Mouthy Mondays

The author of this cool little tale asked to stay anonymous.

I always honor these requests.

But it adds a touch of mystery. Why is she afraid to come out in the open? It's not her writing technique, because she writes very well.

Is she afraid someone who knows her on the track will read this?

Did she get the trainer in the end?

The plot thickens....


A Trackside Story, Standardbred Style

“Watch out, she kicks”

Those words floated up through my brain as I rolled up my jeans to look at the gash that now ran from my ankle, up my leg to the other side of my knee. Day two, and yes, she kicks. And bites, rears, strikes, and pins. Her name was Sweet n Easy Too, someone’s sick sense of racetrack humor.

I was determined not to quit, not so soon. It was my first real break at being a pro groom, I was finally in a big stable, one that raced A-circuit, Grand Circuit, Stakes, none of the B-tracks. Big name horses, big name owners, big name trainer.

I had my string of four, and as low man on the totem pole, they were the ones no one else wanted. Including Sweet n Easy Too.

She was a little bay mare, no white at all, a beautiful deep red with long black stockings, distinctive points, and as pretty as a bay mare can be when her ears were up.

Too bad for me that wasn’t often. I had no idea what made her the way she was, all I knew was she was barely 2, sour, and hated men. Women too, but not as bad as men. I was determined not to quit. I was determined to get along with this mare. I was determined to prove I deserved to be there.


Every day, I’d come in to pinned ears and a scrunched nose. “Mornin’ mama” I’d say, and toss her my apple core.

Slowly, we learned to get along. I didn’t care if I put her bell boots on with her feet around my ears, as long as she kept those feet to herself.

I didn’t care if she kicked the walls, as long as I wasn’t in between her foot and the wall she was kicking.

If she bit someone, I told them stay away from her stall, and I wouldn’t let them touch her.

You see, I liked her, I liked her attitude, and the moment she kicked my leg wide open from my ankle to my knee I was in love.

We were a lot alike her and I, plenty to be sour about, plenty of reason to be afraid of what might be done to us, and plenty of spunk to hide that fear. Before a month had gone by, she and I were just fine.

The day she reached over her stall door and tore the shoulder out of the assistant trainer’s jacket, I laughed.

He was a jerk anyways, rough with the horses and hard on them trackside.

He figured he’d give her a beating, and when I wouldn’t get out of the way, figured I could have one too.

Wrong move buck-o. The black eye and bloody nose was worth it. Head trainer fired him when he got up from the ground. I put him there, a couple of the joggers helped keep him there for a bit.

Good girl Mama I told her, before I went to clean up.

A couple of days later, a new trainer showed up. I had my girl out in the shed row, cross tied but she was still handy with those feet.

I told him “let me put her away, she kicks”, but he just smiled. He slid along the wall, she figured that was OK. He went to pat her, and I warned him, “she bites too”. He just smiled again, lifted his arm, and pet her on the head anyways.

My lovely bay mare made me love her even more that day, when she bit him as hard as she could, right below his armpit, and held on.

The new trainer, Craig was his name, I figured he’d be like the rest, break free, curse and swear and raise a fist like most men would do. He didn’t though.

He kept smiling, even though I knew it must hurt, and stroked her head. He patted her neck, and told her what a pretty girl she was. Confused, she finally let go, and much to our surprise he gave her a hug before he walked away.


There was at least one good man left in the world. We were both stunned.

After that, Mama and I were both in love, with the same guy. He was kind, he was gentle, and he let us be who and what we were without judgment. I think both my little bay mare and I did a fair bit of healing that spring, and neither of us expected it.


Mama started to show some speed, and suddenly it was OK if she was the way she was. She wasn’t nasty, she was sharp – sharp is OK.

She wasn’t sullen, she had attitude – also OK.

The owner was nice to me, brought me a coffee one day. I smiled, and shared it with my girl.

Craig brought in muffins; she and I shared one of those too.

“That bitch” turned into “that bay mare”, or “that bay mare’s groom” depending on who they were talking about. I figured that was OK.

The track was a rough place, but I proved I deserved to be there.