
The deal agreed should go through tomorrow morning.
Many thanks to Martin and all his staff for training and caring for the dog.
Many things effect you decision in selecting your pup ?
Sire – Is he proven, has that cross been done before, % success, size and attitude of offspring.
Dam – Must be from a proven line, not to many races on her card, where her comrades quick or high class ?
Price – You need to set you budget and stick to it. There are stacks of pups in
Breeder – Reputation and how the dogs were reared in the first 12 weeks is highly important.
Rearer – The last piece of the jigsaw, without this the other parts are worthless. They need to be well fed, have plenty of freedom, well hunted and handled regularly.
You can’t afford to cut corners anywhere along the line. You need to give the pup every chance to succeed. If you do all the above right then hopefully you will have a nice dog with a good attitude that can run like the clappers. In the real world they still might not be a flying machine.
What can go wrong ?
Some pups don’t chase, fight, breaks leg whilst hunting, become ill. You need to be prepared for the worse. That’s life with pups.
Given the cost of rearing a pup and buying him are you not just buying a ready made racer. ??? A ready made racer will only ever be the grade you buy. Whilst that young pup will give you 15 months of dreaming and promise !! You can’t beat it!!! The syndicate are the look out for a pup that fits the above criteria.
He left the kitchen for 5 minutes at approximately 12 noon to go to the bedroom to do something while some 12 dogs guarded the kitchen.
It is now believed that he received a call from friend at 12.02 however the phone was on silent vibrate and he didn’t hear it on the kitchen table…………..
A coursing bitch believed to be a brindle daughter of Gold Madam took it upon herself to take the call so reaching onto the table she took the phone in her mouth and went outside to get a better reception…………….not to be left out the other 11 dogs followed her out each insisting that it was their turn to answer the phone so between them they did manage to answer but the caller could only hear the sounds of dogs in the background and believed that dogs had each gotten themselves the mobile.
Paddy returned to find the phone missing and went in search…………..he located the remains of the phone minus the keypad which was still missing at midnight last night when searches were scaled down for the evening
The phone now has no screen no battery cover but alarmingly can still make and receive calls albeit you not being able to see the number on the screen
If ever there was an advert for the resilience of a Nokia phone then surely this is it!
So enter the lair of professional gambler Harry Findlay, well known in racing circles as the owner of
Big Fella is a large, torpid greyhound lying at his master's feet. But he won the
Note,
"It's the biggest myth in racing! It's the biggest myth in life!" he yells vehemently. "That is my golden rule. Do not be afraid to back odds-on. It's a myth perpetrated by bookmakers and ignorant punters. Cowards! When people say they never bet odds-on what they're really saying is they can't count or they're a coward. They're afraid of the risk factor.
These football managers that bet £20 million a year are not a surprise to me. I lay out literally millions every weekend. I'm not trying to be flash. That's just the way it is. There's no point in me betting small. It's all about knowing the right price and how good you are at staking.
"I have to win to eat. It's all I do. Like everyone else, I don't back loads of winners. I just back a few more winners than losers. No one makes a good living out of betting in hundreds. You aren't going to win big betting small."
One suspects
Why? "Because it was better than f****** biology," he said with a guffaw of laughter. "I've never had a proper job since." He paused to shout: "Go on Feddy, wind it up, son" and waved one of nine remote controls on his desk at the screen. It didn't work. He tried another one. That didn't either. "I don't know anything about electronics," he explained. Mobiles are ringing. "Hallo," he says sharply into them (no time for formalities). In an instant, he stakes the price of my mortgage on a tennis match.
At various points in his life, it has all gone horribly wrong.
"Don't mention Martina Hingis to me," he cried. "Ruined my life when she lost to Iva Majoli in the French Open final. Wiped me off the face of the earth. Three or four times I've been all-in. Milk Cup. I remember that. Me and my mum borrowed 1,200 quid – which was a lot of money 20 years ago – to put on
"There wasn't the instant information around either. You had to try and find out the news. Like the toss at cricket matches. That was vital because it was a massive advantage to bat second when there was rain about. I was down at
"Nicholas tossed up and Neale called wrong. I've seen it before anyone else. They're both behind me because I've got there first. I've shouted out: 'Oh f*** it!' and Mark Nicholas turned to me and said: 'Who the effing hell are you?' I said: 'Don't worry about it mate' and went back to bed. I'm telling you this because those are the sort of lengths you'd have to go to in the old days."
