Jazz's Journal
The Jazz Hurricane Story part1
23/02/09 17:51
Naming
When Hurricane Katrina ripped through the Gulf Coast during the Atlantic Hurricane Season of 2005, it flooded 80% of New Orleans, the birth place of jazz. I knew then that we had found a name for our whirlwind puppy. A canine cyclone, Jazz Hurricane had already showed the feisty traits of her namesake: speed, power and unpredictability. Just ask Nick Savva, Alison Coxon and Frazer Black. They already knew.
Grading In
“Well? How did she trial?” I asked David. “Apparently she swung wide on the bend, ran on the grass but still clocked 16.60”. At the other end of the phone, I blew the froth off my pint.
I could barely wait for the next trial. First time out of the 515m traps. 30.06 in a solo. I drove down from London for her next 515 trial and I saw it with my own eyes. 30.17. Two local clock watchers purred at the performance from the raw novice. I kept my interest to myself and DK but if Katrina had heard their feline mutterings, she would have been on them like a flash. A week later, she came out under the lights and pulverised two local oldies in 29.91. She wanted to race the van home.
Kennels on a Sunday
“Hold on to her lead nice and tight, Stef” It seemed a struggle for the kennel staff to even put her lead on. It was like dressing a petulant child. She leapt up and down on the spot but only until she had got through the main kennel door and ever alert, off she strode with a purpose towards the paddock. Her eyes followed every falling leaf and a twittering bird would make here ears prick. Was she a greyhound or a hound of the Baskervilles? Thank God Maria had shielded her view from the fox that leapt on to the back straight of the track at Nottingham when she was parading. She would have chewed through her muzzle had she spotted him.
We used to whisper in her ear on a Sunday before an important race, “just keep out of trouble.” Of course, this “Rainman” of the canine world just stared ahead, waiting for the next leaf to blow in the wind.
First Race
Straight in to an A1. We could hardly complain about her graded entry level, given her trials but 6/4 was too skinny for a debutante. How would she cope against seasoned dogs? Would she miss it, get squeezed at the first bend cavalry charge or just bottle it against 5 other dogs? None of the above. Ping! 4.15 sectional, never headed, winning by half a length in 30.07.
“Are you the owners?”, a voice called out to us. “How about twenty grand?”. “Thanks but no thanks.” We were not in the game to trade dogs, only to share dreams.
RP Festival Puppy Stakes
Her second race was at the Festival. After a terrible trial at the Stow (based on our lofty expectations), DK took a little persuasion to enter her for the competition proper. He probably knew that she had the raw speed to keep this company, even with more experienced locals. So, with only improvement to come for the look, we took our chance. As the youngest entrant with only one race behind her, we secured a good each way price. A 29.13 fastest semi got our juices flowing for the final. I had set off for a few months in New Zealand so I had to rely on my mobile phone reception in what I could only imagine was like, “Scotland in the 50’s”. I wasn’t sure whether that insulted the Scots or the Kiwis but both had the humour to see through my shallow English quip. The fish in Lake Wanaka had a day off the hook. I shouted down the phone, standing in a boat on the lake while David gave me a commentary from the track on the finals night. She broke well and led momentarily but was bumped slightly when cutting the first corner. If only she had squeezed in front of Special Deal.
Early Days
We then moved on to a green run at Monmore in the Christmas Festival Bitches. A beaten, odds-on favourite. Her reputation preceded her lack of experience.
A trip down the road for me to Wimbledon at Christmas followed next and we saw her win by a neck in a puppy open. Her 3.82 sectional showed us again that she meant business. My mother was down for the festive season and she seemed a little coy in collecting the trophy. This surprised me as it belied her Yorkshire gambling roots. Clearly it had skipped a generation.
Nottingham followed. We met a fox and futility in the Futurity Stakes heats but qualified for the semi all the same. She never took to the track. Same again a week later in the semi. DK rubbed the sand supper off her mouth which had been fed to her by Teds Anchor. I poked my face through the fence to check she was ok and to have a word with DK. She wasn’t bothered. She didn’t know she was beaten and only ever finished last once in her career.
A month’s rest on her bed worked wonders. She was alert and fresh for her spin around Hove and 29.81 in the middle of February told us she was ready to step up. The Ladbrokes Puppy Derby was the obvious target.
