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HEART OF A CHAMPION Though its been years since his racing career ended, Niatross is still a powerful horse. Taller than most men, he weighs half a ton, with a broad chest and chiseled muscles that ripple under a rich bronze coat. A racing legend, the champion Standard bred racehorse won 37 of 39 races in 1979-80 and over a million dollars. No horse could pass him once he got the lead. In 1996, when he was 19 years old, Niatross made a 20-city tour across North America. For 16 years, Niatross had done little more than romp in his paddock and munch hay and oats. Now he'd have a rock stars schedule, with press conferences and photographers in every city, a strange stall to sleep in and thousands of fans wanting to pet and fuss over him. As his tour manager, I traveled with him. Niatross greeted fans from Maine to Illinois, in big cities and county fairs, in scorching heat and chilly winds. Niatross endured it all with grace and almost eerie intelligence. He was always able to sense what was expected of him and do it. One night in Buffalo, New York, Niatross pawed and stomped his feet as he waited for his cue to pace down the racetrack for a photo session. The big horse, in his impatience, reared up on his hind legs, pulling his handler, a 66" man, off his feet, before lunging on to the track. But the outburst was over quickly and soon he stood to be photographed, once again the obliging star. After his track appearance, Chris, his handler, un- harnassed Niatross and brushed his lustrous coat. As the two rounded the corner from the barn to the grand- stand where a crowd of fans waited, Niatross rolled his eyes and stopped in his tracks, as if to say, "Oh, no - I have to do this again?" But with a gentle tug on the lead rope, Niatross moved ahead to take his place of honor. For two hours, he was petted, stroked, prodded and swooned over. I was silently thanking Niatross for another night of patience with us when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a moving, buzzing blur zipping across the pavement toward Niatross. As it drew closer, I could see that the blur was a child in an electric wheelchair. The child had his chair going full throttle and before I could caution him not to scare Niatross, he came to an abrupt halt under the horses nose, mere inches from his powerful front legs. Clearly startled, but maintaining his poise, Niatross widened his eyes and craned his neck to peer down at the tiny blonde boy, who was around five years old and looked like a doll in the heavy, motorized chair. I said hello to the child, who perhaps because of his handicap, was unable to speak. The fingers of his right hand were clutched around a button that propelled his chair; the fingers on the left hand were frozen around a Niatross poster. He looked at me intently, his eyes burning a hole through my face. "Would you like Niatross to sign your poster?" I asked. With great solemnity,he nodded his head yes. I pulled the poster from his fingers, tapped Niatross foot to get him to lift it, placed the poster beneath it and traced his hoof. "There," I said, slipping the poster back between his fingers, "Niatross signed his name for you." The child said nothing, but continued his fixed gaze at me. "Do you want to give Niatross a pat?" I asked. Again, he solemnly moved his head up and down. Yes. A mild panic came over me. How could we do this? The boy couldn't extend a hand or unclench his fingers, his arms were frozen at his side. How could he reach up to pat a horse? I turned to Chris, not knowing what to do, but knowing we couldn't disappoint this child. "Chris?" I said, hoping he'd have an idea. Without hesita- tion, Chris placed his hand a few inches beneath Niatross soft muzzle. Niatross lowered his velvety nose into Chris' hand. Slowly, cautiously, Chris moved his hand, with Niatross following, lower and lower, past the boyshead, past his tiny shoulders.Chris pulled his hand away and Niatross, closing his eyes, rested his head in the boys lap. The boys intent expression melted into a faint, tranquil smile. The tension gone from his frail body, he laid his head alongside Niatross powerful head, the same head that jerked a man off his feet just hours before. The two were secure in the only kind of embrace a horse and a wheelchair-bound child could have. Boy and horse looked like old friends, exchanging a wordless greeting understood only by them. Slowly, steadily, Niatross lifted up his head to look down at his new friend. With a flick of his finger, the child spun the wheel- chair around. Still smiling and sitting a little taller now, he disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared, into the chilly night. Ellen Harvey - Chicken Soup for the Dog & Cat Lovers Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty Becker, D.V.M. and Carol Kline |