“Eavesdropper, eh? Terrific odds. He’s a mudder and the track is muddy today. And look at his lineage! Yep, Millie, I predict that’s the winner of Race 9” said Harry Goldman to his wife.
She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “Whatever, Harry Houdini. Not one of your famous magical predictions has paid off yet.”
“All right, Millie. I admit you got lucky today. What’s your secret …. communicating with a horse whisperer?”
“Oh, zip it, Harry! If it wasn’t for me, we’d be in the poor house. You haven’t won all day! Now be quiet and let me concentrate on my choice for this race.”
Harry heaved his portly body out of his seat. “Pardon moi, madame. I’m gonna place my bet on Eavesdropper. Then we’ll see who’s got horse sense!”
“You mean horse’s ass, don’t ya?” Millie cackled. “Go on. I’ll be along in a minute. I’m thinking here.” Snapping her chewing gum, Millie studied the racing form, then traipsed to the betting windows.
Bets placed, Harry and Millie settled in for the race. “I got a good feeling about this one, Millie!” Harry said excitedly.
The starting gun shot out and the announcer shouted “And they’re off!”
Eavesdropper took the lead immediately and held on. Anxious, Harry stood to watch. Suddenly the horse in fourth place started picking up steam. Faster and faster, he flew past the other horses and at the last second crossed the finish line just before Eavesdropper.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “What a shocker! The winner by a nose …. Muddy Waters!”
Harry slumped into his seat. “I don’t believe it! Eavesdropper was a shoe-in.”
Millie, however, was flying high. “I won again! Good old Muddy Waters. I knew it!”
“Millie, I’m begging you! “How’d you do it?”
“Harry, remember how you said the track was muddy today? When I saw the name ‘Muddy Waters’, I knew that was an sign.”
“But how did you pick ALL the other winners?”
“It’s the colors! If I like what the jockey’s wearing, I’ll pick that horse.”
“That’s your strategy? COLORS?!? Ok, who you picking for the last race?”
Millie looked around surreptitiously and pointed to a name on the card.
“HIM?? Rabelais? His color is ‘Eiffel Tower Brown’ – like a turd!”
“Not so loud, Harry! He’s from France and you know how ‘I fell’ for those Frenchies!”
“Aren’t you the clever one?” Harry groaned at Millie’s little joke. “I give up, Millie. Go with your cockamamie ideas and bet it all on Rabelais!”
Millie was already at the window before Harry was even finished talking.
NAR © 2018
The Elephant's Trunk 