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By Slim Randles

October 1, 2004

Junior’s a long yearling now, and is ready to leave for a training track to find out whether several thousand years of breeding will make him a racehorse. Larry’s very proud of him, naturally, but he’s a little hesitant to say just when Junior’s going away.

"Another month, maybe," Larry said the other day, out at the corral. "Don’t want to rush these things, you know."

I’ve seen the way Larry watches the colt run out in pasture. Watches the legs. Watches Junior’s eyes. Is it there? Is there the thrust of the leg muscles, the defiant spirit in the eyes? I know what else Larry was seeing. Like owners of Thoroughbred yearlings everywhere, he is wondering if Junior will run at Churchill

Downs someday and become a household name. Just being able to feed a horse with that kind of future is a thrilling proposition.

But the reticence? Could it be just so Larry can bask in the luxury of a few more dreams? Will he be crushed if Junior doesn’t turn out to be the fastest horse ever foaled here in the valley?

At any rate, becoming a race horse happens awfully fast; we’ll all know soon enough. Meanwhile, Junior can remain the pride of us all and fulfill his duty to the emotional well-being of his owner. I’ve never known anyone with a yearling to commit suicide.

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