Running Just for Love

Running Just for Love
The story of a greyhound and the man who dared to ignore tradition.

Prologue

Frank, my Father, was born in Hobart, the capital city of the island state of Tasmania, in Australia. Hobart is in the south of the island, nestled between the Derwent River and the beautiful Mount Wellington, that more recently has had its original name of Kunanyi returned to it in recognition of the First Australians who had lived in harmony with this land before the invasion of the British. Frank freely spoke out about the suffering that the British early settlers had brought to the native Tasmanians. He was a man who cared deeply about all living things be they human, animal or insect. . He believed that all creatures should be treated not just with love, but perhaps even more importantly, with respect. That while taking into consideration the reality of the differences between humans and other creatures, that non humans deserved equality appropriate to how they perceived and experienced the world. That all creatures, no matter how small or apparently insignificant still had rights. He also believed that the human being had the ability to choose right from wrong, kindness from cruelty, and as such it was our duty to protect the rights of animals. But he often witnessed the cruel side of human beings not only towards other animals, but also towards other people, and he chose to try and make a difference.

Franks point of view was provided credibility in his eyes, by the way his brother Leigh often bore the brunt of disapproval and gossip, so Frank would usually be the one to stand by him and defend him at any cost. Leigh behaved and spoke differently to a lot of Frank's male friends, but he was a living being who had the right, just like any other individual, to live the best life he could. He deserved happiness and he deserved to be valued. Frank also felt anger about the way animal sporting activities used cruel practices in an attempt to be a winner. He found horse and greyhound racing to be prime examples of the human race’s general lack of respect for other creatures, and of man’s overwhelming greed and desire to profit from other living things no matter the cost of suffering it caused, resulting in people sinking to obscene levels of disregard for all things except themselves..
This is the story of a greyhound and the man who dared to ignore tradition, it is also the story of one man’s battle to convince others to respect and value not just other creatures, but also each other.

I grew up with the stories of Dad and the greyhound he saved and his attempt to bring about some change in the world of profit from animals. He had a fading piece of newspaper forever stuck on the wall near his desk detailing “Frank Fitzgerald and his unorthodox training methods”. I remember vividly his dislike, almost hatred of horse racing, and his outspoken point of view about the greyhound racing industry.
My Father wasn’t perfect, and I can’t pretend he was. Just like every one of us, he was moulded and shaped by his upbringing and I believe there were ways he could have been a better husband and better father. But for all his faults, again, just like you and me, he too had aspects that he shone in. Strivings to be proud of, and a strong belief that if he tried hard enough he could bring about enlightenment and positive change in at least one part of the universe we live in.



Chapter 1

A Young Upstart Wins

It was 1940, a tumultuous year that combined the terror of Nazis invasion in Europe and the miracle of lives saved at Dunkirk. Frank, while being aware of the horror of war overseas was reasonably untouched by its reality. World war had helped to emphasise the isolation of the island state of Tasmania. Restrictions weren’t as severe as in most of the rest of Australia and the economy had benefited by industry that had decided to move to what was perceived as a safe haven.

Frank had seen family and friends sign up and put on a uniform, but even so, it still seemed somehow very distant, and this allowed him to be able to focus on what he felt was a very worthwhile cause.

The race was on early as the bright lights they would have used once darkness had started to fall, were not allowed. Even though enemy planes had not been observed flying over Tasmania, even so, light restrictions applied. It simply wasn't worth the risk of creating a “bullseye” for the opposing side.

Frank had arrived early with Puzzle. Nervous but also believing that now was the moment to prove he had been right. He had handed the dog over to be led into the starting box, and now he simply had to wait to see if finally he could prove his theory of kindness versus cruelty. So young Frank leaned against the rail encircling the track feeling its surface bite into his hand as he squeezed it tightly, twisting his hands around it as if he was wringing a wet towel. As the greyhounds took off and started their run, the aroma of the dust kicked up by the racing dogs circling the track filled his nostrils, and he could feel his heart thumping in his ears as he shouted, "Come on mate, come on, run RUN!". How he wished that his brother Leigh could be here beside him, helping to will on the Puzzle. He was close to his brother. Leigh was older by 2 years, and even though….or perhaps because of the way he differed from so many of Frank’s mates, Leigh was far more worldly, and mixed within a broad circle of eclectic friends and acquaintances. Frank had benefited from Leigh's social network, he had learnt more about the world than he ever did when he was at school, and in return, Frank had stood beside Leigh on many an occasion in defiance of snide remarks and bullying and now, right at the achievement of his own dreams, his brother was somewhere else, in another country, overseas, doing his part for “King and Country” as Leigh had put it. At least his girlfriend Edith could share in the moment. She too would feel the exhilaration he felt. But if only his brother was here as well.

