Really long, Really sad Greyhound Story...

[GreyhoundGirl]

Okay, well, it's very long but I'm really proud of it so I figured I'd share it. It's a greyhound story written from the greyhounds point of view. I didn't intend for it to be that long but once I started writing it I must admit I enjoyed writing it.

** ETA - This story is fiction. **

---

I was taken away whilst I was just a pup. The man had explained to my mom’s owner that I had special qualities that this man was looking for. I knew differently. I knew he wanted me for my long legs and deep chest; I had potential for racing. Heck, that was, after all, what I had been bred for.

I knew I wouldn’t be seeing my mother again, and as she licked my ear good-bye, and wished me luck, I knew that she knew, too. As I bade farewell to my brothers and sisters, they said they shared my excitement, and that they, too, couldn’t wait to begin their racing career. I didn’t have the heart to tell them I wished I didn’t have to go. I wasn’t excited. I wish I had been, and then maybe things would have turned out differently.



***

When we arrived at my new home, I met more dogs than I’ve seen in my life, and they all looked like Mother. Some of them sort of smelled like her, too. The man put a collar on me and led me outside. He had a nice place, a large field, all fenced in, with lots of room to run and play. I wondered why he only let me out to play, why not all the dogs. Once I looked back at him, I forgot all about the other dogs. He had a rabbit! A real, live rabbit that was squirming in his firm grip. He let go of me, and I was so excited I couldn’t help but run around in circles barking.

He asked me if I was ready, I gave a sharp bark to indicate to him that nothing could keep me back. He let the rabbit go and the chase began. I remember chasing my first rabbit as though it was yesterday. It ran faster than I anticipated. It was small, but speedy. I took off and chased it for a good half hour before finally accepting defeat. I could not catch this mouse of an animal. I was too young.

This “training” as the master called it continued for months, until one day I finally prevailed. I caught the rabbit. My training, however, was far from over. The master said it would continue until I was fully-grown and old enough to race. For the first time, I felt excitement at the prospect of challenging seven others like me to see who would be the first to reach the rabbit.



***

The last day of training came two months later. I was fully-grown at last, and as my master so truthfully said, I was a real beauty. Standing 29 inches at the shoulders I was unusually tall, even for a Greyhound. I was rather long-legged I was faster than the wind itself. That’s how I got my racing name “Wild as Wind.” To everyone other than the commentators and spectators, I was known as Giselle. I guess the name must suit me, because everyone says, “She looks it.” I think it has something to do with my short, smooth fawn fur.

But enough about me, in the time it had taken me to grow, I noticed a change in my owner as well. He was no longer a happy-go-lucky young man. He looked older now, and more serious.

The change I noticed most was with every passing day he looked more tired than the last. I wondered how long humans could go without a decent sleep. I didn’t voice the concern to the other dogs, because I saw their faces grow more worried as they, too, noticed he was losing sleep.

One day one of them explained to me that the master could never sleep before a big race and that an important race was to take place in just under a week. “Brother to the cloud” or Zeplin as we all knew him as would be competing for Master. Zeplin was very quick, and at the time; I thought I would never be as quick as him. He caught the rabbits in half the time it took everyone else. But he was modest, never bragged or showed off, and he was caring, he always looked out for the younger members of the pack. The first few nights, when I was even slower than the older dogs, Zeplin would always make sure I got enough food. No one could honestly say they didn’t appreciate Zeplin.

On the night before the big race, Master packed up the truck and told us all to be good dogs and behave while he was gone. He put Zeplin in his crate and left. A few hours later when he returned, he seemed angry, and even a little disappointed. I didn’t know why, but it didn’t bother me very much as he was just beginning to pour the food out. I tried to get some, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why, but I didn’t have the energy to push and shove to attempt to get my share. I let them eat, hoping Zeplin would think of me and collect me some food.

I waited in my favourite seat in front of the fire, waiting for Zeplin to come but he never did. So I figured he thought I was old enough to get my own food. I was, after all, an adult dog now. I should have known better, I should have seen the signs.