When Hurricane Katrina ripped through the Gulf Coast during the Atlantic Hurricane Season of 2005, it flooded 80% of New Orleans, the birth place of jazz. I knew then that we had found a name for our whirlwind puppy. A canine cyclone, Jazz Hurricane had already showed the feisty traits of her namesake: speed, power and unpredictability. Just ask Nick Savva, Alison Coxon and Frazer Black. They already knew.
Grading In
“Well? How did she trial?” I asked David. “Apparently she swung wide on the bend, ran on the grass but still clocked 16.60”. At the other end of the phone, I blew the froth off my pint.
I could barely wait for the next trial. First time out of the 515m traps. 30.06 in a solo. I drove down from London for her next 515 trial and I saw it with my own eyes. 30.17. Two local clock watchers purred at the performance from the raw novice. I kept my interest to myself and DK but if Katrina had heard their feline mutterings, she would have been on them like a flash. A week later, she came out under the lights and pulverised two local oldies in 29.91. She wanted to race the van home.
Kennels on a Sunday
“Hold on to her lead nice and tight, Stef” It seemed a struggle for the kennel staff to even put her lead on. It was like dressing a petulant child. She leapt up and down on the spot but only until she had got through the main kennel door and ever alert, off she strode with a purpose towards the paddock. Her eyes followed every falling leaf and a twittering bird would make here ears prick. Was she a greyhound or a hound of the Baskervilles? Thank God Maria had shielded her view from the fox that leapt on to the back straight of the track at Nottingham when she was parading. She would have chewed through her muzzle had she spotted him.
We used to whisper in her ear on a Sunday before an important race, “just keep out of trouble.” Of course, this “Rainman” of the canine world just stared ahead, waiting for the next leaf to blow in the wind.
First Race
Straight in to an A1. We could hardly complain about her graded entry level, given her trials but 6/4 was too skinny for a debutante. How would she cope against seasoned dogs? Would she miss it, get squeezed at the first bend cavalry charge or just bottle it against 5 other dogs? None of the above. Ping! 4.15 sectional, never headed, winning by half a length in 30.07.
“Are you the owners?”, a voice called out to us. “How about twenty grand?”. “Thanks but no thanks.” We were not in the game to trade dogs, only to share dreams.
RP Festival Puppy Stakes
Her second race was at the Festival. After a terrible trial at the Stow (based on our lofty expectations), DK took a little persuasion to enter her for the competition proper. He probably knew that she had the raw speed to keep this company, even with more experienced locals. So, with only improvement to come for the look, we took our chance. As the youngest entrant with only one race behind her, we secured a good each way price. A 29.13 fastest semi got our juices flowing for the final. I had set off for a few months in New Zealand so I had to rely on my mobile phone reception in what I could only imagine was like, “Scotland in the 50’s”. I wasn’t sure whether that insulted the Scots or the Kiwis but both had the humour to see through my shallow English quip. The fish in Lake Wanaka had a day off the hook. I shouted down the phone, standing in a boat on the lake while David gave me a commentary from the track on the finals night. She broke well and led momentarily but was bumped slightly when cutting the first corner. If only she had squeezed in front of Special Deal.
Early Days
We then moved on to a green run at Monmore in the Christmas Festival Bitches. A beaten, odds-on favourite. Her reputation preceded her lack of experience.
A trip down the road for me to Wimbledon at Christmas followed next and we saw her win by a neck in a puppy open. Her 3.82 sectional showed us again that she meant business. My mother was down for the festive season and she seemed a little coy in collecting the trophy. This surprised me as it belied her Yorkshire gambling roots. Clearly it had skipped a generation.
Nottingham followed. We met a fox and futility in the Futurity Stakes heats but qualified for the semi all the same. She never took to the track. Same again a week later in the semi. DK rubbed the sand supper off her mouth which had been fed to her by Teds Anchor. I poked my face through the fence to check she was ok and to have a word with DK. She wasn’t bothered. She didn’t know she was beaten and only ever finished last once in her career.
A month’s rest on her bed worked wonders. She was alert and fresh for her spin around Hove and 29.81 in the middle of February told us she was ready to step up. The Ladbrokes Puppy Derby was the obvious target.
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