At the Races

Ah, summer! The sunny days. The warm breezes. Flowers. Birds and bees. And food aplenty.

And various diversions. Tossing ponyshoes. Fishing the ponds and little rivers. Gardening. Swinging. Fairs and festivals. Draughts matches on the outside tables at the inns and taverns. Pony Races. And food aplenty.

‘Tis very important that there be food aplenty.

In the Shire there are pony races and then there are pony races. There are the posh folk’s racing their pureblood light ponies. All done up fancy are these races with owners having set colors for their stables and the races run upon courses either around in a fenced circuit or set across open country as though on a hunt. But ask the average hobbit as he lifts his half at his local inn and he’ll tell the real racing is done by working lads and their draft ponies.

The course is always upon one and one half mile of ordinary road. Each pony pulls the same size waggon loaded with the same weight of hay. They set off in pairs, as that is all there is room for upon the road, so it usually makes for a full day of elimination heats, and rests for the winners as the heats get closer, before the final two ponies have their race. Excitement is high and so are the bets when the last race is sounded.

Now mind, ‘tisn’t as though the gentry don’t have draft ponies, nor that many of the working hobbits don’t have light ponies, ‘tis more that over time it has been the way things fell into being. Thus it was quite the surprise when, near the end of summer last, that talk and posted notices declared that a draft pony race was to be held in Hobbiton, sponsored by Messrs. Baggins, Brandybuck and Took.

“What be this!” Molo Underhill exclaimed loudly at the Green Dragon. “Since the thirty-first of what month have the draft pony races been of any interest to the gentry?”

“From what young Mr. Frodo has let slip my direction,” said the Gaffer, “ain’t that they be plannin’ on racin’ any o’ their ponies or such. He said that the young masters, being the Brandybuck and Took lads, had been hearin’ their fathers sayin’ as how their own stock was needin’ some new blood in it. They were likin’ ta have the race in Hobbiton, us being in the middle o’ the Shire so ta say, and so asked their cousin to be in on the affair with them. Mr. Frodo livin’ here and all, they said ‘twas the proper thing ta do.”

“And what’s them snobbish lot needin’ new blood in their herds got ta do with our pony races?” Ted Sandyman sneered.

“Sorry, sorry! It be this.” Gaffer Gamgee replied, holding up a hand to still the rising chatter. “Though ‘tain’t mentioned on ta notices I’ve been told, the point is they be hopin’ ta buy the winner, if it be a mare, or to offer handsome coin for stud service if it be a stallion. That n’ o’course, there be a prize as well.”

“A jooled necklace, so says the talk.” Tom Haymower put in.

“Aye.” was the general response from the crowd.

“Well,” the Gaffer said as he rose to leave, “we’ll soon be a’knowin’ what be what. The race be this comin’ Highday.”

Mersday the contestants from other Shire towns began to arrive. This race was not the usual race, being more like the races held at the Lithe Days or various festivals and fairs. The usual races were amongst locals and not bringing in those from very far off. But this race . . . well this race, being sponsored by such noteworthy hobbits, was one none of the families that normally raced wished to miss. Every inn was full along with them every livery stable, and many a Hobbiton farm had family from elsewhere visiting them. No one seemed to notice, on that moon lit night, shadowy figures barely to be seen as they flitted in brush and shadows near a few of the farms and stables.

As always at such events, there were favorites to be noted amongst the many entries. Five ponies there were who were showing up at the top of every betting board. Sunflower of the Bunces of Hobbiton. Dander of the Jumpswells of Frogmorton. Steadyfoot of the Mudruffins of Rushy. Sassy of the Tunnellys of Oatbarton. And Steelbawes of the Sandymans of Hobbiton. Of these, Sunflower and Sassy were mares. Steadyfoot was a gelding. Dander and Steelbawes were stallions.

Highday dawned a perfect dawn, nearly raining sunshine. There was a buzzing in the air that had nought to do with bees. Dander and Sassy had got the colic during the night and though neither pony had gone down with it, neither was in a shape good enough to race. Sunflower had come up lame and was also withdrawn. Of the favorites, only Steadyfoot and Steelbawes remained.

The races were overseen by Messrs. Brandybuck and Took, with Mister Meriadoc officiating at the starting line and Mister (more like Master but no one spoke different on this day) Peregrin officiating at the finish line. Since there were no Took or Brandybuck ponies in the field, they had each brought a few cousins with them to stand post along the route of the race to encourage fair racing by all those entered.

A long day it was.

Long.

Hot.

Exciting.

The horn blew on the last race at nearly seven o’clock in the evening. As many had figured ‘twould be, it was between Steadyfoot and Steelbawes. A fine and fierce race it was, with each driver glaring down the other as they stayed neck and neck over most of the course. But the victory was clear. As they rounded a curve in the road nigh to the finish line, Steelbawes easily pulled ahead of Steadyfoot, to finish a full two pony and waggon lengths ahead.

