse ‘n human forms.  Since ya got it recently, ya won’t be able to control it well just yet.  It’ll take some practice, but ‘fore ya know it, you’ll be able to take either form as easy as breathin’.”

                 “What makes you say that?” Stan asked warily.  He blinked.  Suddenly, instead of a middle-aged man, a dappled gray stallion stood before him.  Stan gaped.

                 “‘Cause that’s how it is fer everyone in my fam’ly,” the stallion neighed.  Lute rolled his eyes.  He walked Tuesday into a stall and began to remove his riding gear.  The stallion, who was clearly somehow Mr. McGucket, cleared his throat, drawing Stan’s attention.  “This is a very simple method to get ya to move ‘tween forms.  It ain’t the best method ‘cause it don’t tend to last long, but I’d like to just get ya back to human to help yer mood, however brief it winds up bein’.”  Stan nodded.

                 Even if it’s only five minutes, I’ll take it.

                 “Good!  Okay, what ya do is ‘member how it feels to be human,” Mr. McGucket coached.  “Standin’ on two feet, havin’ fingers ‘n toes, only really havin’ hair on top of yer head.”  Stan closed his eyes.  He visualized what it was like to be human, reliving the sensations that, after a week as a horse, he missed dearly.

                 A jolt of pain suddenly shot through him.  Stan let out an agonized grunt.  He fell to the floor, overcome by what felt like severe muscle cramps across his entire body.  His skin prickled and burned, like he was being stabbed with needles all over.  His chest ached as though he had been shot, his heart thundering like a champion racehorse.  Then, it stopped.

                 “Excellent job!” Mr. McGucket’s voice said.  Stan opened his eyes.  He was on the floor, but instead of on four knees, he was on his hands and knees.  Stan choked back a sob.

                 I’m never gonna take having hands for granted again, holy shit.

                 “Yer quite the quick study,” Mr. McGucket said, kneeling next to Stan.  Stan felt himself begin to shake.  “Lute, go fetch some clothes fer him.”

                 “He won’t stay human long, what’s the point?” Lute asked.  Mr. McGucket frowned at him.  Lute sighed.  “Fine.”  Lute left the stable.

                 “Oh.  Right.  I’m naked,” Stan mumbled to himself.  The gentle evening air was chilly on his now fur-free bare skin.  He looked at Mr. McGucket.  “You are, too.”  Instinctively, Stan averted his eyes.

                 Catching some guy naked in the locker room is one thing.  This- this is different.

                 “Yer a bit thrown off by that, huh?” Mr. McGucket said with a chuckle.  He got to his feet and walked over to where his clothes were sitting, neatly folded.  “If ya plan to stay here long enough to get yer shiftin’ under control, you’ll get used to seein’ folks as god made ‘em.  We don’t tend to be as concerned about the propriety of that.”  Mr. McGucket began to pull on his clothes.  Stan frowned at him.

                 “How’d you fold your clothes before you turned into a horse?” he asked.  Mr. McGucket chuckled again.

                 “I have my ways.”  The barn door opened.  Now fully dressed, Mr. McGucket looked past Stan, towards the door.  “I thought I told Lute to grab the clothes fer our guest.”

                 “I wanted to see the feller m’ self,” a female voice said.  Stan turned around.  A short, very cute blonde young woman about Stan’s age stood in the doorway.  She met Stan’s eyes.  A gasp escaped from her.  The folded clothes she was carrying tumbled to the ground.  “It’s you!”

                 “What do you mean?” Stan asked.  He coughed, trying to clear the taste of alfalfa from his mouth.  The woman crossed her arms.

                 “Yer the feller what rode me!”

                 “Huh?”  Stan squinted at her.

                 “Are ya sure, junebug?” Mr. McGucket asked.  The woman walked up to Stan and glared down at him.

                 “I’d know that face anywhere,” she snarled.  Stan’s eyes widened.

                 “You- you were that yellow horse?” he choked out.  The woman’s eyes were the giveaway.  Once she got close enough, he could see they were the same blue as the yellow horse he had ridden a week ago, in a desperate attempt to escape from the police.  She scowled at him.

                 “I ain’t yellow.  I’m palomino.”  She kicked the clothes away from him.  “And ya don’t deserve my fam’ly’s gift after what ya did.”  She turned away and stormed out of the barn.  Stan turned back to Mr. McGucket.  He swallowed nervously.  The man’s face, previously kind and warm, had turned stormy.

                 “Is she tellin’ the truth?” he asked in a dangerous voice.  Stan held up his hands.

