The Break

Catcher In The Rye healed fast from his popped splint during his 3-year-old campaign, and the Double Dance staff even considered chucking him into another race or two before the season was over. However, they decided to play it safe, instead, and work on conditioning him nice and gradually.
He was still a freaking prick in hand, though; there was no doubt about that.
Each time his grooms would ice the injured leg – which happened to be multiple times a day –, the bothersome colt would make it his purpose to give them hell for no apparent reason, by sidestepping incessantly, refusing to stand still, pawing violently, gnawing on the ice pack, bandages, handler, lead chain, etc. He was by far one of the more hated creatures in the racing barn at Double Dance.

But, by the time his fourth season rolled in, Holden was an amazing machine. He was breezing beautifully, aside from the random bucking fits here and there when flocks of birds took off on the opposite side of the training track, but in general, his work-out times were improving, and his muscle mass was getting even more developed. He had matured into a fine young stallion, and couldn't be more ready to take on the Graded stakes scene.

Ironically, when loading him up into the starting gate for the first time since his injury, he would have none of it. By nature, Holden wasn't particularly easy to handle, let alone load into the gate – which was his least favorite part in his job –, but that day, he decided it was a particularly good day to be an exceptional jerk. After a full 10 minutes or incessant crow-hopping, rearing, bucking, lashing out, biting and even being blindfolded (which ended in a broken arm and sprained ankle for two gatemen), with at least twelve staff hands surrounding him edgily, the old steward standing nearby, frowning seriously, shook his head angrily, and shooed the big red colt from the track, clearly not humored by Holden's troublesome antics. So, he was scratched.

We conditioned him extensively in trying to accept the starting gate between this incident and his next race, sometimes using Take a Wild Guess in the cubicle beside him, but he seemed to have mood swings on the matter. Most notably on race days. At home, he usually loaded just fine, in fact.
The little bastard.
So, finally, in March, the staff attempted to try their luck again and entered him in an 8F handicap. He excelled beautifully on the turf course, and rocketed to the wire with only one colt – another deep closer – posing as a challenge to him.
The win by a head gave his owner hope, and a few weeks later, Holden was entered in a similar race, but this time a G2. The track was soggy and slow, the weather murky, the field imposing, and the spotted chestnut had a hard time with his eminent turn of foot, by the far turn. However, he still managed to grab a very decent second place against the strong field of 11, just a nose behind a small, speedy gelding.

Afterwards, the young Thoroughbred was sent to Churchill Downs for the famed Turf Classic. The distance proved to be just within Holden's reach, and although he didn't cross the wire alone, the photo finish went in his favor, by a whisker.
The staff was so pleased with his recent performances that it was decided he be shipped out West to see how he fared against the Californians. The 9F G1 ended up being quite the embarrassment for the obnoxious horse, however. His break was shoddy, starting on the wrong lead. The idiot. He knew perfectly well which lead to run on, but he apparently just didn't feel like cooperating, that day. Lilith had a difficult time switching him back on the right leg, which indirectly resulted in the pair making their move far too late in the race. Although he did hit his infamous 'other gear', Holden needed to go 7 wide in the dominant field of hulking colts to try and steal the lead. By the time the horde crossed the finish line in one big mass, Catcher In The Rye was still behind four other horses.

He was thus shipped back home, shamefully empty-handed.
Nearing the end of the summer, his trainer bravely brought him to Illinois for another big graded race. This time, Catcher In The Rye delivered the goods, and won by a neck. Proof that he could excel beautifully...
If he decided to.

