Hero the greyhound (Simon's Hero)

Hero the Greyhound (Chapter 1)

(TV commentary) ...and it's Severn's Soul at eighteen-to-one, coming up on the outside but no, here comes Molly Mandy at six-to-one, I think she's going to pip him to the post but where's the favourite, where's Handsome Hero? He's won six out of his last six races; it would be a great shame not to add a seventh trophy to his already impressive collection. Ah, here he comes, right around the outside, running like the wind, a streak of black and white lightning, running for all he's worth. But now, Severn's Soul has fallen back into fourth place, not surprising to most of us, he is a relative newcomer, after all but he has years ahead of him so we have high hopes he will be leading the pack before too long. He would do well to take a leaf out of Handsome Hero's book, just look at him go go GO! It's looking quite good for Molly Mandy who's hot on Handsome Hero's tail so she may achieve second place but I do believe he's going to make it seven out of seven, I really do and YESSSS, he's done it, by Jove he has actually done it again. Handsome Hero is the hero of the hour and has won this, the most prestigious race in the greyhound racing calendar at two-to-one. His owners and trainer will be delighted with him, yet another stupendous run. Molly Mandy lost out by just one third of a second but she comes in, in second place with a very surprising third place win for the outsider, Black Jack at twenty-to-one..."

Handsome Hero was a champion racing greyhound. He was five years old, weighed 34 kilograms and when he was running at top speed, it was like watching poetry in motion. "Aye, he's a chip off the old block an' no mistake", his trainer would often say. Hero's parents were Super Swift Sally and Magical Marvin; all racing dogs have unusual names, there are so many of them, you couldn't just name them 'Flash' or 'Daisy' because things would just be too confusing for the commentators at the racetrack. Sally and Marvin had been champions in their day but they had long since retired and had been homed with experienced greyhound loving families who understood that it could take a while for dogs whose entire lives had been spent in kennels, to settle into family life.

Hero's young life consisted of sleeping, eating, training, being groomed and racing and other than the occasional trip to the vet or the 'bones and muscles man' (a sort of dog chiropractor) most days were the same. But there was one day each week which was different. Race Day. Hero knew instinctively when it was Race Day; he could just feel it, as soon as he opened his eyes. There was a different feel about the racing kennels on Race Day, people bustling here and there, lists were ticked and dogs were checked before being put into their cages and loaded onto the large vans they used to transport them to and from the kennels.

Once they reached the track, the dogs were all examined by a vet and weighed to make sure they hadn't gained or lost more than one kilogram since their last race. Their identification ear markings were checked and microchips scanned to make sure they tallied with their racing records and then, the dogs were rested for about an hour and a half before being given another vet check prior to racing. Hero knew when he was dressed in his special numbered race jacket, it was time for his kennel hand to walk him down and parade him past the people waiting to watch the race. The punters would search him out, pointing and whispering "Look, that's him" and "Isn't that Handsome Hero?", "Wow, he's amazing, just look at those muscles" and knowing he was the centre of attention really put a spring in his step. Then, the real excitement began and it was time to run, to really run, as fast as his amazingly strong, lithe legs could carry him. He loved to run, he loved that split second when the traps door opened and he could accelerate from nought to forty miles an hour in just a few strides. It was the highlight of, what was otherwise, a pretty boring week at the kennels.

Hero was one of six puppies whelped to Sally at the kennels, one snowy January morning. The pups had what was known as a 'good pedigree' and the trainers had high hopes for this litter but as soon as they were old enough to start training, it was clear Hero was a special dog and had the makings of a champion, just like his mum and dad. He was a lovely natured dog too. One of his little sisters, Seaside Sue, wasn't as strong as the others so he would make room for her at the feeding stations and let her stand next to him so she got enough food and water. She often snuggled up to him at bed time, he was definitely her hero and she was very attached to her big brother. One morning, Hero spotted two of the kennel workers walking towards his pen. He started wagging his tail and jumped up onto his hind legs to greet the two approaching humans, his paws caught in the wire meshing, his eyes bright.

"He wouldn't be lookin' so 'appy if he knew what was comin'" said the man in a gruff voice

"No" said the girl, "he most certainly wouldn't, I hope it won't hurt him.