The next morning I pushed and shoved my way to a large bowl of food, which I wolfed down. I was surprised at how easy it was. I guess I must have underestimated my size, I had always had Zeplin to take care of me before. A few days later it dawned on me, I had not seen Zeplin recently. Where was he? I looked around, but could not find him, I sniffed some of the large trees, and he had not peed on them for about at least a week. I realized I had not seen him since he left for his trip. He had not come back. What had happened to him? Is that why Master was angry that day? When I voiced my concern to a wise old breeding mother, she started crying and bidding farewell to Zeplin and telling me he was in a better place now. I didn’t understand what she had said, but, seeing how sad it made her, I figured I’d better not mention it again.

A week after realizing Zeplin was not coming back, Master got better again. He looked younger, and he must’ve slept a lot recently because there were no dark bags under his eyes anymore. He had more energy and, it seemed, more rabbits for us to chase.

My first birthday passed unnoticed, but I did not mind. I loved chasing the rabbits in our yard, so it seemed as if it must have been a special day everyday. I did, however, get a belated birthday gift. Two days after my birthday, Master took me alone and told me we would be going to a race together soon. I yelped with excitement and started twirling in circles around Master. I stopped when I noticed that, from this close to him, I could tell he was losing sleep again.

As promised, we went to a race three days later. Upon arriving he said this was a junior race, and that nothing was riding on it. I didn’t understand, although I thought I was quite good at understanding Human. “Riding on it” does that mean that I will have to carry something in big races? I hope not, that sounds difficult.

I will always remember the first time I saw the South Carolina Racetrack. With its stands higher than the Eiffel Tower, its parking lot home to thousand of cars from all over the state, and its land as flat as fields. That is not even mentioning the enormous, fenced-in oval, filled with sand. In which, presumably, we would race.

Master put a thin, black cloth over my back and wished me luck before he placed me in the start box and left to sit in the stands. It was very dark in the start box, but I could feel the excitement flowing through my veins. Dogs just like the ones at home arrived one by one and were each placed in their own start box. I told them how excited I was and that I could not wait to get out of the box. None of them responded to me, they pretended not to hear me. I knew this was rude, but I did not let it bother me. After all, I had a race to run and these guys were my competitors.

The stands filled up quickly and it got gradually louder. A voice much louder than the rest, and somewhat mechanical sounding, began talking and the other voices quieted down. This voice started naming all the dogs in the race. I heard my name and got more excited than ever. The voice stopped talking and the crowd cheered. The bell rang and the start-boxes flew open, and for a split-second, nobody moved. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it. A rabbit. Running full speed away from all the dogs. I must’ve been the first to notice, or at least I was the first to set chase. Just like in all my practice sessions, the rabbit was fast. This rabbit, however, seemed faster then any of the ones I’ve met. I noticed some of the dogs were slowly catching up with me, so I put the oddities of the rabbit out of my mind and concentrated on catching it. I sped up and the others were left in the dust, they could not catch up with the rabbit or me. As I took a large lead over the others, the mechanical voice was cheering my name, so was the crowd. In the cheering crowd I spotted Master. He was beaming with pride. Back then, I loved seeing him happy, so I sped up even more.

When I finished the race, I saw Master practically skipping down the stands. He swung his arms around me and told me what a good girl I was. When Master noticed a man beside him, he straightened up and brushed the dirt off his shirt. He shook hands with the man before the man walked away. I knew this must have been Zarrah’s owner. Zarrah placed last, I wondered what would happen to Zarrah when he and his master were out of the sight of others.

Master collected a ribbon with a large 1 shape on it. I do not know what 1 means, but I can tell by Master’s face that it must be a good thing. This racing was fun; I didn’t understand why the mothers didn’t like it.

When we got home, Master was singing a song about a wonderful new hound dog. I knew he meant me. He was still singing when he fed us supper, I liked the change; the serious, tired Master was no fun at all.

I woke up in the middle of the night when Master got a phone call, which I could not help but overhear. It was Zarrah’s Master; I wondered why he would be calling this late at night. My suspicions were quickly explained.

“It didn’t go too well for you today, eh?” Master said tauntingly.

“You know darn well it didn’t,” Zarrah’s Master said grumpily.

“It was his first race, though, hell pull up…”

“He should have clocked faster than 1 minute 37 seconds,” he interrupted.

“He’s only a pup, though…”

“He’s the same age as yours!”