                 “Look, I didn’t have a choice!  I needed to get away and my car broke down!”

                 “So ya decided to steal a horse?”

                 “I wasn’t gonna keep it!  I mean, I let it- her-”  Stan quickly corrected the pronoun at Mr. McGucket’s thunderous expression.  “-go as soon as I was safe!”

                 “That’s still theft, even if it weren’t fer long.”

                 “I swear, if I knew she was a person, I wouldn’t have just jumped on her!” Stan said desperately.  Mr. McGucket pursed his lips.  “I thought she was a regular horse!  I didn’t-”

                 “I believe you,” Mr. McGucket said softly, cutting off Stan.  “And I’d like to know exactly what ya were runnin’ from, but that can wait.”  He frowned.  “Of course, no matter how innocent yer intentions were, yer actions weren’t good.  My daughter was upset fer days that some feller rode her like a pony at a fair.”

                 “I didn’t mean to,” Stan muttered.

                 “I know.  It don’t fix things, though.  Not right now, at least.”  To Stan’s relief, Mr. McGucket seemed to have calmed down somewhat from his earlier furor.  Mr. McGucket stood and retrieved the clothes.  He handed them to Stan.  “At least it explains why ya got the gift.”

                 “What do you mean?” Stan asked.  He began to put on the worn and stained, but clean work clothes.

                 “The very first McGucket what got the gift, he got it from survivin’ a ride on a kelpie.”  Stan frowned, confused.  “A kind of fae what takes the form of a horse.  Kelpies, they do whatever they can to get a rider off ‘em.  But my ancestor, he stayed on no matter what.  So the kelpie gave our bloodline the gift to take a horse form, too.”  Mr. McGucket met Stan’s eyes.  “My daughter told me that no matter what she did, she couldn’t get ya off.  You survived the ride.  You were given the gift.”

                 “I- I don’t want it!” Stan burst out.  Mr. McGucket sighed.

                 “There’s an awful lot we still have to talk about.  But I think it can wait.  We don’t know how long it’ll be ‘fore ya return to a horse, and I reckon ya want some human food.”  Stan’s stomach rumbled.  Mr. McGucket managed a small smile.  “Come on in the house.  We’ll get ya somethin’ to eat what ain’t alfalfa.”

[culturevulturette]

Best remembered as the ultimate poster boy for "wrong place, wrong time" because of his 2nd place finishes in all of 1978's Triple Crown races (to Affirmed), Alydar was a sensational racehorse with a formidable record. He was in the money 24 of his 26 starts, including 14 wins, with 10 of them coming in stakes company. He was an excellent sire, siring champions and mares that went on to produce champion offspring of their own. He died at 15, having been found in his stall with what turned out to be an unsurvivable leg injury. Rumors persist to this day about the possibility that he was killed for the insurance money.

[riddles-n-games]

Guess what? It's time for a horse headcanon!!! A Hawthorne horse headcanon to be exact. From racehorses to heavy drafts, one thing’s for sure, the Hawthorne estate is not short on equines. As mentioned in the riding headcanon, there is a big stable further out on the property because they would otherwise be shunned by the rest of rich Texan society (yes, it’s totally a necessity as a part of the initiation according to Xander). Tobias Hawthorne had it made the year Skye was born but for Zara’s birthday and though there were annual renovations much like with the House, the next major section was added when Nash was five.

I think it most fitting to start off with the Hawthorne sisters, so let’s get into it. When they were little girls, as with most things, Zara and Skye fought over toys, accessories, clothes, and… ponies. (Yes, yes, I know that Zara was a shy, bookish child to quote Nan but they also fight in TIG over the inheritance so you can’t tell me that didn’t happen as they’re close in age.) Tobias had a grand selection of ponies that were different breeds with various strengths but there was one pony that stood out from the rest and of course, both of them had to have him. His name was Smokey, a Welsh Cob (Section D-heaviest of Welsh Ponies and Cob) dapple gray gelding that was a previous champion driving pony before he was retired. The girls loved him and neither of them wanted to let up; what’s worse is that he came with a sparkly light blue set and it was absolute chaos. Their father, for once, was beside himself so their mother had to jump in and what they would do is take the girls out on rides with him when the other was out, letting both believe that the other one gave up on Smokey when in fact that was not the case at all but it was one of their only working tactics to keep the peace. However, as time went on, Skye eventually was no longer interested in him and decided on another pony until she got interested in another, leaving Zara the winner (also, her parents were both betting on her to win this game of Who Gets the Pony). The two of them had a very close companionship and she used him for show-jumping until he passed due to declining health of an undiscovered disease.

