Photo by Danny Gallegos on Unsplash

A horse lives to roam. Four hooves pounding the wild terrain. Mane waving with the wind.

Only the promise of unlimited sex can keep a stallion confined to his stables. And only a Breeder can make it happen.

The inner circle of competitive horse breeding is a tight-knit fabric of barbed wire. An old club constantly infused with new blood. Invest in the wrong gestational pair, and you may never facilitate horse consummation again.

One part matchmaker, one part prognosticator, Breeders must rely on a seventh sense to stay afloat. As horses push the limits on evolution, so must Breeders. Constantly learning all they can to become magicians of the craft. The craft of horse fucking.

Dalton Cauley was one such horse magician. Born and bred in the Bluegrass State, horse breeding swam in his blood. His first offspring won The Derby in 2014, damn near taking home the Triple Crown.

Dalton’s star smoldered atop horse racing’s pinnacle. He never dreamed of his downfall. Never dreaming it would come at the hands of his protégé, Benton Hedges.

A model protégé, Benton dutifully absorbed Dalton’s innovative methods — from scouting prospective colts to finding the proper angles of insemination. In short time, it was Benton Hedges breaching the brim of the winner’s circle, as Dalton slipped further away.

Photo by Jeff Griffith on Unsplash

Moments before the main gate lifted at The Derby, Dalton was counting on his last chance. His 3-year-old thoroughbred sat at 90-to-1 odds. A lanky horse in blue-checkered blinders that made the odds of Dalton keeping his job feel even longer.

As jockeys guided their racers to the gate, Dalton rubbed his manicured fingernails with his thumbs, a nervous tic he developed over years of watching horse penetration. This is my last shot he thought, standing aside his protégé-turned-adversary, Benton Hedges, from the comfort of the Breeder’s Box.

Benton maintained a friendly rivalry out of respect for his mentor, but even Benton Hedges knew Dalton was slipping away. He knew he had to let him go. His sentiment squashed by the notion that Dalton already made his millions, and now it was Benton’s time in the sun of horse-sex afterglow.

All Benton hoped was that his mentor would exit the stage gracefully.

Photo by Marylou Fortier on Unsplash

The gate lifted and the horses sprinted through.

Two of Benton’s horses were in The Derby, both fine-tuned like a violin as they instantly occupied the front of the pack. Easing into the first turn, while Dalton’s lone hope, Parsippany’s Promise, languished at the rear struggling in the hoof-wash.

Dalton drew on the relief that in 90 seconds, his career would be dead. Benton’s breeding style favored endurance, but now his horses displayed a shocking package of speed and stamina. A deadly mixture for any breeder who dared compete.

Dalton sighed as Benton’s horses rounded out the top-three heading into turn two. He pulled a whisky nip from the open bar. As the nip touched his lips, Parsippany’s Promise made her move.

The whisky never had a chance. Dalton dropped the bottle as Parsippany’s Promise surged on the outside, destroying leads with her long strides. Seizing the moment at the best moment of Dalton’s life.

Dalton was speechless, as Parsippany’s Promise rounded the second turn in third place.

Parsippany’s Promise lunged into first, just 90 feet behind the line.

Dalton bolted to the edge of his box, as Parisppany’s Promise shouldered Dionysus’ Diamond out of her path, earning the win without-a-doubt.

Dalton’s fists pounded the ceiling, punching through knuckle-blood as his Last Hope collected. Exploding purses at 90-to-1 odds, which meant 90X returns. A 100-dollar bet netted nine grand. Parsippany’s Promise delivered on her name, and resurrected Dalton P. Cauley’s career.




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Jerry Landry

Jerry Landry

Aiming for maximum cogency

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