Edith stood close to Frank, her hand just touching his as they both rested against the rail, both looking a picture of concentration willing the dog on around the track. Neither approved of the hard and at times cruel training measures metered out by the greyhound owners, and Frank in particular had experienced on many occasion the painful vice of ridicule and ostracism because he dared to do what he believed was right ever since he was old enough to make and understand the choice between the two. "Fatty Fitzgerald" was his nickname used by many, and it was a term that could be used in an endearing way, but it also could be utilised to accentuate put downs. But Frank had learnt to cop it sweet, all that mattered to him was that Puzzle was happy, that the dog was doing what he wanted to do, and as a side benefit Frank could reap the reward of being proven right, that a dog will always respond better to love and trust rather than to cruelty and fear. Who knows, maybe, just maybe some people might notice and act upon his success, and implement a kinder way of training greyhounds. Even if just one person accepted Frank’s methods, all this would be worthwhile. Putting up with all the bullying and laughter and gossip could be looked back on with a smile rather than a grimace.

Frank had done things differently and had treated his dog with the love and respect he believed every animal deserved, perhaps deserved more than people as a form of recompense for past treatment , and now Puzzle was running faster than any other on the field. Frank gritted his teeth and willed the dog on. Run like the wind, run like the wind! A group of five men stood close by, every now and then looking in his direction and then back at the flurry of greyhounds streaking around the track. The final leg was approaching and they knew that if Frank's dog was going to take fright it would be very soon. Puzzle had a history of being timid, of shying away from clapping, yelling crowds and the bright lights that usually shone down on the finishing line. The lights weren't in use due to restrictions, but the crowd and the noise were unchanged. Perhaps even louder than before as more and more people attempted to distract their thoughts of the war by attending a race track.

Frank and Edith were urging the dog on, "come on boy.....that's it...come on mate". But these men now had a look of trepidation on their faces, would Puzzle slow as he ran round that final curve or would he stay ahead? Would their laughter and gossip about Frank's training methods be proven correct, or was this young upstart about to make them look like bloody idiots?

"Run like the wind, run like the wind! Come on boy. You love this, you want this, run like the wind!" yelled Frank.

A crescendo of yells started to rise from the crowd as Puzzle flew around the track and across the finish line. "Yes, yes, you've bloody won!" yelled Frank, lifting his hands into the air as if he himself were racing across the winning line. "He did it, we've shown them! You bloody beauty!”

Edith gazed quickly around feeling slight discomfort at Frank's loud and triumphant expletives, but she forgave him for his verbal indiscretion as she too felt the exhilaration of the moment. Then together, they both raced to collect the dog and as Frank bent to pat Puzzle, the dog leaned against his legs then reached up and licked him on the face.
Frank wiped the doggy saliva off his cheek with a smile, "You've done it boy, you've shown 'em all what you're really made of".

Overhearing what Frank had said, Edith whispered in his ear, "and you have shown them what you are made of too. Don’t forget that Frank".

For Puzzle, and for Frank, the long journey had been one of healing for both dog and owner. Each had experienced a difficult past, and each had suffered in their own way. But sheer determination (or "bloody determination" as Frank put it) and a lot of love, would ultimately result in triumph.

“You should respect your animals”’ was Franks motto. “Don’t make fools of them, don’t be cruel to them. You respect them and they will respect and be loyal to you.”



