Falkirk
Writers' Circle

Living the Dream

27/09/2011

by John Freebairn

The clamour of the crowd, the distant cries of bookies calling the odds, Mungo ignores it all as he completes the parade, marching towards the start. The six dogs mill around as the grooms prepare them for their allotted traps. Haunch muscles are massaged; encouraging words are whispered as one by one they are persuaded in to their starting positions. Once in, Mungo relaxes - he knows the drill. He has been here before. Head down, ears up, mouth slightly ajar - ready for the bell. The steward walks in front of the traps, a wave of the flag, the hare speeds off. The gates open and they are off. There's a jumble of bouncing bodies and flying legs as they settle in to the race. Keep going, keep running. As the race develops Mungo finds himself lying second behind a black bitch called Bonny. He has raced against her before - last time out she had beaten him by a head. This time that isn't going to happen. He remembers that she is inclined to go wide on the final bend. The finishing line is fast approaching - he hears the roar of the crowd louder, ever louder, as the race reaches
its climax. Head down, heart pounding. Through the hubbub he hears a voice.

"Mungo! Mungo! Wake up. We're going for a walk. You were dreaming you silly boy.
Chasing squirrels were you?"

Chasing squirrels indeed, thought Mungo. I had been seconds away from winning the
Scottish Greyhound Derby.