Saturday, June 13, 2009

Seeing a few men about a horse.

Novel experiences are always held deeply within one’s heart; be it the birth of a first child, one’s first sip of alcohol or first drag off someone else’s finely rolled cigarette in the south, or any other event of slightly more mundane character. It’s hard for me to present to you such an awe-inspiring event without the due juxtaposition of the less novel, but equally entertaining events that followed.

So where does one begin at a horse race? My handler made no claims to be an expert handicapper, but his understanding of the racing forms was vastly superior to that of his comrades. Thus, I placed mildly ‘exotic’ wagers such as boxed exactas with his aid and my silent consent. Here we are poring over the form in a futile attempt to glean some sort of break-even proposition:

Alas, while we were not major winners during the course of the preliminary events, we had a significant sum invested in the main event. Here is a photograph of myself utterly annoyed at the news that, with nearly 20% of the race still to run, I had a virtually zero percent chance of redeeming my ticket for currency, lest two thirds of the field spontaneously combust:

At this point, it may be considered inadvisable to jump three hours forward, but I feel it to be appropriate. Half the day was dedicated to enjoying the spacious facility, and the remainder was specifically reserved for social interaction. My atria and ventricle were nearly torn asunder at the excitement of meeting what I was, in due time, informed to be horses that did not, in fact, run that day:

Oh when will this mocking of my amphibian shortcomings cease? Apparently, no time soon, as I was duly presented as the upper extremities of one of my handler’s associates:

Dear me, the embarrassment!

Posted by Pooptoad on 06/13 at 09:55 PM
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