“Fine.” My master agreed in the end. I was scared. I wanted to warn Zarrah, because I knew what was going to happen to him. His short life was coming to a close. I wish I had done something. I might have been able to stop Master leaving the house. Instead, I watched him leave, and as he patted my head good-bye, I gave him a “don’t do this” look. When he looked into my eyes, I thought he looked less human than ever before. His eyes didn’t sparkle, they were dull in colour. He pretended not to notice my look, but I knew he had noticed, and that he understood what it meant.


***
My next race came two weeks later, and as usual, Master lost sleep before it. He scared me when he was like this. Often times I have wondered what would happen if I did like Zeplin or Zarrah. Would Master get rid of me? Surely he loved me more than that. Then again, surely he loved Zeplin more than that too. He had loved Zeplin as much as he loved me, maybe more. All I knew for now was that I dreaded the day that I would not place.


The race went as normally as it could, I finished second. Master said that was OK because these dogs were much more advanced than the last dogs I had raced. He looked just as happy as after the last race, and he continued to sing and dance. He even gave the bone from his pork, which was very tasty. It might have tasted better, had I been a less compassionate Greyhound, because I knew, once again, that there was a loser in that race.



***

I had many more races after that, until winter came. At my last race, the unexplained, mechanical voice said that in my few months at the track, I had already won 4 first places and 5 second places. My master got really excited when he heard this, and I, once again, got the bone from his meat. As each race passed, I hated them more and more, and I hated myself, for at some point loving them.

For winter, Master, the rest of the pack and I settled down and enjoyed ourselves. I loved the break from racing. Over the winter there are no racers and no losers. However, I knew it wouldn’t last, when spring came, we would go back to what I now called “The Killing Track.”



***

Spring came as uneventful as could be expected, and my first race of the season was scheduled for May 7th. I feared to that day, but when it came, I decided I would cooperate. Not to do so would only make things worse. So the race began. He had trained me a lot for this race, so I knew it was important. I promised myself I would do well. Starts were my specialty. I took off after the rabbit, running full speed, after being cooped up all winter; running was like a dream to me. I could not get dreamy; this was serious. These dogs were faster than any I’d faced before, and I wasn’t sure if I could keep my lead. One dog in particular, a large black male named “Moonlight Sky”, was really kicking up the dirt behind me. I could feel his breath on my tail, so I knew he was close.

What happened after that happened so quickly, I’m not even sure my recollections are accurate, but I have a general picture of what happened. I tripped over my own feet and I landed in a pile in the middle of the track. I was fazed. By the time I’d gotten up from my fall Moonlight Sky had already won. I was scared. I didn’t know what Master would do to me. I dragged myself over to the side of the track and lay alone. Master came over to me and assured me I would be OK, but his blushing face showed I had embarrassed him. He gathered me in his arms and started carrying me away in silence. Within a few minutes, I had lost consciousness in his arms.

I woke up with a bandage on my paw. Master was beside me and he was talking to me.

“Aww, Giselle, you’ve broken a toe. Now, that ain’t an uncommon event during a race, but I’m disappointed in you. You could have done better, and now, because of that loss, you can’t go to the nationals. All my training on you has been completely and utterly wasted.”

Those words had a powerful effect on me. Just then the phone rang. Master explained that it was probably one of his buddies calling to congratulate him on his spectacular loss. These words hurt, too. He excused himself and left the room. Once more, I couldn’t help but hear his call

“Hey, how’s it going?” The caller inquired.
“If you’re just calling to rub it in, don’t even bother…” Master pleaded.

“No, I called to offer you help.”

“Help? I don’t need no help. What are you thinkin’? Callin’ me an’ offerin’ to help! I’m a better trainer than you are!” I could tell Master was furious; he talked differently when he was angry.

“I’ll help you dispose of her,” the caller offered.

Master was silent as the grave. It was this time that I realized whom the caller was, Zarrah’s owner…Zarrah’s murderer. Master mumbled something that I couldn’t quite make out. Then Zarrah’s owner said they’d wait until the regionals were over, to see if I would do well in them. If I did poorly, they would dispose of me. If I did well, I would move on to the nationals.

