it's not too late;

[{{helena}}]

_{Dylan Himself & Helena Schwarzkopf}

---

This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would have guessed it
I will not leave alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like it's not too late
It's never too late

---

We walk to the track calmly, awaiting the sunrise. It's chilly and breezy with the air still damp with dew. The farm smells of horses and grass clippings and breakfast. Suddenly, Bob jumps and I nearly fly off. I pat him an assure him that it was only a bird and it wasn't going to eat him. I'm not so sure he was convinced though.

As the sun rose above the horizon, Bob and I stepped onto the dirt track and began heading left. The footing was nice and spingy, just the way Bob liked it. We took our time and walked around the track once. I knew I didn't have much time left to race him. No, his career was coming to an end. He was four now and he wasn't winning much anymore. It was often luck that help him out in the end. The other horses, they were always just one step ahead. But I'm not about to give up and neither is he. We have two more months two make it into the hall of fame and we're going to do it.

Bob, he is a great horse with a great personality. It's my fault that he isn't winning. He isn't fit enough. I need to work him much more. He'll be a champion some day, just like Royal Red Richard.

Now that we had walked around a time and a half, I stood up in my stirrups and urged Bob into a steady canter. We loped along for about a quarter of a mile and then I asked him to pick up the pace. He responded immediatly, jolting into a gallop, booming down the track. He wasn't even sweating by the time we reached three quarters of a mile, which is where I asked him to give me everything he's got.

He exploded out from under me. Each leg, every muscle working together to propel us forward, faster. The finish was only a few furlongs away, and Bob was set on it. He kept pushing harder and harder until finally he made it. 1:40:50. Just eight seconds slower that the world record and we had even cantered two furlongs. Tears flood my eyes as I give Bob big pats on the neck, shoing him that I love him. Good boy, Bobby!

We walk around the track two more times until he's all cooled off and the sun has fully risen. No, it's not to late to make it, it's never too late.

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