Next, the large chestnut was set to perform in the Shadwell. This was in his homeland, on his type of track, at his favorite distance. Nothing stood in the way for him to demolish the competition, and that he did. Remarkably well, even.
The break was one of Holden's better ones, and he stalled easily at the back of the pack, sitting calmly until jockey Lilith Rosario gave him his head suddenly, and clucked to him subtly. An ear swiveled back, and the red beast skyrocketed forward like a steam train, his long legs stretching out as far as they could go, his immense stride eating up the turf as though wings were sprouting from his withers. He had more than enough left over in the tank to go on, and with his body extended out to the maximum, it didn't take long for him to not only gain on the leaders, but to surpass them. He thundered passed the frontrunners without difficulty, and pushed on to win by 7¼ lengths exactly.
After this sweet victory, the dotted horse's trainer entered him in a G2, with high hopes. Contrary to his Californian setback, his substitute jockey – what with Rosario being out sick for the week – actually pushed him into closing on the leaders much too early on in the race, and although he did lurch to the head of the pack for a bit, he was overtaken by the field once more, at the wire, and came up third, two lengths off the winner, and mud-splattered to the very bone.
The replacement jock was scolded, Holden was conditioned some more, Rosario eventually returned, and when the operation was running smoothly again, the DD staff was convinced their rescue was ready to whoop some big horse butt, again.

The Breeders' Cup Mile it was! On the day of the race, Holden's connections seemed thoroughly pleased. The colt was in peak condition, the track was good, the weather lovely, the competition was intense but definitely manageable (granted Holden performed how he was supposed to), and Lilith had been strictly instructed on exactly when to launch the colt down towards the far turn.
He loaded – as usual – a little chaotically, and after a few minutes of fighting, he huffed and went in, dancing on his toes and slapping his tail across his flanks, angry that the gatemen had won this battle.

"Aaand they're off!" suddenly roared the announcer.

The army of colts burst ahead of Holden, firing out of the starting gate like a series of cannons. He, however, took it easy and set his own pace for the first few furlongs. When Lilith knew it was now or never, she urged the horse on and let the reins go slack as she clasped a fistful of mane and felt the usual jolting motion Catcher In The Rye made forward, once he realized it was his moment to shine.
Way at the back of the field, all she could hear was the quick brrrap, brrrap, brrrap breathing her horse made with each monster stride. Soon, however, the young jockey could hear the crowds in the grandstands going wild at the sight of her and her big horse barreling home at zenith speeds. She opened 4 wide, and let the chestnut racehorse dive ahead, sweeping past the others as though they were merely standing still.
With one furlong to go, Lily was convinced they had won. She ducked below her elbow to see if another deep closer was brave enough to challenge Holden, and she couldn't help but grin wildly in disbelief when she noticed that the pair was far ahead of the pack, with no one threatening in sight. The red colt was pushing hard when they neared the wire, finally accelerating to his maximum momentum; the most he had ever given Rosario.
Just as the duo soared over the finish line, however, a heart-stopping crack was heard, like a numbing gunshot, abruptly sending an unmistakable shiver down everyone's spine. The wildly cheering audience went from joyful wailing to a hushed silence, which quickly turned to screeches of horror, once the truth had settled in.

Rosario, at first, didn't know how to react, but when she felt her horse's stride skip and jolt awkwardly, she forced with all her might to pull the horse up immediately. She knew she couldn't very well just halt the horse right there, though, because even if they had just crossed the wire, there was still a stampeding field of horses charging towards them mercilessly from behind. She opened her right rein wide and, standing up in her irons, attempted to slow the horse to the outside, so that the other racers could pass by them safely on the left. Holden was hopping at an erratic trot by the time the rest of the racers flew by. The pack was then 5-wide at the wire and, even as the jockey riding the far-outside horse was trying to slow down his mount, the collision was inevitable. The grey gelding smashed into Holden's haunch and ricocheted onto a large bay, sending that horse to his knees. Luckily, there was no pile-up, only minor to mild injuries, and everyone managed to halt their horses or spread out before a disaster arose.
When Holden was bumped into by the gelding, he was thrust forward roughly. Though, not wanting to put weight on his fractured limb, the colt toppled to the grass, sending Lilith soaring over his head. The female jockey quickly got to her feet and grabbed the reins as the chestnut tried to get back on his three good feet. She initially wanted him to stay down, in fear that he might break the other fore leg with all that weight, but once he managed to stand after much stubborn kicking, grunting, thrusting and swaying, she tried to keep him still and calm, stroking his sweat-drenched neck as he puffed madly. When the last racers came cantering up steadily to the wire, hugging the rail as to not bump into Catcher In The Rye again, there was already an equine ambulance arriving next to the colt, who was standing on three hooves, his dangling left fore skewed at a disturbing angle. Poor Liltih had no idea what to do. In her fearful, concerned eyes, warm tears were swelling on their own accord, only to trickle down her muddied and bruised face as she tried to keep the 4-year-old still while the track veterinarian came running, and the infamous blue tarp began to be hoisted up.