Chapter 2

How the Journey Began

It was 1938 and Frank was a youthful 20 years of age and thus far had steadfastly remained within the limits of Tasmania. He lived in a house shared by his three other brothers, his Mother and stepfather. He had a room to himself that had an entrance from the small rear verandah of the family home, giving him privacy from the noise and bustle of the rest of the family going about its business. It also meant he could look out his window and see clearly into the pigeon loft that his brother Leigh used for his poultry and fantail pigeons. It gave him a feeling of being independent and away from his stepfather who Frank always felt did not care for him or Leigh as much as the others.

Their father, their true sire, had died at home of heart problems at a very young age, his mother had remarried and while his stepfather was never cruel, and seldom even raised his voice, that almost instinctive feeling of him being their father was absent. It was as if that element of acknowledgement that usually existed between a parent and their child did not exist. He was Frank’s Mother’s husband, and as such Frank respected him as head of the household, but while his step father provided well for the family, he did not fill the role of parent, at least when dealing with Frank or Leigh. In this home the husband went to work, the wife stayed at home, and the children she bore prior to widowhood were regarded by her second husband as simply the left overs of her first marriage. Not to be maligned, not to be resented, but simply to be provided food and a roof over their heads, no more and no less. They were disregarded when came to any of the other fringe benefits usually afforded to offspring.

Frank understood this process, he had seen this happen in animals and birds where the male would sometimes help care for his progeny but ignore all others. He forgave his step father for his behaviour because he understood it as Nature’s way. He felt that pure animal instinct prevented his stepfather from treating him and Leigh as true sons. So Frank forgave his stepfather for giving in to these primitive behaviours, but promised himself from a very young age, that if ever he was to marry a woman who already had children that he would treat them as his own and be damned what Nature’s way expected of him. Just because you understand the reason for something it doesn’t necessarily make it humane or right.

Frank had been born and grew up in Hobart, he hardly travelled beyond the borders of the city, in fact he rarely went north or even south in the island state and preferred his home town to any other place he could possibly imagine. The only exception to travelling was when he had, on the rarest of occasion gone to other parts of Tasmania to play cricket. Frank was a great spin bowler, his physique wasn't designed for speed but he had strength and an analytical brain that aided him in understanding the intricacies of how to control the spin of a cricket ball. He loved participating with his brothers, Jim, Leigh and John, and they had made a mark in the local cricketing community. But Frank didn't have the time or received the encouragement to take it further, so he played for fun and the rest of the week he “…..worked like a bloody slave”.

He had had a tough life. But he hadn't gone without. He had always lived in a lovely home, and had good food, a good upbringing..........but that is where it ended. His younger half brother, Jim was like a father to him, as he tried to fill the emotional and parental void created by their stepfather, but Jim was encouraged to study accounting and spent a lot of time reading and learning and needed to give his future career priority. Leigh was the one who did things with him. Or maybe that was the other way round. For just as Jim tried to make up for their stepfather’s lack of paternal love, Frank inturn tried to protect Leigh from the tough, sometimes even brutal world where differences were judged as a weakness, and Leigh was definitely a bit different from many of the people they mixed with.

Leigh spoke with a genteel accent, seldom swore, and had friends who pursued art, poetry and writing. Leigh cherished two medals given to him by a good friend and nationally well known poet. Their stepfather had raised his eyebrows at the amount of time Leigh spent in the company of people who ".....wanted to read poetry and look at high brow art", as he put it. People talked, people gossiped, but Leigh was restrained in how he behaved in the public eye. He was only ever truly himself when either with Frank, or with his selected and especially trusted friends. Over the years Leigh sported the occasional black eye, was sometimes stared at and whispered about when he sat at the local bar, and at 16 years of age received a hell of a hiding from a group of lads who felt a good kicking would straighten him out. He was different to most of the other men that Frank knew. Leigh was gentle, well spoken. He had saved up his money and invested in elocution lessons and he had worked hard at losing what he termed a "convict accent". It was his way of speaking that really made him stand out. He may have been born and grew up in Tasmania, but he spoke with a precise and resonant accent that made him sound more like an educated Englishman. In fact a common remark, though usually said in jest, was that he should be on the radio as his was the type of voice that one heard when listening to the news or the latest sporting results.

