09/02/2022
We've often spoken of dogs, our amazing companion animals, for their instinct, cleverness and understanding of other animals, including humans!
This excerpt is from "Black Dog" Chapter 17, where Bruce, the Kelpie demonstrates his affinity for horses:
RACING AND RAY SIMMONS
I had wondered idly why Brett Walker, my lovely employer, had wanted me so early this Saturday morning. We were in the Land Cruiser and driving toward the western side of town before he came clean.
“I’ve never been much of a marketer,” he said across the cabin at me, “but every now and then an opportunity falls in me lap, and I’d be a fool to pass this one up.”
Brett was the very last person to keep secrets of any sort—he was always too busy helping sick animals to worry about that stuff.
“You have any idea where we’re going?” he asked.
I shook my head, still mystified.
“What would you say if I told you that Ray Simmons is considering bringing all his local vet work to us?”
I gasped in spite of myself. Simmons Racing was one of the biggest thoroughbred complexes in Australia, and Ray Simmons had an enviable record as a trainer with two Melbourne Cups under his belt, several Caulfield Cup winners, and was a bloodstock breeder in his own right, usually heading up the national yearling sales with some of the finest stock available. He must have had an army of veterinary equine specialists crawling all over the place, even on race days, but here we were driving out to Simmons Park as if it was a common occurrence.
I thought before I opened my big mouth that a piece of business like this didn’t happen overnight unless there was a very good reason, so I smiled at my boss and said simply, “Did someone f**k up?”
Brett laughed and nodded. “Yeah, it appears so. He had a bloke from Melbourne living at Simmons Park who developed a nasty co***ne habit and couldn’t be bothered looking after the horses after hours. And as we know Murphy’s Law says that’s when a problem is most likely to happen.”
I smiled, remembering the night calls with Brett and my old friend at home Tim Rodgers, who unfailingly did the right thing and generated so much goodwill they grew their customer base as a result.
“There’s more,” Brett said, “which is unfortunate, because as the guy’s habit took hold of him he got very stroppy with the horses and took the whip to those that displeased him, and for no real reason. Ray Simmons heard about our team from his own daughter, who is quite a successful rider involved in eventing at a pretty high level.”
“Georgia Simmons?” I asked.
Brett nodded. “The one and the same. Georgia told her dad how some of the half-wild horses that were sent to us for treatment went back to their owners quieter, better behaved, and much happier than when they came to us, so on her word alone her dad wants to talk to us.”
We turned in to an old-fashioned double brick entrance with wrought-iron gates that looked in such good order they probably even worked, the sound of the Land Cruiser’s diesel echoing in the beautiful English trees lining the driveway.
As we drew up in front of the stable complex, a man of average height but with the most stunning head of beautiful steel gray hair emerged, and I recognized Ray Simmons instantly from his media profile. His face lit up as he and Brett shook hands warmly. Brett then introduced me and finally Bruce, who had jumped out and was busily watering a nearby tree.
“I think you’d better keep him in your truck,” Ray advised. “Some of my charges get a bit aggressive and could hurt him, and he might stir them up when I’ve spent all the last week trying to calm them down.”
His shoulders sagged. Ray looked like he’d done a few rounds with a prizefighter. From what I knew of the man he was very much a self-made person, always calm and really connected to his horses, old-fashioned to the core but a very successful and consistent trainer, probably Australia’s best. Yet here he was, apparently searching for answers, trying to calm his horses down after his former vet had started whipping them when he was off his head on coke.
“Mr. Simmons,” I said, “I may be speaking out of turn here—” I struggled for words, but I knew I could help and so did Brett, who saved me from making a fool of myself.
“Dean may be a student still,” he interrupted, “but he’s exceptionally competent, and he’ll be working full-time for our practice the instant he graduates next year. Dean has a deep connection to animals I’ve seldom seen before, even in the veterinary profession. He and that bloody dog of his are an amazing team, that’s why I suggest you let them both inside and see what happens.”
I could see something clicked in Ray Simmons’s mind. A superb race day tactician, he realized he had little to lose and everything to gain. He had millions of dollars’ worth of racing stock that were upset, nervous, and skittish, not going anywhere much until they realized their stable here at Simmons Park was once again a safe haven for them. So he agreed to indulge me—and Bruce.
