Casey's Shadow Page #3

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I've seen colts kicked to death

by foster mamas.

Maybe a draft mare.

Maybe the colt's got a chance

to survive with a draft mare.

But we need a mare now.

Colt ought to be on its feet and nursing

within an hour of being birthed.

And that little guy's been

lying there, what, five hours.

We could use Gypsy.

You can't raise a racehorse

off a pony, squirrel.

Remember Manly Choice?

He was raised off a draft mare.

Had so much milk...

he used to walk around

with his belly out to here.

Had to rest for an hour after eating

just to be able to walk.

Never amounted to much, though.

Often, colts never do.

Gypsy will make enough milk.

And she won't kick him to death.

She'll love him, and that's important.

Why can't you raise a racehorse

off a pony?

Okay, keep her steady, kid.

Gypsy, you gotta.

He's gonna die.

Thattaboy.

Easy now.

Come on!

Let's go see mama.

Come on.

Come on.

Come on. Let's go.

Let's go see mama. Come on.

Thattaboy.

Come on.

Thattaboy. Easy, Gyp!

Thattaboy.

There you go.

Real good.

Good girl, Gypsy.

Good girl.

All right.

What's his problem?

He wants his mother.

He's working real good.

Watch this.

Casey taught him this yesterday.

How old...?

Are you watching this?

I'm watching this.

Hey, how old are you, kid?

Dig it. Dig.

Thattaboy!

You see that?

Okay, take a bow. Take a bow.

Thattaboy.

You're gonna have to sell him

as a overgrown dog, you know.

What do you mean?

Well, you guys are playing with him

all the time.

Gotta be tough to run.

He's never gonna run.

You gotta be hard.

You can't be a pussycat.

Are you good for nothing

but glue and dog food, kid?

No.

Buddy says he won't run

if we keep teaching him tricks.

Might be right.

Take him back to the barn.

He's not right. I know he's not.

- What the hell is he doing?

- Go! Go! Go! Go!

What the hell? Casey, don't.

Casey, slow him down!

Casey, slow him down! Hold him up!

- I'm gonna kill that... Goddamn it.

- Good boy.

Casey, damn it.

Don't you know better than that?

Most likely you just broke him down.

Sure showed some speed, though.

Didn't he?

His bones ain't finished, ain't

knitted. His knees ain't closed.

- He ain't ready for running like that.

- But he can, is what I'm saying.

What's the good of that if his legs

are splinters? Damn fool. Stupid kid!

Hey, ease up.

Ease up? Hasn't he been here enough

to know better than to blow out a baby?

What am I running here?

A home for morons?

- I'm sorry.

- You're sorry? That's not good enough.

Here, you take him. You wash him

down, wrap his legs, walk him around.

You clean out the barn.

If he's lame tomorrow, you come up

with a fitting punishment for yourself.

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