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Stealing GAQ's awesome ideas, as always. ...Mostly because the strangest body parts weren't working for me this time and I had to figure out an inventive way to cover them up.

Joining the bandwagon because it makes life so much easier. We are officially telling a real story now! Complete with dramas and stuffs. Imagine this to be a sort of soap opera, if you will. Thus, story segments from here on out will be logged by month instead of horse.

Continuation of:

Black Creek Crossing Stables's twenty-fourth year of activity began quietly. With our three older mares retired to brood and our four remaining runners enjoying their winter break, Ling and Dawson had only Oasis, BCC's latest freshman, to occupy their work hours. The chunky creature had filled out decently, though she certainly wouldn't be winning any beauty contests. Oasis remained small, however, and it quickly became obvious that she would not make anywhere near her projected height.

Thus, with little to occupy their days at home, Ling and Dawson studied the early-season competition. A few fillies looked decent, but none good enough to challenge their boys, and so they ignored the estrogen-infused division for the most part. At the top of the sophomores list stood Neverland and the Juvie Eclipse winner, a large brown Bernstein colt named Bear Country out of the Houston mare, Magster. There were rumors Bear Country was developing chronic hoof problems, however, and Dawson predicted he wouldn't last three more months before retiring early. Rather, it was the little steamroller that had him worried. Titanus. Aptly named, despite his small size. The colt was demolishing his competition left and right like that of Uncle Mo while Lenny lazed against Dubhán's stomach in their snow-covered paddock, eating everything in sight. In the sprint division, Sioux Brigade was making a comeback and would prove to be ample competition for BCC's latest racing duo come the fall.

It was the little red chestnut storming across Gulfstream that made Ling and Dawson chew their fingernails, however. Having taken only one month off during the winter to rest, Fighterjet returned in early January, primed and ready. Though he had not grown half an inch more than his 15.2 hands high height, the Cordax colt seemed all the more imposing as he churned in some of the best workouts ever recorded by one so small and demolished all comers in the GI Donn Breeders' Cup H by over 3 lengths. Come February, he was shipped out west and the field of the GII La Canada S at Santa Anita fell beneath his imposing presence as surely as that of the Donn. With Hemali's disappearance from the racing scene and Azrael's ongoing winter break, no one stood to challenge him and he cruised home to win by nearly five lengths.

Watching the replay on the big flat screen in his new office, Dawson waved Ling over. When the man approached his back, he casually maneuvered so he was more behind the Asian than in front of; no one stood at his back. No one. Sniper code, and all that, or perhaps just good old war-induced paranoia. Dawson pointed at the screen. "See how Fighterjet sits high and tight in the middle of the pack, then whips through the tiniest of holes to the front? He's one agile SOB. Once he's free, he tucks so low to the ground I swear his belly skims the dirt and then runs hell-bent toward the finish line. His competition has no chance when faced with that kind of speed. If Ray's going to continue to beat this colt, he'll need some serious reserves and a powerful stretch run to fend him off."

Ling nodded. "I agree," he murmured, black eyes trained on the replay as Dawson rewound it for the sixth time. "How's our boy been training?"

"Well enough. He got pretty lazy over the winter, but Will and the exercise rider, Brenda, have been whipping him into shape."

"Good. We'll ship him and the other boys out to Santa Anita next week. Up to you where you go from there."

Dawson shuffled some papers around to find that year's quarterly racing schedule. "He's not ready for the 'Cap," he said, meaning the Santa Anita Handicap at the start of March, "but I'm thinking he'll be ready for the New Orleans at Fair Grounds."

Ling mulled it over, then nodded. "Alright. I'll take the boys out West, and you go with Ray down south. But I'm taking our jockey, so find yourself a new one before then. And take that obnoxious little twit with you. He's driving me crazy and I overheard Rafe contemplating homicide the other day."

Dawson smirked as said obnoxious little twit popped his head in. "I heard that!" Drew scowled. "You know that baseball cap you always wear?" Ling's eyes narrowed dangerously and Dawson knew his son had him. "Well, Erik likes it. A lot."

"Dammit!" Ling shouted as he ran out of the office to rescue his favorite hat. Drew's and Dawson's snickers could be heard throughout the barn.

