The Beach Cure

*

What a day.
Up at the crack of dawn, and into Christchurch for a session of what’s politely called dentistry – slashing, scraping, stitching – a miserable and painful morning .,,
The day could only get better. And it did.
Elena has been scheduled to go to work on the beach since her successful performances on our home track, and today was the day. Since Dion, her usual companion, has an iffy hoof, and since Dion’s usual driver was busy being miserable and pained, Lena was loaded all alone (and without even resisting) onto the new float, and hauled off to Woodend beach to do her stuff solo.



I watched from the sidelines as Wendy readied her for her year’s debut on the sands, and from the dunes as the pair of them headed off down a mile and a half of empty beach…
It seemed forever before the little spot in the distance became a horse, pounding back towards me along the water’s edge…



But she’d done it. She’d done everything right, at last. And, dammit, I reckon she knew. She gave me a big grin – I’ll swear she did – as she came back over the dunes.



Well done, Lena. That’s one more step towards the racecourse…
My teeth? Oh, I’d forgotten about them…