There was no doubting who had won.

None at all.

The ponies needed walking-out anyway, so the awards were set to be handed out back at the start, on the green of Hobbiton. Mr. Baggins presided over the giving of the awards.

“Hobbits of the Shire, there are prizes to be given out this evening.” The crowd hushed as Frodo raised his voice to be heard. “With a fine attempt in the final heat, Brushjumper, owned by the Spinner family of Needlehole is our third place finisher!”

There was loud cheering and applause as Norbert Spinner came to claim his pony’s ribbon.

“Our second place pony,” Frodo shouted and again the crowd hushed, “with a hard fought race in which he performed admirably, is Steadyfoot owned by the Mudruffins of Rushy!”

Sandy Mudruffin swaggered forward to claim his silver cup and red ribbon. “I’m no’ such a loser as I won’t buy a round fer all at the Dragon when this here awardin’ is said and done!” he declared and the crowd nearly went wild. Someone blew a horn and quiet slowly returned to the Hobbiton green.

“I will now turn this over to my cousins, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took,” said Frodo, “as this race was their idea. Merry and Pippin.” Frodo waved the two onto the small platform.

“Would Ted Sandyman come up,” said Merry, and Ted shoved his way through the crowd till he stood next to the young Brandybuck.

“Your pony is our winner,” Merry said, and though the crowd cheered, it was less enthusiastic as it might have been. There were a goodly number of hobbits who wouldn’t swap stories with the Hobbiton miller’s son.

“But there’s a few things that need saying before you get your prize.”

This last brought the murmurings of the crowd to a dead halt. Whatever was this strange Brandybuck going on about? But it was the Took that spoke next.

“There’s been a bit of an interesting pattern going on at draft pony races this summer, and word has made it’s way to The Took.” A surprised muttering spread through the crowd at these words. Every hobbit there gave some credence to the authority of The Took and Thain. Every hobbit there knew who this Took lad’s father was. Despite the lad’s own reputation as a prankster and bit o’ a fool, there was some weight in the lads words. Pippin continued. “It seems that the favorites at a number of the races would be scratched the day of the race. This happened often enough that some Tooks began to wonder if something was amiss My father felt something should be done and so it was decided that my cousin, Meriadoc, son of the Master of Buckland, and I, along with our cousin Frodo should sponsor this race to see what we could discover.”

Ted Sandyman was looking defiantly at the three cousins.

Merry took up the tale. “Last year neither Dander nor Sassy lost more than a couple of races. Sunflower was a bit of a mystery, either a strong winner or in last place but a winner more than not. Steadyfoot was top pony three years ago, and though still a strong contender not as much a threat as before.”

“But this year,” Frodo took a turn, “it seems that these ponies have had a run of ill health and minor injuries.” Frodo paused and looked squarely at Ted. “So we had a race here in Hobbiton where my cousins and I know the area well. We know the roads and lanes, we know the farms, we know where there is brush or shadows to hide in. It wasn’t hard for various Brandybucks and Tooks to keep an eye on the farms and stables where the favorites where boarded.”

“Interestin’,” Sam Gamgee suddenly stepped up onto the platform, “how no one seemed to be visitin’ your barn durin’ the night, Ted lad.”

Ted began to pale, looking fearfully out at the increasingly irate crowd.

Sam continued. “We made sure neither Dander nor Sassy ate the mouldy hay that got put in their hay nets, but we couldn’t help Sunflower’s bruised frog.”

Pippin stepped forward. “The offers to purchase a winning mare or pay stud fee to the owner of a winning stallion are extended to the Jumpswells, owners of the stallion, Dander, and to the Tunnellys owners of Sassy the mare.”

“The other prize,” Merry said, “will be awarded to the pony that won today's race.”

The crowd gasped. How could these daft gentlehobbits do this? How could they give a jewelled necklace to a cheat? A sly look grew upon Ted Sandyman’s face. He would make good use of such a prize.

Pippin and Sam had stepped down off the back of the platform and soon appeared coming around the front leading Steelbawes. Around the pony’s neck was a collar of carrots, apples, sprays of alfalfa and wee bags of sugar cubes.

Merry Brandybuck proclaimed, “Behold, the victor and his reward!”

“Wha . . . Where . . .” Ted stammered. “Where’s ma necklace o’ jooles?”

Pippin and Sam laughed heartily. Merry crossed his arms over his chest with a look of pleased superiority. Frodo gestured toward Steelbawes with a sweep of his arm and said, “ ‘Jewels are what the heart desires, Ted. He’s the one who ran the race. He’s the winner and that is his jewelled necklace!”

To this day, Sam swears that he could see smoke comin’ out o’ Ted’s ears as he stomped away with everyone’s laughter chasing after him.