The much anticipated day of the race opened with a few dingy, grey clouds that had fortunately scattered and given way to a bright, cheery day by the time I pulled on my clothes. I hurriedly finished my breakfast with the intention of arriving at Bennie’s farm in plenty of time to make sure that both myself and Patch were in good racing form.

Even though the day’s activities weren’t scheduled to start until around noon, as I made my way along the road to Fanciful Farm I soon found myself in the company of a good many others, some of whom were also bent upon entering the race with the apparently the same intentions as my own of arriving ahead of schedule. I supposed some were to be contestants in other games of skill, while the rest Merely wanted to make sure that they secured an advantageous spot from which to view the events. I saw no sign of any of my close friends, a few of which had also expressed their intent to enter the grand race and I began to wonder if they had already made it to the fields ahead of me. Perhaps I hadn’t been as precipitant as I had at first thought.

As I searched my fellow race goers for some sign of one of my comrades, I became aware almost an instant too late of the clattering of loud hoofs approaching me from behind at an alarmingly rapid pace. I barely had time to throw a swift look over my shoulder and spring out of the way as Fastred Brandybuck reined his pony into a skidding halt. I was on the verge of giving the reckless braggart a piece of my mind, when, to my left, came a familiar voice.

"Good show, Frodo! Fortunate for you that you can move so quickly. Now let’s hope that your pony is as quick."

I turned my head just in time to glimpse my cousin, Lotho Sackville-Baggins trot up on an immaculately groomed, and rather spirited looking, bay pony. Trotting behind Lotho, loyal as a puppy, ponyless and puffing for breath, came Ted Sandyman.

"By the way, where is your pony? You are riding today, aren’t you?" Fastred questioned without so much as even a hint at an apology at almost having run me down.

"Maybe ‘e couldn’t find a pony that’s stand up to the likes of yours." Ted mused with a smug grin as he nodded towards Lotho’s mount.

A self-satisfied smirk played about the corners of Lotho’s mouth. "Or, perhaps Cousin Frodo has had second thoughts about racing."

I briefly considered letting the three of them think that I had actually withdrawn from the race. Now, I don’t consider myself a vain or overly proud person, yet, I do have a measure of pride, and a slight irritation had begun to gnaw at me. Suddenly I couldn’t stand the thought of any one of them thinking for even one minute that I was afraid. An inner voice rationalized that I needn’t prove a thing to anyone, but that same modicum of pride that couldn’t stand bring branded a coward, and that had led me to agree to race in the first place, argued, "Yes, you do."

After battling with myself for half a minute, I replied cheefully, "Second thoughts? Whatever for? I enjoy a good gallop and I hear the course is to be quite challenging, with more than a few high jumps, high enough, I’m told to give even the bravest rider pause. But then, that’s like Bennie, to lay that sort of course. You know how fond she is of riding at breakneck speed across the countryside."

When I finished speaking I couldn’t help but notice that Fastred was squirming uncomfortably in his saddle and Lotho’s face had taken on a rather sickly, greenish hue.

"Good day, chaps. I’ll see you at the starting line." With that, I shoved my hands into my pockets and went on my way, leaving my fellow competitors with their thoughts.