Hero the greyhound (Simon's Hero)

Hero the greyhound (Chapter 3)

Handsome Hero was owned by a syndicate, made up of six business colleagues, who had all contributed equal amounts to buy their very own racing greyhound, in the hope he would make them loads of money.

"What a dog!" *clink*

"Yeah, what a guy!" *clink*

"Can't believe he's ours, he's amazing!" *clink*

"CHEERS!" they all shouted together *clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, clink*

"I own his tail..."

"Well, in that case, I must own his legs, all four of them, ha ha ha..."

"I don't care which bit I own, just so long as he keeps hurtling around that track and winning us loads of dosh. Right, who's having the fish and who's having the beef? Shall we order another bottle of Dom Perignon while we're at it? Might as well eh?"

The six men were eating out at the fanciest restaurant in town having once again, witnessed their very own Handsome Hero win his race at that evening's meeting. They drank the finest champagne and ordered the most expensive food on the menu and then, they ordered a big 'people carrier' style taxi to take them home because they were so squiffy by the time the meal ended.

"We Are The Champions My Friend..." sang Derek tunelessly.

"And we'll go on fighting 'til the end..." continued John, as he clambered to the rear of the seven seater car.

"Hey", slurred Bob "what'll we do when Hero's too old for all this racing malarkey and isn't winning races anymore?"

"Aw, that's ages off yet, mate" said Pete, who had had the most to drink and was looking a bit green around the gills. The taxi driver suggested Pete wait a few minutes before getting in, he didn't want him throwing up all over the middle seats again. He was always very polite to these men, they were great tippers and he stood to take home an extra fifty

quid if they'd had a good win with their dog, which would win him some brownie points with his rather miserable wife.

"Yup" hiccupped Derek "he's got years ahead of him yet, that pooch will just go on and on, y'know, like that theme song from 'Titanic'"

"So, when he's old and grey and lame, which one of us will take him home and keep him as a pet then?" asked Jeff "I can't, the missus hates greyhounds, she says they're horrible looking, skinny creatures who'd put you off your dinner just looking at them"

"Aw, that's not nice" said Gareth, in his Rhondda accent "they're beeeeoooootiful creatures, the best, the most fabulous animals on the planet. Anyway, how much did we win tonight?"

"Enough to keep us in posh dinners for a while" said John "and that's all that matters, isn't it boyo?"

"Don't call me boyo" said Gareth "it's rayshist, rayshisht, raysh...oh, you know what I mean."

Another win, another boozy dinner and the cause for celebration, namely Hero, had been taken back to the kennels by his trainer and given his favourite meal of kibble, fish and raw eggs. Then it was bedtime for the fastest dog in the land. He had worked hard this evening and had managed to knock another half a second off his fastest time. He climbed up onto the box bed and snuggled up to Nods before falling into a deep sleep.

The next day, Hero climbed down from his bed and stretched his long body, curling his back upwards like a cat and then, he gave a huge shake, almost as though trying to rid his body of all its fur.

"Open her up. Oi! You two, Jimmy and Neville, c'mon, shift yourselves, we ain't got all day" shouted Jem, the head trainer.

Hero heard voices and the sound of the main gates opening. Nobody ever bothered to oil the hinges and they made the most dreadful noise as they were pulled open by the two youngest members of staff. A large white van drove into the yard and the gates were carefully closed again. Racing greyhounds were worth a lot of money and the first thing any

new member of staff was taught was to lock the gates so none of the dogs could get out and more importantly, people from the non-racing world couldn't get in. Security at the kennels was tight. There were no signs to indicate this was a place where racing dogs were kept, just two huge anonymous green gates in a dusty side road off the main dual carriageway. The only people who knew what lay behind those gates were the people involved in the racing industry and that's the way they wanted it to remain.

Yelps of excitement came from the van. Hero was curious and stood as close to the front of his kennel as possible, straining his neck to see who was making such a din. The van doors were opened and inside were six cages, each containing a young dog or bitch. They were walked down the ramp, one at a time, tails wagging furiously. The head trainer paired them up, one male and one female and they were taken to their new kennels to settle in before their first training session the following morning.

Hero padded back to his bed and snuggled up to Nods. No dog could touch him, he was the fastest thing on four legs, the Champion of Champions and he had even been on TV. He was filmed walking gracefully around the paddock and being put into one of the traps. The rather vacuous TV presenter stood by the traps with a stopwatch "Ready, steady...GO!" she shouted and then giggled as Hero shot out and made for the first bend. He loved that first rush of adrenaline and the feel of the wind whistling past his ears and down his body.

"Ooh, he's really really fast isn't he? *giggle* I could do with one like him at home *giggle*, he'd certainly keep me fit wouldn't he? *loud giggle*. Hero flew over the finish line and was caught by one of the trainers who walked him slowly back towards the traps for his final close up. He was a star greyhound, no doubt about it. Articles appeared about him in all the racing journals discussing his diet, his weekly routine, his teeth and his grooming routine. In fact, it seemed people all over the country were mad about Handsome Hero; they couldn't get enough of him. He was in his prime and he was unbeatable.

'All good things must come to an end' so the saying goes and the following weekend, Hero's star fell from the skies. He dashed out of trap number five, made for the first bend, crashed into the dog in lane six and went head over heels in the dust. The other dogs carried on, number six managed to right himself (although the speed at which Hero had hit him had almost knocked him off his feet too) and the pack carried on as though nothing had happened. Hero, lying on his side, panting heavily, could hear the muffled sound of cheering as Danny Dan came in first, delighting those who had taken a punt on him knowing he was up against the fastest greyhound in the country. He struggled to stand up but he had badly damaged his back legs and couldn't bear the weight. The punters who had bet on him were worried about Hero but they were far more worried that they had lost money that night and would never make a few quid by backing him in the future.

Running in a straight line is a very different kettle of fish from racing in circles and many a greyhound has broken its hock at that first bend. Too many dogs running closely together is an accident just waiting to happen and this kind of injury could mean the end of a dog's career. Hero was in such pain, why wouldn't his legs work? He had never known anything like it and when he was lifted up from the middle of the track, it was all he could do not to bite the two men carrying his poor, broken body.

"He'll be OK won't he?" asked Pete, ashen with worry. All six owners had abandoned their wives and girlfriends and dashed down from their VIP box to find their canine investment lying by the side of the track in a dreadful state. "Come on Hero", whispered Gareth, in his Welsh accent "stand up mun." He knelt by the side of the track and stroked Hero's beautiful, sleek head. Hero looked up at him, his eyes still wide with shock and fear. "What can you do for him?" he asked the vet "Surely there's somethin' you can do?" Gareth's Bond Street suit was covered in rusty coloured dust but he didn't care. He had become very attached to Hero and of the six owners, he was the only one who worried about what might happen to Hero when his racing career ended. The vet shook his head slowly. It wasn't looking good for Handsome Hero. In fact, it was looking pretty dreadful. Would he ever race again? Or even walk? Gareth looked up, still holding Hero's head in his hands. "Do you think we should...?" he started but then realised there was nobody there. In the distance, he could see the other owners walking away. Towards the bar. Clearly, he was the only one who actually cared about this beautiful animal but at this moment in time, he really didn't know what the outcome would be. He left Hero in the vet's capable hands and walked back to his car. He really didn't feel like going to the bar with the others.

They didn't care about Hero, they had made that abundantly clear. All he could do was wait to hear from the vet and hope that things would look brighter in the morning.