So, from then on, every time Master and I went outside to train, I really put my heart into running, I always had, but now more than ever. That way I would not embarrass him again, and he would not get rid of me.


***
The day of the regionals was a rainy, gloomy, wet one. My fellow Greyhounds wished me luck as Master packed up the truck and put me in my crate ready to go. I bade farewell to them all, hoping this would not be the last time I saw them.

When Master and I arrived at the regionals, I could tell the stakes were high. Not just me, I could tell by the worried and anxious looks on some of the dogs’ faces that they too might be running their last race. Once again, placed in the start box with a thin, blue cloth on me, I waited to start. I heard the mechanical voice calling the other dogs-
including Moonlight Sky- and my names. The bell rang and the start boxes flew open. As usual, I was the first one out of the start box. I ran. I ran for all I was worth, but the other dogs ran faster. I didn’t know the race was over before it was too late. Moonlight Sky, and most of the others, passed me for the final time.


I could tell Master was trying to act neutral. For no one could question him if he didn’t look particularly glad or sad. He packed up the truck and locked me in my crate. Then he sat in his seat, picked up his cell phone and started dialing. I trembled in my cramped crate. Once again, it was Zarrah’s master with whom Master talked. “Tonight” was all he said before hanging up. Afterwards, he called Moonlight Sky’s master and explained to him that there were “no hard feelings.” I could tell, however, that he was lying. My master was clever; I’d give him that much… He was covering up his tracks. By appearing to not have minded me losing, no one would doubt him when I went missing.

The drive home was the worst 45 minutes of my life. Master shouted at me the entire time and his driving was so bad I thought we must have been driving on train tracks the entire trip. I can honestly say I wish I’d died at the track… at least I wouldn’t have suffered so much.

When we arrived at our destination, I trembled. We were on a farm…An abandoned farm. Night was upon us and the moon was coming out from behind some clouds. It was like a glowing gem of light. The moon must’ve been the last beautiful thing I saw. Master took me out of the truck and fastened me on a chain that he planted securely in the ground. As he saw me looking around and taking in the farm he said it is his. I couldn’t comprehend it. He wasn’t a farmer and had obviously not farmed these fields for many years, maybe even decades. Where the plants should have been, there were many piles of upturned dirt. All in rows. As I got closer to them, I saw someone had named the piles of dirt; the closest one was named Zeplin.

Zeplin! That’s when it hit me…This was a graveyard… A graveyard of slow Greyhounds. Master looked at me, “You don’t get one,” he said. I shook with terror.

“Only dogs that have placed in the nationals get a “nice departure,” ” Zarrah’s owner had appeared. My mind filled with hatred… I hated this man, and I hated the emphasis he put on those two words.

However, the hate I felt then was nothing of the hate I felt not long afterwards.

***SLIGHTLY GORY*** Master grabbed me from behind as his friend tied my mouth shut with a piece of cloth that smelled like cigarette smoke. I could not open my mouth, now I was defenseless. Mastered tightened the chain and the collar it was attached to, as his friend went to the truck and came back with a baseball bat covered in dried blood. He passed it to Master and Master advanced on me. I gave him one last, pleading look to try and get him to change his mind, but just like racing, I had failed. Then, he hit me on the head with it. Not a playful punch one would get while fooling around, I felt like my head had split in two. My vision was blurred, but I could see Master preparing for the next hit, fresh blood was pouring down the handle and onto his hands. He hit me again and I fell to the ground again and I couldn’t see. My eyes we full of blood. All I could taste was my own blood dripping off my head and into my mouth. I couldn’t smell anything; the blood in my nose was hardening and clogging my nostrils. Zarrah’s murderer was smiling, did he like blood?

I could sense Master untying me and removing my collar. He put me in the truck and drove for about five minutes before he opened the door and threw me in the ditch. I was too weak to get up. I heard Master mumbling to Zarrah’s murderer about identification, so Zarrah’s murderer passed him a pocketknife and Master waded into the shallow ditch and cut my ears off.

Before they left, the two of them agreed that if anyone found my body, it could not be identified. My collar and ear tattoos were gone. Then, Zarrah’s murderer spat rudely on me and then they left.

