Emma pulls up on the reins. Liquid Running slows, turns and trots back along the track. Brian Daley stares at his stop watch. “She loves to run, Dad,” Emma calls, “she’s a winner, isn’t she?”

“She'll be the pride of Ireland. The fastest horse I ever bred. Runs like rain down the Mountains of Mourne. Next year, she’ll race.”

“Not until she’s four, Dad, no country allows it.” Emma laughs. “Not even for you.”

“America does.”

“It does? No, Dad. Three is too young. You know bones are not mature, ankles still need toughening.”

“Now, don’t fret yourself, three-year-olds race in America all the time, and if they’re sprained they run them on painkillers. Tis perfectly legal.”

“Legal? Animal cruelty, more like.”

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