May 30, 2024 Stories from the Backside

As promised, here’s another story from the backside. Like Sam’s Stories, this entry was part of a book of short stories I published in 2014 titled For Want of a Horse. All the stories within the book were based either on personal experience or fictionalized versions of life events. The book is currently unavailable, but I’m considering reissuing it in ebook form. I’ll let you know. While Tyler’s Folly is fiction, my experience with horses with prominent personalities is reflected within the telling. And then there’s the folly of taking a loan against the equity in your house to buy horses. Something I am very familiar with. While Jim and I were never late on any payment, we worked hard to keep it that way. Something a good number of you will be familiar with. Hard work and horseracing go hand in hand. And let’s not forget, Hope springs eternal. I hope you enjoy Tyler’s Folly.

Tyler’s Folly — Shelley Lee Riley

The heat had been building under the barn’s roof throughout the day, and the box fans Emma had set up did little to relieve the situation. As sweat tickled across her scalp, she paused before one to redirect the flow toward her flushed face. Pulling a rub rag from her hip pocket, she swiped the moisture from her forehead before it could reach her eyes.

Sighing wearily, she tucked one corner of the towel back in her pocket, unhooked the bottom snap on Folly’s webbing, and dragging the pitchfork behind her, she slipped into his stall.

Once inside, her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, and she searched carefully, looking for anything unusual.

Reassured nothing was amiss, she quietly moved around the stall, fluffing the straw and removing soiled bedding. Before leaving the stall, she took a moment to run a hand across the sleek shoulder of the stall’s occupant.

Folly munched contentedly from the feed tub Emma had hung before she started picking up the stalls. A mixture of grain, bran, molasses, and vitamins, the evening meal was a treat the colt had tried to get to before she could duck into the stall. Unwilling to wait, the colt had burrowed his mouth into the contents as she’d struggled to clip the tub to the screw eyes in the corner.

“What a beauty you are.” Emma’s smile turned sad as she admired the big red colt that had meant so much to her husband.

It was an understatement to say she’d been mad when she found Tyler had mortgaged their house, effectively wagering their future on one unbroken colt. So, without consulting Tyler, Emma had registered the colt as Tyler’s Folly with The Jockey Club. Instead of being put out when the registration papers arrived in the mail, he’d laughed until he cried.

Now Tyler was dead. And there was no time to mourn. Less than a week ago, the love of Emma’s life had been killed galloping a horse. Death, no matter how tragic or unexpected, didn’t mean horses stopped needing to be cared for.

Nor could the feed man wait to be paid. Exhausted and traumatized when Emma arrived that morning to face another day of chores without Tyler, she found the feed man had nailed an invoice to the door of her tack room. “Past Due” blazed across the envelope in bold red letters.

Emma knew what would happen if she couldn’t pay the money she owed promptly—the feed man would turn her into the horse racing board. This would result in her trainer’s license being suspended until all outstanding debts were settled.

She’d had the money, but funerals were expensive, and the money for the feed bill had barely covered the initial payment for Tyler’s funeral. Not that the feed man would care. Everybody who owed the man money had a good reason why they couldn’t pay, and she was sure he’d heard more than his fair share of excuses over the years. He wasn’t a bad man.

Folly rattled his tub as he licked every last grain from the bottom and looked for more. The clatter brought her wandering thoughts back to the feisty colt.

“Time to get out of here,” she said. Though an avid and talented horsewoman, she was well aware of her limitations when it came to this sizable colt. Folly had always been a bit too hot for her to handle.

She admired how her husband managed the colt’s immense personality with an innate mastery. They worked well together. Tyler explained that Folly wasn’t mean—he was just filled with joy. “He’s got big chi,” Tyler laughed as he easily handled the rowdy horse.

Maybe so, but that joy came with large teeth prone to nipping, along with a pension for explosive fits of rearing up and pawing the air. These displays were always followed by the colt running backward on the end of the shank faster than she could follow.

Now, she had to face the intimidating rascal daily. Heart in her throat, she felt one step closer to disaster every time she led Folly out of his stall. The colt’s bullying had only worsened after Tyler disappeared from his life.

Tomorrow, Folly would run in the one race her husband had dreamed of winning. A named Futurity and the race boasted a $500,000 purse. Right after Tyler had purchased the colt, he’d insisted on nominating him to this prestigious two-year-old race. He remained steadfast in his belief until the day he was killed—Folly would triumph despite criticism from their fellow horsemen.

She understood why they thought this way. Running close to the lead in a crowded field, let alone winning a race of this caliber, was going to be a tall order for Folly’s first-time start. But after each workout, Tyler returned astride the prancing colt, excited and ever more confident that Folly had the necessary talent to compete with the best colts around.

After Tyler died, she vowed to fulfill his most ardent wish—that Tyler’s Folly would run in the Futurity. The naysayers could laugh at Emma all they wanted. Tyler believed in Folly, and Emma believed in Tyler.

Out of grain, Folly turned his attention to Emma as she slipped under the webbing. She sensed his movement and hurried to step to the other side of the muck basket before he could snag a piece of her clothing.

Foiled, Folly instead used his teeth to upend the basket of soiled bedding in the shedrow. As a two-year-old stud colt, it was all about the mouth and what he could latch his teeth onto next.

“You turkey,” Emma laughed and rubbed his velvety muzzle, avoiding the rubbery lips, working hard to pull her fingers into his mouth. “Save that energy for tomorrow, you little devil.”

With another tired sigh, she bent to the task of cleaning up the mess the colt had created in her clean shedrow. As she worked, her thoughts went to the next day’s race. While she knew that Folly wouldn’t be the only maiden in the futurity, it made her squirm when she considered that her horse, unlike the other maidens, was unraced.

Her stomach rebelled when those same thoughts inevitably turned to what would happen if Folly were to run last. But she couldn’t think about that right now. Dwelling on it wouldn’t affect the outcome. The few hours left to her during the night was her time to cry, her time to mourn.

With the chores done, she turned off the lights, locked the tack room, and headed home—the home she’d shared with Tyler, the home which now included a foreclosure notice posted on the window.

~ ~ ~

I hope you enjoyed this part of the entry. Due to its length, I will publish the rest of Emma’s story tomorrow. I hope you come back for an exciting ending.

Thank you for visiting my website. As always, I love comments and suggestions. If you have a story to share, please do. I won’t share or sell your contact information.

Shelley