Leigh was only ever truly relaxed when with his more creative and demure friends, but this also only served to set him apart even more from the usual types of folk. He once had a girlfriend, they had even got engaged, but it became obvious they were simply very good friends, they could never be lovers, and would never be husband and wife in a physical sense. Leigh loved her but not the way she needed. When they went their separate ways, this seemed to confirm to all and sundry what they suspected about Leigh. He was different, and sadly unlike other species of animals that Frank had seen and observed, humans could be cruel to other humans who weren't deemed the same as everyone else. When animals are in a mob, they might pick on the weakest or the sickest, but a strong individual no matter how different was accepted and valued as an integral member of the herd or flock. Humans didn't work like that, it didn't matter how well you contributed or how talented or strong you were, if you were different then you were picked on and ostracised. Frank had decided that human beings were the cruellest animals on the planet and he couldn't stand back and watch his brother being degraded and bullied, and so he felt it was his duty to be there for him. Frank wasn't a big man but he was strong and well muscled, and he didn't mind acting as a protector while accompanying his brother to some of the events Leigh liked to attend, after all he was starting to develop a real interest in the poultry shows, pigeon racing and fancy fowl sales that Leigh loved.

With the support of Frank, Leigh felt confident in who he was and how he felt inside. Frank often reminded him he would find the right person as a companion, and that until that happened he always had his brother to turn to.

Frank was sensitive to the injustices metered out to others around him, be they human or animal who suffered, but he was also tough and strong and his stepfather had reached the conclusion that he should make use of his strength and find a job. So, at 14 years of age Frank had been told he had to work in a quarry, and that he needed to contribute to paying his way. He didn't mind hard work, in fact he loved the challenge, the sense of mateship that existed at the quarry, and the relaxed but inclusive attitude of the men created an atmosphere very different to the tense exactitude at home. Smoko was always a chance to catch up on the latest news, and as the quarry was on the fringe of the town, many of the workers were from homes on large allotments or even small farms. They would discuss how their hens were doing in the poultry shows, how the latest pigeon races were fairing, how well their lambs coped with the cool spring weather, and their plans for future litters of border collies and kelpies.

When young Frank was employed at the quarry he was particularly impressed by a man in his 50's. His name was Harold, and somewhat senior for someone working in this type of demanding job. He had a slight limp and didn't stand as straight as the other workers, and sometimes he’d stop whatever he was doing and lean his hand against something as if trying to stand up straighter, but he had obviously managed to swap the pick and shovel for conveyor belt work and this suited his limitations. He'd suffered a back injury incurred by an accident nearly 30 years ago. Frank had only heard portions of the story surrounding what had happened. But piecing bits of story together it appeared that some of the men had refused to work one December, and with the lack of a supervisor to watch the teams someone had accidentally caused a rock fall. One man had died, and Harold had injured himself getting a survivor out from under a large boulder. So Harold was respected and valued at the site even though he had some physical limitations. But while this history was testament to the character and strength of the man, what really impressed Frank was the huge menagerie of animals he kept on his small property.

Frank loved to visit Harold on their days off. Harold's little kitchen's walls and ceiling seemed to be painted by years of pipe, cigarette and wood smoke, and this yellow wash of grime was festooned with Best in Show ribbons that hung from tacks and nails that had been roughly hammered into place. Centrally positioned along the wall opposite the front door was a fireplace containing an old wood stove which had a coating of black paint with shades of rust showing through. There was a dust covered line of trophies sitting along the mantel piece above and combined with the smell of smoke there was usually the sweet musky aroma of somewhat over matured meat kept in a meat safe just for "me hard working mates" as Harold always called them when referring to his three dogs. One was a female red cloud kelpie called Lady, one was a male border collie cross called Moss who came about when his Sire, a large rotund Labrador had a brief but productive liaison with Harold's other dog, a bitch called Shiner. She had received this name due to having a black patch of fur surrounding one eye, and Harold reckoned it looked like she had received a "shiner" in a fight.