"Nah! Them don't feel real pain like what we does, them's just stupid dogs" said the man, opening the metal gate to the pen.

"Right, so's he don't start a' wrigglin', you 'old 'is 'ead tight...got it?"

The man was reaching into a big canvas bag and before Hero could blink, the girl had clasped her hands around his neck and was pulling him towards her. Oh well, anything for a cuddle, he didn't get many of those. Suddenly, he realised he couldn't move; his heart started to pound and his 'fight-or-flight' instinct kicked in. He tried to wriggle backwards, to get away from the girl's vice-like grip but the man shouted "Oh! For Gawd's sake, 'old 'im tighter or e's goin' to get away, you numptie!" He grabbed Hero's ear and started painting some kind of cold liquid onto the inside flap. Then, quick as a flash, he pulled out a metal contraption, put the ear in the centre and snapped it shut.

Hero squealed in pain, he thought he would faint. What was happening? Why were they doing this to him? Was he in trouble, had he done something wrong? The pain seared through his brain and his legs turned to jelly. Suddenly, the punishment was over and man let him go, throwing the weird metal thing back into the bag. He was sweating and he wiped his hands on his grubby trousers. He was not at all happy.

"I 'ope, for your sake, that number comes out clear or there'll be 'ell to pay when them new owners sees it."

"Well, I hope, for your sake, you didn't hurt him too badly" she retorted, "this little fella's going to be something special, you'd better not have mutilated his ear before he even gets to his first race."

Making sure the metal bolt was drawn across the gate lock, they left Hero on his own, arguing all the way back to the kennels' office. He still felt sick, the pain had been dreadful and he still didn't know what he had done to deserve it. Racers are a valuable commodity and each dog needs to be uniquely identifiable so the pups are all given painful ear tattoos when they are old enough. Thankfully, Hero was born in England and only needed one; had he been born in Ireland, he would have had both ears painted and punched full of tiny holes.

Training started in earnest when the pups were about fourteen months old and their bones and muscles had developed well enough for them to begin sprinting and chasing a lure. Hero may not have been the biggest in the litter but he was certainly the fastest and he continued to beat all his brothers and sisters during the training sessions. Little Sue was not as confident as Hero; she was not a natural runner. In fact, the first time they took her to the race track, she wouldn't come out of the traps, she just stood, rooted to the spot and quivering in fear. The following day, Hero watched as Sue was taken from her enclosure and put into the back of a van. He barked to try and get her attention, she looked around, saw him watching and tried to wag her tail but she was so frightened, she just couldn't make it wag because it was so far between her back legs it was almost touching her chest. Dogs which couldn't, or wouldn't, run, were no use to anyone. The whole point of a racing greyhound was for it to win races, to win money for its owners and trainers. Hero was frantic and he paced up and down behind the wire fencing of his kennel but the van drove away with his little sister inside and he was powerless to do anything. He never saw her again.

When greyhounds are past the puppy stage, they are usually paired with another dog in kennels and Hero's companion was a black female by the name of Wood Noddy (or Nods for short). They shared the same, long kennel enclosure with its concrete floor and raised bed box up against the back wall. Nods was an old hand, she was almost four years old and had suffered one or two bumps and scrapes at the track so racing didn't excite her as much these days. Her injuries had caused her considerable pain and her back legs were quite stiff at times but still they raced her every week. She had won a few races in her time but the injuries were slowing her down and Race Day didn't excite her in the same way it did Hero. She would hear the commotion, the bustle and the noise but instead of standing at the kennel door, wagging her tail and waiting to be taken out to the yard, she would snuggle down under the straw for just a few more minutes' shut eye and indulgently watch her younger kennel mate jumping up and down, itching to get to the race track.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, kennel life continued along its predictable course. The dogs ate, slept, trained and raced and although Hero missed his adoring little sister and her endlessly wagging tail, he got on well with Nods. On cold nights, they would snuggle up together in amongst the shredded paper in their box bed, giving each other extra body warmth. They had just about enough to eat and because they didn't know any different, life seemed good.