Gone to the dogs (part 1)

Audits are long drawn out affairs and the first morning I head for the office to join the Major Roland Rooney who’s looking rather sad. I’ve never had much contact with him before, but it was well known that he was a very focused man. His one and only interest in life being dogs, dogs and more dogs. He had nothing except his army uniform, one extra collar for his shirt and an old civilian jacket, and he lived in the barracks, and got lifts to the dog tracks from his suitor Rebecca and anyone who was going his way. He had no other vices – he didn’t drink or smoke, as he was too focused and besides he couldn’t afford them.
To make matters worse Roland was at least 6 foot 2 inches tall and weighted over 26 stone, and it was unlikely that he could use other people’s cast offs, as men of this build are rare, so charity shops are out of the question.
The Major had a girl friend, Rebecca, an army nurse who had spent over twenty years pursuing him and trying to get him to the altar, but it never happened, as he had gone to the dogs permanently. She was not aware that she had backed a loser as far as marriage was concerned, and should have been looking elsewhere for a less focused partner. As things stood the only thing Rebecca was doing was driving Roland to the dogs.
The Major was a hard-core gambler and the dog tracks of Dublin attracted the Rolands like flies. The races were short, sharp and quick, giving the punter a bigger high than the horses, the motto being the more bets the better, the bigger the buzz.
He’s pacing up and down the room, almost in tears, and the large table in the centre of the room is littered with all the daily newspapers with the racing results of the previous evening, and the forecasts for the night covered in minute detail – a gamblers delight.
“I nearly had it, I was sure I’d hit the big one”
He looked angry and frustrated and was clenching his fist.
“How did he lose?”
Rooney turned and looked at me with surprise and was pleased that I showed an interest in his world of greyhounds, and had asked an intelligent question. Personally I don’t see the big deal about a few dogs running around in circles.
“Another dog ‘Dirty Harry’ bumped him on the last corner – the dirty bastard”
Rooney was almost crying.
“I swear I could have killed him”
He’s red in the face and is getting more agitated, as he paces around the room. I never realised that racing was so emotional and deep.
“My fella ’Winner Takes All’ put on a burst of speed after he rounded the last corner and was gaining on ‘Dirty Harry’. He only needed another few lengths and he would have left the bastard for dead”
He’s shaking in disbelief at being so close to victory and yet so far away.
“If ‘Dirty Harry’ hadn’t bumped him your dog would have walked it – he’s definitely the faster dog”
Rooney is pleased with my observation, and brightens up a bit, and realises he’s with a colleague who can see a bright future for Rooney and ‘The Winner Takes All’.
“Yes, I know Sean. He’s miles better. I’ve studied his form and his bloodline is perfect. He’s related to ‘Trifty Shifty’ and ‘Mad Dog’ both winners of the Golden Spoon at Shelbourne Stadium, Ringsend.”
He calms down a bit and starts to brighten up.
“Jesus, Roland, sure he’s guaranteed to win next time with form like that. He’s got no competition”
Now he’s getting high and sees that he’s talking to a man of logic, who understands form and can spot a winner.
“Do you know Sean, his mother was ‘Fair Game’ and his father was ‘Jack the Lad’ son of ‘The Godfather’, who was related to ‘Rainy day’ and ‘Let’s Go’. They cleaned up everywhere they raced. With a parentage like that you can’t lose”.
At this stage he’s as bright as a button, and I’m starting to get interested myself, and it seems that if you know the game you can pick a winner. I’m seriously thinking of going to the dogs myself.