I arranged a second visit, during which we took Ollie down to see how he might get on with the father. I had one specific worry so far as proceeding further down this path was concerned – Ollie has become slightly selective, in a very specific sense: he will not run with some other hounds, those he thinks might be faster than him. We went out for a walk with the father, who had by now done his job – there was a litter on the way, and all was fine. He and Ollie got along well enough for me to dare to discuss matters of business, to ask how much one of the pups might cost. My guess was that they would come in steeper than a Vizsla. And so they did.
In my race-going circle we now have a new expression for a stake. ‘A Monkey’ (£500) is a phrase you hear shouted around a betting ring. If you ever see us at a course sticking ‘a Saluki’ on the nose, you’ll know we feel a bit more confident than to mess around punting a mere five nicker on a horse.
At the outset of this book I have accused breeders of being mad, and yet, now the new boy is home, I consider ‘a Saluki’ a bargain for so delightful and engaging a creature. More surprising, my mate, a couldn’t-care-less about-dogs race-going companion, concurred with this view when he came round to see the ludicrous new addition.
‘What d’you reckon?’ I asked, as the ten-week-old ‘smooth silver grizzle’ (he took after his father), named Dylan (after Bob) nuzzled into his lap.
‘Money well spent,’ came the reply.
He’s a tough old boot, the couldn’t-care-less about-dogs race-going companion, but I swear I saw a tear mist up in his eye.
The ten-week-old Dylan
Ollie’s early opinion of his little brother appears to be altogether more circumspect. He is sitting up in my office, keeping as far out of the pup’s way as possible: he regards him as a nuisance, with his blowing of milky bubbles and his cute-boy act. As I type out this postscript, Dylan has been with us only a matter of days. It is mid-November, outside the wind is howling and the rain is blowing in.
A few pages of helpful notes came in Dylan’s starter pack, advice regarding exercise, development, health and so on. Here is his daily menu:
Diet:
Your puppy is on 5 meals per day (2 milk meals and 3 meat meals) as follows:
Between 7 and 8 am: A milk feed of goats milk and instant porridge with either a teaspoon of honey or a raw egg yolk. (I give about 3 milk meals per week with the egg yolk).
10 am: A meat feed of 50g of Wafcol Greyhound Racing Puppy and a heaped tablespoon of minced meat. The Wafcol needs to be soaked with boiled water and allowed to cool before adding the meat.
2 pm: Another meat feed of the same amounts as above.
6 pm: Another meat feed of the same amounts as above.
9-9:30 pm: A milk feed of goats milk and instant porridge with either an egg yolk or a teaspoon of honey.
You will find that each meal is eaten with gusto and woe betide you if you are late with the meal!
In the middle of the night I wake to comfort Dylan as he cries because he finds himself in unfamiliar new surroundings, away from the warmth of his siblings, albeit next to a radiator in a lovely new bed furnished with a hundred new throws that Trezza has brought home.
In the morning I cook up his nourishing breakfast, and a bowl for myself while I’m at it (in fact, I’m considering switching to his diet wholesale, he looks superb on it). As I move from fridge to pantry to cupboard to stove, and begin to stir the porridge, Dylan watches my every move, and yelps in anticipation of the great moment when his bowl goes down. I cannot help but compare his beginnings with Ollie’s start in life.
It has been howling all night now, it has become a gale, and the rain is sheeting down sideways. Dylan will not countenance going out in it, he shivers as I open the door, and he chooses to piss on an indoor pee-pad instead. It is the same time of year that Ollie was found in Thetford Forest, trying desperately, I imagine, to find anything to eat at all, and making do with whatever shelter he could find from weather like this. It makes me wonder, it does. When Dylan has cleaned up every last bit of breakfast, and Hoovered the floor roundabouts, I take Ollie a bowl of porridge upstairs too, and drop him in an extra spoonful of honey.
About the Author
Stephen Foster is the author of the short story
collection, It Cracks Like Breaking Skin, and the novel
Strides, about love and trousers. She Stood There
Laughing, his account of a season following Stoke City,
was one of the bestselling sports books of 2004.
He lives in Norwich with his partner and a
lurcher called Ollie.
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Copyright
First published in 2006
by Short Books
3A Exmouth House
Pine Street
London EC1R 0JH
This ebook edition first published in 2010
All rights reserved
© Stephen Foster, 2006
The right of Stephen Foster to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–1–907595–24–0
Walking Ollie Page 11