Shown: Azrael and Fighterjet

Art and Characters (C) Me

Next on:

Description
Stealing GAQ's awesome ideas, as always. ...Mostly because the strangest body parts weren't working for me this time and I had to figure out an inventive way to cover them up.

Joining the bandwagon because it makes life so much easier. We are officially telling a real story now! Complete with dramas and stuffs. Imagine this to be a sort of soap opera, if you will. Thus, story segments from here on out will be logged by month instead of horse.

Continuation of:

Black Creek Crossing Stables's twenty-fourth year of activity began quietly. With our three older mares retired to brood and our four remaining runners enjoying their winter break, Ling and Dawson had only Oasis, BCC's latest freshman, to occupy their work hours. The chunky creature had filled out decently, though she certainly wouldn't be winning any beauty contests. Oasis remained small, however, and it quickly became obvious that she would not make anywhere near her projected height.

Thus, with little to occupy their days at home, Ling and Dawson studied the early-season competition. A few fillies looked decent, but none good enough to challenge their boys, and so they ignored the estrogen-infused division for the most part. At the top of the sophomores list stood Neverland and the Juvie Eclipse winner, a large brown Bernstein colt named Bear Country out of the Houston mare, Magster. There were rumors Bear Country was developing chronic hoof problems, however, and Dawson predicted he wouldn't last three more months before retiring early. Rather, it was the little steamroller that had him worried. Titanus. Aptly named, despite his small size. The colt was demolishing his competition left and right like that of Uncle Mo while Lenny lazed against Dubhán's stomach in their snow-covered paddock, eating everything in sight. In the sprint division, Sioux Brigade was making a comeback and would prove to be ample competition for BCC's latest racing duo come the fall.

It was the little red chestnut storming across Gulfstream that made Ling and Dawson chew their fingernails, however. Having taken only one month off during the winter to rest, Fighterjet returned in early January, primed and ready. Though he had not grown half an inch more than his 15.2 hands high height, the Cordax colt seemed all the more imposing as he churned in some of the best workouts ever recorded by one so small and demolished all comers in the GI Donn Breeders' Cup H by over 3 lengths. Come February, he was shipped out west and the field of the GII La Canada S at Santa Anita fell beneath his imposing presence as surely as that of the Donn. With Hemali's disappearance from the racing scene and Azrael's ongoing winter break, no one stood to challenge him and he cruised home to win by nearly five lengths.

Watching the replay on the big flat screen in his new office, Dawson waved Ling over. When the man approached his back, he casually maneuvered so he was more behind the Asian than in front of; no one stood at his back. No one. Sniper code, and all that, or perhaps just good old war-induced paranoia. Dawson pointed at the screen. "See how Fighterjet sits high and tight in the middle of the pack, then whips through the tiniest of holes to the front? He's one agile SOB. Once he's free, he tucks so low to the ground I swear his belly skims the dirt and then runs hell-bent toward the finish line. His competition has no chance when faced with that kind of speed. If Ray's going to continue to beat this colt, he'll need some serious reserves and a powerful stretch run to fend him off."

Ling nodded. "I agree," he murmured, black eyes trained on the replay as Dawson rewound it for the sixth time. "How's our boy been training?"

"Well enough. He got pretty lazy over the winter, but Will and the exercise rider, Brenda, have been whipping him into shape."

"Good. We'll ship him and the other boys out to Santa Anita next week. Up to you where you go from there."

Dawson shuffled some papers around to find that year's quarterly racing schedule. "He's not ready for the 'Cap," he said, meaning the Santa Anita Handicap at the start of March, "but I'm thinking he'll be ready for the New Orleans at Fair Grounds."

Ling mulled it over, then nodded. "Alright. I'll take the boys out West, and you go with Ray down south. But I'm taking our jockey, so find yourself a new one before then. And take that obnoxious little twit with you. He's driving me crazy and I overheard Rafe contemplating homicide the other day."

Dawson smirked as said obnoxious little twit popped his head in. "I heard that!" Drew scowled. "You know that baseball cap you always wear?" Ling's eyes narrowed dangerously and Dawson knew his son had him. "Well, Erik likes it. A lot."

"Dammit!" Ling shouted as he ran out of the office to rescue his favorite hat. Drew's and Dawson's snickers could be heard throughout the barn.

Shown: Azrael and Fighterjet

Art and Characters (C) Me

Next on: