Crown Prince by Linda Snow McLoon

went on to tell them about a homebred out of Mr. Bolton’s champion, Northern Princess, a well-bred mare from a brilliant family who had won several Grade I stakes races. Before Mr. Bolton owned her, the mare had produced a horse that won the Preakness several years before, and he was able to afford her only because she was getting along in years. “As an older mare, it was questionable she could carry a foal to term, or even get in foal, but Mr. Bolton took a chance on her,” explained Rudy. “After being bred to a stallion that had won the Kentucky Derby—Emperor’s Gold—Northern Princess foaled a colt my boss had great hopes for. The colt was named Crown Prince.”
    Sam came around the corner and stopped to listen.
    â€œThat colt was a beauty from the start,” Rudy continued. “He was big, too, and very correct. I understand he dominated the other colts on the farm and won every spontaneous dash across the fields. He was broken to saddle late in his yearling year, as is customary, and as a two-year-old came to me to begin serious training.”
    â€œHow well I remember.” Sam said. “Crown Prince was a real eye-catcher as a two-year-old. He turned a lot of heads every time I took him to the track. He was quite a mover, too. Very well balanced. People around here thought he was a prospect for the Breeders Cup Juvenile, so of course Mr. Bolton was high on him.”
    Jack, Sarah, and Martin Wagner listened, spellbound, as Rudy continued the story. “All went well for a while. We did slow gallops at first, taking our time, not rushing him. One day Sam told me he thought the colt didn’t feel quite right. We had Doc Greene go over him, taking X-rays and checking his blood. Doc determined that being a big growthy colt, the bones in his knees hadn’t closed completely. He hadn’t finished growing. Doc said he should be turned out for at least six months, so he was shipped back to the farm in Florida.”
    They moved off the shed row to give plenty of space to a horse prancing toward them, pulling against his hot walker. Sam moved to the outer wall of the feedroom as he picked up the threads of the story. “I remember what he looked like when he came back as a three-year-old,” he said. “He was close to seventeen hands, big and strong, and he knew it. When I tried to do slow gallops to gradually condition him for faster work, the horse wouldn’t buy it. He fought me constantly. The way he leaped and whirled in the air, it’s a wonder I could stay on him.”
    â€œYes,” Rudy agreed. “His antics continued to get worse, and we knew we were getting nowhere. Finally I told Mr. Bolton I thought the horse should be gelded, even with his impeccable breeding. He could have been one heck of a valuable stud prospect, but gelding usually calms down male horses. It looked like this was the only way to salvage him as a racehorse. We hoped that as a four-year-old, he would have matured and be more trainable. So again he went back to the farm.” “Did it make a difference?” Jack asked.
    â€œI’m afraid when he returned to me last February he was even bigger and his attitude hadn’t improved.” He gestured to his exercise rider. “Sam, tell them what he was like when you were on his back.”
    â€œIt’s hard to believe, but the last time I rode him, he was worse than before. A few times I thought he was going to take me through the rail. Funny thing, though, in the stall and walking on the shed row, he’s always been a puppy dog, quiet, although at times a little spooky. It will always be a mystery to me.”
    â€œFinally Mr. Bolton agreed he just wasn’t going to be the racehorse we’d hoped for,” Rudy said. “It was time to punt. In this game you have to be prepared for disappointment. But as I said, I’m surprised he added him to this list. Crown Prince certainly isn’t