Toby was never really interested in any equestrian events as he preferred simply riding and being in the company of his horses but did participate in driving, sometimes. He was definitely let off the hook more because he was basically the favorite child (I still feel bad Zara having suffered for it in the books even though she loved her adopted brother). On most occasions, he would be found in the stables grooming or taking care of tack after a ride; it was one of his go-to places when he wanted to avoid people. Another thing is that he loved to spend time in the pasture with his favorite horse, Aster, a Quarter Horse cross, during turnout or in a clearing in the woods. It’s noted that after Toby’s disappearance, Aster exhibited signs of depression and would wait at the gate, calling out for his owner. When Nash got older, his grandfather gifted him the horse as his first. 

Now, onto the old man himself. Tobias was an American Cream Draft collector and prominent breeder which helped out the breeder’s association since this horse breed is considered to be very rare. In addition, he was quite fond of the Budweiser Clydesdales and acquired a few retired ones to produce his own bloodline that are also sometimes used in the commercials. He’s also had quite a few racehorses participate in the Kentucky Derby, Breeders' Cup Classic, the Dubai World Cup, Royal Ascot and Grand National, and Prix de L'Arc de Triomphe races. Worldwide, in different types of racing from the regular flat racing to steeplechase, this man was hitting the top from all fronts but he remained most dominant on home turf with horses in the States and Canada ranking highest. The billionaire was truly devoted to the sport and had many experts serving to help him out when he was making choices for the breeds which he wanted to invest in most.

With all this, it leads us to the brothers and how they ended up with some of the horses they own.

Nash:

Texas Dream-A Tennessee Walker mare with an ironic name but everyone calls her Dream. She's a sweetheart but is sassy when she wants to be, however, give her apples and she'll be whinnying after you for days (according to Xander, at least). Her coat is a shiny palomino and she is one of Nash's only fancy horses, serving as his western pleasure horse in alternative to Chili Pepper, his main competing mare.

Chili Pepper-An Appaloosa-Quarter Horse that is his champion rodeo mare and loves the open field, biting at stray calves during roundups. She is a roan leopard color and is easily recognizable as she has a scar running down the length of her girth from an unfortunate run in with a barbed fence when she bucked a little too hard.

Bullet-Very on the nose with his name, this Appendix Quarter is a fast one. A retired racer that participated in the All American Futurity, coming in a close second but winning the Rainbow Futurity and Champion of Champions Stakes. Tobias Hawthorne had partial ownership of his sire and bred his own star mare with him to produce Bullet. He is Nash's secondary choice for roundups and other rodeo-related events, however, they get along best when Nash is looking for a burst of speed or in a race against his brother, Need-For-Speed Jameson. This gelding is certainly living his life a quarter mile at a time as he whizzes past, a chestnut blur by the time you see him.

Buttercup-She is a Belgian-Shire cross that Nash rescued and although an elderly sterile mare, she is a very sweet gentle giant. He has her retired to the pasture but likes to follow Nash around when he is going in to catch a horse and Grayson too because she knows he carries snacks. She has a limp but is still in fairly good shape with a lovely light bay coat and white feathering.

Grayson:

Mirtha-An imported Marwari filly that was part of a successful twin birthing by a sought-after broodmare, a rarity in the horse world given they are usually fatal for the mare. She and her twin were purchased and shipped to the US by Tobias for Grayson and Jameson. She is an intended dressage horse that's still in her early days but Gray loves taking her out for a happy gallop around the paddock. She has a strawberry roan sabino coat but unfortunately for her she loves a roll in the dust or mud (actually, make that great for her, unfortunate for Gray).

Onyx-His Arabian stallion that is black all over and is one of the most reputable Arabians used in Western competitions in Texas. The greatest joy this stallion gets is rounding up calves in the ring and he is a great partner to Nash's mare, Chili Pepper, which is why Nash does prefer his younger brother to come out on the most major roundups even though Gray is not much for it. Onyx has produced some great foals through Chili and Gray's Shagya Arabian mare, Moonlight, which in their own right often make great playmates with each other.

Sadie-She is an American Saddlebred and his favorite horse both for riding and dressage competitions. Gray's had her since he was seven and got her as a birthday present. He was very attached to her when he was a kid especially since she's very gentle and sweet. She is a palomino pinto and foaled recently a little palomino colt who is the most rambunctious of the recent brood.

Dulce-A KWPN (Dutch Warmblood) filly that has potential to become a Grand Prix horse in dressage but Gray is also training her in harness riding. However, given recent complications in the sports he loves, he is taking a pause and trying to reevaluate some of the strategies he sees his trainers use because they aren't all the most ethical for the horses. If there's one thing to be said about Grayson Hawthorne, it's that he takes care of who or what he loves fiercely and that includes his horses especially those he uses for comps. She is a spicy thing and though she can given Gray a hard time, she loves him and is buttered up easily when he sneaks her a carrot before or after training sessions. Ironically enough, she is not a chestnut, despite their reputation but rather a beautiful dark bay that prances around like she owns the place but Gray just lets her think that.

Jameson:

Eeyore-He's an American Cream Draft mule as a result of an accidental pairing of a jenny with an American Cream stallion that was on loan to one of his grandfather's friends for breeding purposes. As can be seen, that went south and the owner of the donkey didn't want her foal so Tobias took it in and had him for ten years before Jameson got attached to him as a child. He's very gentle and though now an elderly mule, he still keeps up just fine on trail rides. He is the iconic cremello type coat of the American Cream but certainly more fuzzy because of his donkey genes.

Rhubarb-A Nokota stallion that is his barrel racer and preferred riding horse. He is a beautiful blue roan with what look like dark speckles. Tobias had selected him for his grandson after he started training for barrel racing comps and the duo had been inseparable ever since they started. He has taken a liking to Avery and always looks for sugar cubes from her when she and Jamie come to the stables for riding.

Soprano-She is the other half of the Marwari twins and unlike her twin, she isn't one for dirt but she sure as heck ain't a stickler for beauty-no, she loves rolling in the grass instead. So if you see a horse with green stains, that's definitely her which is how you can tell her apart from her sister. She's just the way Jameson likes her, a feisty firecracker with a heart of gold and a potential star jumper like her sire.

Corduroy-He is a Knabstrupper gelding with a bay leopard coat and also a former harness horse, now repurposed for show jumping. A lovely quiet horse, an unusual contrast to Jameson's usual likings in terms of dispositions but they get along well. He was also imported from Europe after his grandfather saw his potential and is the most recent addition to Jameson's collection.

Xander:

Meesha-A rescued zorse yearling that’s part Nokota-American Paint due to her dam’s heritage. Despite her zebra stripes, she does have patches of blue roan and white like her mother unlike the typical bayish striped coats of zorses. Though she is too young for riding of any sorts, she is pretty well behaved on trail rides when Xander rides on her mother. She is Xan's favorite of the bunch and he is her person, often galloping for the gate when she sees him or whinnying after him when he leaves.

Magpie-The Nokota-American Paint mare that's Meesha's mother and only really trusts her owner other than maybe Nash. She is very protective of her filly. She has a beautiful blue roan coat, similar to that of Rhubarb but she is distinguishable due to white flecks across her underbelly and legs. Xander loves to take her out on rides and play tag.

Darlo-An American Sugarbush Harlequin Draft colt that is the first of the Hawthorne contributions to the breed. Before his death, Tobias Hawthorne took an interest in the breed after his youngest grandson was doing research on lost histories of American breeds and he bought a few mares to start up another breeding project. Given his success with American Creams, he decided to try this draft breed, too, and Xander got involved, taking over after his passing. Darlo is a spunky lad and with his black blanket coat, he is a stunner when he trots past. Xan hopes for him to be a stud at some point but in the mean time, he is simply growing up under the watchful eye of his dam.

Foopsy-The adorable little Falabella mare that Xander owns and is only one of many from his minis' herd. He absolutely adores her and is his longest-lasting from an abandoned ranch since the others from her original herd unfortunately passed due to neglect and other health-related problems. She proved to be a sturdy and hardy girl, pushing through her own issues as she was nursed back to health and gave Xander a want to help Nash with rescues he brought back. They have grand games of chase around the property but their favorite activity is naps under a tree in the summer (it makes for some of the cutest photos in Grayson's photo albums). She is a light grey leopard coated horse but certainly Xander's loudest mini.

Also, I want to dedicate this headcanon in honor of my friend @hathorneheiress who has been a big help to me in times when I was losing hope on some of my longest standing drafts that I wanted to get out for you guys to enjoy. She is a great inspiration to me, a wonderful writer, and the most lovely enthusiast of a fanfic bestie I could ask for. Please check out her stuff, she has given great alternative fiction to our faves in this fandom and she deserves some more recognition. Thank you all as always! Bye.