All I felt was bitterness; I hated my so-called Master, and all his pathetic friends. I thought bad things about them, about them getting hurt on the drive home, about them dying, painfully, as I am now. Would God punish me for thinking evil thoughts? I didn’t care. I hated them all beyond belief. Why would he abuse me like this? I had, after all, showed him unwavering devotion and loyalty. Him? He showed me he was a back-stabber, evildoer, gambling piece of filth.

Why would Master do this to me, Zeplin, Zarrah, and countless others? Why?

Now, as I lay here in the cold ditch, waiting to die, I think of it all. So many times I had the opportunity to do better, but I hadn’t. If I had concentrated, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess. The one thing I knew for certain now was that it was over.

***

I told you it was long!
Tell me what you think! The reason I'm so proud of this story is that I wrote it after only studying English for just over a year.

btw: If you've read this far, you deserve a special

[PawNclaws]

You did a great job !!.. It has such a sad ending

[KennelMom]

Uh....I'll just say it's an incredible work of fiction.

I do have to ask why you would be compelled to write such a terribly sad story.

[Doglover1988]

What a sad ending. It had me tearing up. It was a great story though.

[GreyhoundGirl]

Originally Posted by KennelMom

Uh....I'll just say it's an incredible work of fiction.

I do have to ask why you would be compelled to write such a terribly sad story.

I never said it was non fiction. What do you think I do with my free time, interview greyhound abusers?

[Ritz459]

Very good job.

I do have to ask why you would be compelled to write such a terribly sad story.

Sometimes writing sad stories is fun...well, not fun, but a way to express your emotions. That is what I love about writing...you can write about any type of emotion you are feeling.

[KennelMom]

Originally Posted by GreyhoundGirl

I never said it was non fiction. What do you think I do with my free time, interview greyhound abusers?

I never said you said it was non-fiction. And considering that story and your signature, if you really wanted me to guess what you do in your spare time I'd say yes.

And to be honest, I find the whole story offensive...but not the good offensive that really makes the reader think, question and ponder what the author is trying to convey. Just, offended and convinced that the author must never have met a greyhound to have such little grasp of them...not to mention racing. I almost laughed out loud at the race description and the fact that it was a track in South Carolina.

You never did answer my question about WHY you would want to write a such sad story with no basis in reality about something you obviously took no time to learn about. Most authors I am familiar with have a purpose in what they write...even (and sometimes especially) non-fiction - because it is in non-fiction that the author has the creative license to arrange reality to make the reader understand a point of view they might normally have not been exposed to or thought about. This story...well, it's only point seemed to be to make the reader sad and give them absolutely nothing to take away. That's why I asked YOU what your point was in writing it. I obviously missed it.

[GreyhoundGirl]

Originally Posted by KennelMom

And considering that story and your signature, if you really wanted me to guess what you do in your spare time I'd say yes.

And to be honest, I find the whole story offensive...but not the good offensive that really makes the reader think, question and ponder what the author is trying to convey. Just, offended and convinced that the author must never have met a greyhound to have such little grasp of them...not to mention racing. I almost laughed out loud at the race description and the fact that it was a track in South Carolina.

You never did answer my question about WHY you would want to write a such sad story with no basis in reality about something you obviously took no time to learn about. Most authors I am familiar with have a purpose in what they write...even (and sometimes especially) non-fiction - because it is in non-fiction that the author has the creative license to arrange reality to make the reader understand a point of view they might normally have not been exposed to or thought about. This story...well, it's only point seemed to be to make the reader sad and give them absolutely nothing to take away. That's why I asked YOU what your point was in writing it. I obviously missed it.

Okay, well if anyone here is a greyhound abuser, give me your number, I'd like to have a nice chat. Maybe we can meet and have coffee together.

As to the rest of your post, I wrote a sad story because I felt like writing a sad story. Don't ask, but I like stories like mine. I've read every book in a series of unfortunate events. They're sad. And I've obvioustly spent more time learning about it then you think.

And for the thousanth time, this ISN'T non-fiction. Perhaps you should go back and read the story. I can see you have, indeed, missed a few things.

[Carrie]

That'll do Kennell Mom. Creative people; writers, artists, musicians, craftsmen of all kinds create. They usually express what's inside of them. They are free to express how they like, whether or not everything is factual and it's no one's business why or how they create what they do. If someone doesn't like a piece of art work or a musical score, they are under no obligation to view or listen to it.