There were some wild eyes staring at us and bared teeth, but nothing seemed to faze Bruce, as I expected. I followed him as he padded down the walkway in the middle of the building, watching every horse. I’d seen him at home when he wasn’t much more than a pup helping round up a mob of Uncle Ted’s sheep. Out of hundreds he’d pick out maybe half a dozen that were flyblown, then cut them out of the mob so we could catch and treat them. Years later, without prompting, Bruce had developed an empathy for the patients at Brett’s surgery that was extraordinary.
Brett’s practice focused heavily on equine surgery, ongoing care, and rehabilitation, so Bruce’s continual exposure to horses had become part of his doggy life, and mine as well.
He stopped opposite a stall where a filly was snorting and pawing the straw underneath her. She was young, I judged a two-year-old, and Ray nodded.
“She had her first race at Ballarat last week. Ran third but should have done better. She stacked on a real turn at the start and got left a good six lengths behind.”
I put my arm out and asked them not to go any closer because for some reason Bruce wanted to say hello. She lashed out with her left hind leg, but my dog was faster. He dived under her, and she slipped and nearly fell on him. Brett went pale, and I had visions of broken bones and an enormous veterinary bill, with us paying. Before anyone could do anything Bruce was in her face, licking her nose, and she was obviously so shocked she didn’t know how to react further.
We all stood there, transfixed. A strapper leaned on his pitchfork with fear etched on his face as we waited for what seemed an eternity for disaster to eventuate—except it didn’t.
Ray looked on in disbelief as Bruce made himself comfortable near the manger and the filly, Twilight Rose, stood there softly “talking” to Bruce with a soft mumbling and gentle snorting. I’d seen it before with old Top Flight, the stallion whom Bruce had become close to, but neither he nor the other horses had been quite as aggressive as Twilight Rose.
I judged the time was right, and before Ray could speak, I walked over. She stared balefully at me but just shook her head and mane as Bruce made eye contact, obviously telling her I was friend, not foe. I stroked her neck, and she practically smiled at me. Bruce wagged his tail in affirmation. Another one reduced to a state of utter calm.
“Well, I’ll be f**ked”, a normally polite Ray Simmons said. “None of us have been able to get near her for days now. She was always highly strung, but that mongrel bastard picked on her more than all the others, and there’s no doubt she was upsetting the rest of them.”
A small crowd of people gathered around and rather than upsetting Twilight Rose, their presence now seemed to stimulate her. She whinnied quietly to the other horses and the humans gathered around. I undid the rope, and with my finger hooked through her halter she, Bruce, and I toured the stables, with her “talking” all the time. Brett couldn’t wipe the smile from his face—mission accomplished!
I was aware Ray Simmons was watching me as well as Bruce. After we put Twilight Rose back in her stall, he asked if he could talk with me privately. Embarrassed, and wondering if I’d done something wrong, I looked at Brett, who smiled his lovely reassuring smile and waved me toward Ray’s office. I was ushered in and a chair offered.
“It’s all right, mate,” Ray smiled. “I asked Brett a question about you, and he told me because it was personal I’d better ask you myself.”
F**k, I thought, if it’s personal it can only mean one thing, and if he’s that conservative, then he can go f**k himself.
Ray smiled at me, rather gently, I thought, which confused me even more.
“You see, Dean, you remind me of someone very close to me, and if he’d been here I think the result would have been somewhat similar. He would have used different methods, and it would have taken him longer, but in the end, he would have restored the horse’s confidence just like you have. My younger brother, Clancy,” he explained. “He’s not here because he’s running our Hong Kong operation successfully, together with his Chinese partner, Lim.”
I gasped and then smiled, because Clancy Simmons was also well-known as part of the Simmons dynasty, but that side of Clancy certainly wasn’t public knowledge.
“I realized a long time ago through watching my brother grow up that life can be cruel to gay people, even in these enlightened times. It appears my gaydar is still intact, but I wanted you to know your orientation is an asset here, not a liability. If I could fill this business with women and gay men and leave ego-driven hetero males out of it, I’d be a happy man, because I’d know the horses would be safe, well looked after, and all I’d have to worry about was training them.”