She just prayed the animal would survive, god damnit.

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Lmao, my heart was racing like mad and I got goosebumps when I wrote that last part of the story. I'm not a good writer, but I could totally imagine/see/feel it in my mind.
As for what's going to happen to him; if he'll live, die, race again, go to stud, etc... Well, that, you'll find out in due time.. :}
I'm evil, aren't I?


Anyway, please no critique or whatever, on the text or the pic.. The lineart and the story were done a while ago, and I've had a disappointing day so I thought I'd just crap-ily color this to get my mind off of stuff. I know it's not great.

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Registered Name: DD Catcher In The Rye
Barn Name: Spot; His Lord Obnoxious; Holden
Gender: Colt
D.O.B.: January 2nd
Breed: Thoroughbred (Foundation)
Color: Chestnut with minimal Birdcatcher spots (aa/ee/nBCS)
Eyes: Brown
Height: 16.3h
Build: Pretty big fellow with large, expressive eyes, slightly large, hard feet, good straight leg conformation, long and thin limbs, big chest, large prominent withers, occasionally tends to stand somewhat camped out with his hinds, huge shoulders and very developed hindquarters. He's definitely all muscle. His mane and tail are a little bit frizzy/bushy/wavy, too.
Previous Owner: Black Creek Crossing Stables (breeder unknown)
Owner/trainer: *Hazel-rah of Double Dance.
Temperament: “Obnoxious. Very very obnoxious. When management was selecting horses for the auction, most of the staff members all but shoved His Lordship at them. He's cute, don't get us wrong, but he's SO ANNOYING. He bites calves and elbows when he's being walked, he gnaws on fingers and slobbers all over clothing. He'll balk and go wide-eyed with "fear" like any true drama queen just for the hell of it and then suddenly calm down a few seconds later and carry on as if nothing had happened. We suspect he is going to be oh so much fun on the racetrack. ” –BCC
History: We don't know how he managed to end up at Last Stop Farms, where he was getting fattened up for the slaughterhouse. Upon seeing the photos of him when BBC stables rescued him and the 9 other Thoroughbreds, our stomachs churned. He wasn't exactly fat (TBs never look fat, lol), so we assume he hadn't been there for very long, but he looked rather miserable, covered in caked mud, manure, urine stains, and tangles in his bushy mane. His feet were a mess, too, but thankfully, our farrier said he has pretty hardy hooves for a TB. We watched his nutrition and tried to fill all of his dietary needs, with a strict feeding plan monitored by our nutritionist and vets. Even with a rocky start, though, he grew pretty normally. He is a bit of a late bloomer, and only reached his full height as a rising 3-year-old. We didn't want to start him too early, because he was still wonky as a 2-year-old, so we kept him in training for another year, also to make sure his new feeding program was adequate, and that he had fully healed from his past experience.
Discipline(s): Track (flat) racer
Main jockey: Lilith Rosario
Ideal Distance/Turf/Running Style: 8-9f/turf/closer
Race record so far:
2yo: [unraced]
3yo: 5 (3/0/0)
4yo: 8 (5/1/1)
Lifetime: 13 (8/1/1)
Total Earnings: $2,535,500
Offspring: N/A
Restrictions: Must be bred to realistic colored, pure Thoroughbred mares only (please DevNote me to discuss otherwise.)
Availability: Currently unavailable for private bookings.





Art & part of the stats © *Hazel-rah
Character design & original stats (stats modified slightly by me) © *thunderjam1992
HorseArt-RPG concept © *moonfeather
Reference © ToTheWire (?)