Everyone has a right to an opinion. But when you get to the point of antagonizing a member with demands, insults and rudeness, that won't be tolerated here.

Sad, but well written story Greyhound girl. You did a fabulous job. Just a note: I've read more gruesome books than that, many of which are old classics.

[Beryl]

I found it disturbing and thought it was a true account of the greyhound racing business until you stated it was fiction (or rather NOT non-fiction -- a double negative).

You asked for opinions -- it is not the kind of fiction I appreciate reading. I don't find stories about children or animals being harmed entertaining.

[Cassiepeia]

Originally Posted by Carrie

That'll do Kennell Mom. Creative people; writers, artists, musicians, craftsmen of all kinds create. They usually express what's inside of them. They are free to express how they like, whether or not everything is factual and it's no one's business why or how they create what they do. If someone doesn't like a piece of art work or a musical score, they are under no obligation to view or listen to it.

Everyone has a right to an opinion. But when you get to the point of antagonizing a member with demands, insults and rudeness, that won't be tolerated here.

Sad, but well written story Greyhound girl. You did a fabulous job. Just a note: I've read more gruesome books than that, many of which are old classics.

Well said Carrie. I agree.

If you don't like reading about things like this, don't read it. No one is forcing anyone to and it is not so graphic that it is not welcome here.

Rather than telling someone off for writing about something in a certain way, why not discuss the subject in a civil and informative manner. All writers love to learn more about their subjects and I'm sure GreyhoundGirl would welcome learning from someone with experience in greyhound racing, to help her with further stories if she wishes to write them.
But as it stands, fiction is not reality...she doesn't need to be accurate or realistic if she doesn't want to be. It's the emotion that counts and this is a very personal thing for everyone.

Well done GreyhoundGirl. I hope you'll continue to post your fiction here.

Cass.

[KennelMom]

Everyone has a right to an opinion. But when you get to the point of antagonizing a member with demands, insults and rudeness, that won't be tolerated here.

She ASKED for our opinons on it. She wrote something extremely offensive so I responded in kind. Is she the only one that can post whatever she likes in this board?

Originally Posted by GreyhoundGirl

Okay, well if anyone here is a greyhound abuser, give me your number, I'd like to have a nice chat. Maybe we can meet and have coffee together.

But she can say this???? THAT is a direct attack on ME, which I do not appreciate.

I've been a contributing member of this board for quite a while now. Maybe that was a mistake. I can not be in an environment where you allow one poster to completely denigrate another (since we DO own a race dog...which the she knows about since she knows me from another board where I posted it - and she posted in that thread. I find it SO curious that the race was in SC...where racing doesn't even exist!) AND that same poster then makes a personal attack accusing them of being a dog abuser (see above).

Rather than telling someone off for writing about something in a certain way, why not discuss the subject in a civil and informative manner. All writers love to learn more about their subjects and I'm sure GreyhoundGirl would welcome learning from someone with experience in greyhound racing, to help her with further stories if she wishes to write them.

She asked everyone's opinions on what she wrote. Had she not, I wouldn't have posted anything at all. BUT SHE ASKED. I have had discussions on greyhound racing on several boards. I *welcome* a discussion on the topic if people truly want to discuss it. And, even though I am clearly not anti-racing, I do have good friends who are. But their opinions are based knowing the facts, which I can respect. But, she didn't start a topic to discuss it or ask questions...she wrote something that is clearly inflammatory for the only purpose of being inflammatory.

You can delete my membership. I will not be back.

[trainingrixie]

"AND that same poster then makes a personal attack accusing them of being a dog abuser"

KennelMom..i don't think this was a personal attack at all. it sounds like sarcasm to me. Greyhound girl knows that no one on here is an animal abuser or associates with animal abusers...so it seems impossible to her to research this type of abuse. while I'm sure it's not impossible, it probably is tough to do.

Kennel mom...I agree that even fictional stories based on actual events should be researched heavily before being written, but that is my belief. I'm a fan of weird sci-fi stuff like Cat's Cradle and the giver....they aren't based on factual info at all....but still entertaining. and that is what the above story was meant to be...entertaining.