We are deep into lovable rogue territory here. He may own several racehorses with Paul Nicholls and Philip Hobbs, but he is hardly your land-owning gentry nor your Russian oligarch for that matter. He is sitting here in blue slippers, jeans and a stripy green polo shirt going bonkers at the screens upon which Tony McCoy is riding Yaboya (10-11 favourite) in the 2.10 at Market Rasen.
"I've got so much on this horse – more than I wanted – that's talking to you. I want this one to win. Go on, Tony! This is a man I f****** love. Put him up with the Federers. Put him up with the Tiger Woodses. He's a legend. He's the strongest man, pound for pound, I've ever met in my life. Scarily strong.
resumed. The computer screen attuned to Betfair prices is blinking merrily next to him. He prefers the exchanges to bookmakers any day.
"The bottom line is, bookmakers don't allow anyone to win. If you win they'll close your account. If you win big in cash, they won't take your bet. It's immoral, but there's no point in prolonging that argument and upsetting the bookmakers because they can't stand me anyway. I stopped betting on horses completely until the exchanges, where you bet punter against punter. It is physically impossible for anyone to make big money on the horses if they are not playing the exchanges. Anyone telling you they can is a liar. It's a myth.
"I was a bookmaker for one week when I was 18. I couldn't do it. A bloke called John, used to work in a factory all day, a mill, came in to bet £20 on a dog. He had sawdust up his nose, in his ears, on his head. He made chairs for nine hours every day. I ended up wanting the dog to win. I lasted one week. I've always been a punter, always will.
"It's all about where you find your buzz. It's all about adrenalin and controlling it. It's done me many times, made me so skint. It's taken my freedom and, even worse at times, my self-respect. But I love it. I love what I do.
"I'm very anti-religious. I'm an atheist. So the way I see it, it's an innings, innit? You've got to crack away. I want to play like Kevin Pietersen, not Chris Tavare. Totally mystifies me, religion. When I was 12, I was 100 per cent sure the three kings were con men, and they were grafting with an astronomer. It's obviously a get-up, isn't it? I think it's total madness. And pensions!"
Don't get him started on pensions. No part of him approves of putting money away on the off-chance you might see it with knobs on at the age of 65. "I mean, you've got to live to be 65 anyway, and that's only an 8-13 chance.
"I think it's mental that so many normal people have so much respect for people with bigger houses and bigger cars. They see that as a form of success. My respect goes to people like nurses, teachers and doctors. I think 90 per cent of people with loads of money are either crooks or working too hard." Phones ring again. "It doesn't stop. It's madness," said
"Hallo." He dealt swiftly with the matter in hand. He resumed his theorising. "You see, the thing with Federer is he's a cash machine. He's virtually unplayable. They say he might one day be the greatest player of all time. WHAT? If Federer ain't the greatest player ever, I'll put my desk up my…Hallo," he said, grabbing his mobile again.
There are more golden rules. "Winning's amazing. But you start to feel invincible. As soon as you let your guard down in this game, or take any liberties, your head is sawn straight off. It's all about maths and you have to be right all the time. By the same token, when you can't back a winner, when you think you're completely useless, you have to keep your equilibrium. I know all the pitfalls. I've got my weaknesses. I know I like a front-runner too much.
"But you need to be aggressive, be bold when you're winning. Don't start hedging and saving. When you win you need to win big, because when you lose you do your b*******.
"Listen, bookmakers' credit, debt, causes turmoil and ruins people's lives. It done me as a teenager. Credit is vile. The way bookmakers operate credit should be outlawed. It opens doors to everything: trouble, lies, prison, where else do you want to go?
"I think there will be a 1,000-fold increase in people going to prison for gambling debts. I think we're already seeing it and women are more vulnerable than men. They've suddenly got the adrenalin of gambling but it's not the healthy little tutti-frutti world that the TV presenters talk about."
Nevertheless, we are not leaving until he makes our fortune. His own Desert Quest is a non-runner at