I insert the screws into the hoof wall on either side of the crack, then weave wire back and forth around the screw heads, tightening the wire so that the crack seals.
“Where did you learn how to do all this?” Angela asks.
“I apprenticed with a farrier when I was younger,” I reply. “Not long after you and I… broke up. That’s how I got interested in horse racing in the first place.”
“Why did you give it up?” she asks.
I hesitate, then sigh. “Matteo died. I hated the world. Plus I wanted to be rich, and I couldn’t do that by becoming a farrier. I wanted to be worthy of you.”
“You were always worthy of me,” she says.
I don’t respond to that.Tell that to your precious father.
I apply hoof-patch glue to the screws to ensure they don’t work their way out, and after that paint over the crack with my special polymer and fiberglass mix. I’m careful not to cover the tube drainage hole at the bottom.
I gently lift Primo’s hoof from the stand and lower it to the ground. The colt tentatively places weight on it, and takes an experimental step. There’s no withdrawal, no limp. Primo takes another step, more confidently this time, and then whinnies at me before nuzzling my shoulder.
I pat the colt.
“He’s happy you fixed up his hoof,” Angela says.
I can’t help but smile. “That he is.”
“Now I know how you got so good with your hands,” she tells me flirtatiously. “Massimo Moretti, horse whispererstraordinario.”
“Don’t forget pussy whisperer,” I agree drily.
She laughs. “You can whisper sweet nothings to my pussy whenever you want.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer very soon, don’t you worry,” I warn her.
“Please do,” she says.
I step back and Primo starts munching on the hay.
“Hey, Primo, wait,” I say. “Let me get the good stuff.”
Angela gives me a knowing look. “Barley hay?”
“You got it.” I grab the bundle waiting outside near the front of the stall and offer it to Angela.
Then I step back to watch her feed Primo.
“That’s a good boy.” She glances at me. “You know, I think you’ve met your match. I mean, your cock is big and all, but…”
I chuckle. “Somehow, I don’t think Primo would be interested in you in that way.”
She laughs. “Oh, neither am I, rest assured. I just figured, guys like to compare dicks so often, that you’d be jealous.”
I snort. “Of a horse? I don’t think so. Trust me, when I’m jealous, you’ll know it.”
She arches an eyebrow, then leans forward and pecks Primo on the cheek. “You’re not jealous?”
I merely stand there, doing my best to look unimpressed.
She smiles, then pats Primo’s flanks while feeding him some more barley hay.
As I watch her, I’m almost starting to think there’s a future for us. What would it be like to have her by my side, through good times and bad?