"That bloody Labrador was so big I don't know 'ow he didn't break little Shiner's back when 'e was havin' his way wiv her! Me poor little girl, she's bin a good bitch, an' a good mother to them pups she 'ad. She's good on them sheep too. She's won more than a few ribbons fer me!"

One day Frank asked Harold if he had ever been married, but Harold didn't provide a complete answer. He mumbled about a girl who had worked in a local store, and said she had gone to another town with another man. Then he patted Shiner's head as she sat with her nose on his knee and declared that ..."Shiner 'ere and them like 'er, they're the only family I've needed over the years". As if she understood his words, Shiner wiggled her doggy eyebrows and with a gentle sigh, she raised her eyes to his with a look of complete trust, loyalty and love.

So Frank worked at the quarry for two years, until the manager acknowledged Frank's ability with numbers by giving him the job of doing the pays. Each Wednesday at 1pm he would stop his usual tasks and go to the office where he would work through the columns of numbers showing rates of pay, and days worked, to come up with what would go into each pay packet. Leigh had told Frank he was impressed with how his brother had taken on more responsibilities and not to be afraid to ask for slightly better pay for the important work he was doing in the office. But Frank was content with the small increase in pay he had received, he had decided he wasn't going to always work at the quarry. As much as he liked Harold, he didn't want to be like him. Worn down and battered by years of back breaking and dangerous work. No, Frank wanted to do something else, and he had often thought about being a watch maker.

He had also risen in the ranks as far as helping Harold out with taking his dogs to the Sheep Dog Trials, and he went to some pigeon racing meetings as well. These meetings were held in a large stone building that appeared to have once been a stable. It had large double doors that swung open that would let in the cold evening air when on the wrong side of summer, so there was a metal barrel that stood in the middle of the space and it was sometimes filled with wood and lit to provide warmth to the attendees. It created a cosy glow to the large space, and the men would stand around on the dirt floor after the meeting enjoying the camaraderie and mateship created by a common interest. It was at one of these meetings that he heard two men discussing a brood of pigeon chicks that the mother had started to peck. The chicks had been removed and were in an old cardboard box. The owner of the pigeons had brought them along to the meeting in the hopes that someone would like to take them on and rear them, but so far no one had accepted the challenge. Frank could overhear the discussion and the lives of the four baby pigeons sounded in jeopardy.

"I reckon they're too young" one of the men was saying. "They're just skin and fluff, no pin feathers even starting to show. I reckon they'll be dead by tomorrow."

Frank went over to the box and put his hand inside. He felt soft pecking on his fingers as the babies squeaked and begged for food, and they felt colder than what Frank thought they should be. He cupped his hand over the little pile of baby birds and felt them nestle under his palm. He could imagine that this is what it was like for them when one of the parent birds was sitting on the nest. With that thought in mind, he took his old used handkerchief out of his pocket and pushed it through the slit in the top of the box and then manoeuvred it over the top of the little birds. "That must be better than just sitting there all uncovered and scared", he whispered.

Frank went over to the men and placed his hands on his hips, almost in a stance of defiance he offered to take on the brood. One of the men grinned and wiped a calloused hand across his nose as if trying to hide his smile. "Alright Frankie mate. They're from a pair of good racers, but I don't reckon they'll survive. If you can rear 'em you can have 'em."

With that, Frank rushed over to the box and put it under his arm. He wanted to get those chicks home as soon as possible. To warm them up and give them a feed. He had helped Leigh to hand rear pigeon chicks a number of times so he knew what to do, and what to use to feed them.

Frank had a disrupted sleep that first night, several times he woke up and got out of bed to make sure the chicks were warm and still alive as there had been several occasions in the past when he would wake in the morning only to discover that a hatchling he had been caring for had inexplicably died during the night. He kept the box in the kitchen a suitable distance from the wood oven that would be smouldering all night. He sat it in a cage just to make sure no rats or cats decided to make a snack of the five babies. And they did well, ultimately going out into Leigh's aviary and then, once they were fully grown and independent they were moved into the pigeon loft.

So this was Frank’s life. Being there for his brother, caring for orphaned and injured animals, and initially working in a quarry then finally achieving his dream and finding an apprenticeship at a watch maker’s shop in Hobart.