I am Greyhound and Proud

How My Life Began...
I was born in a puppy mill and named Ringtown Ringer. I was born to run. I was born to race around a track and come in first, winning my owner the race and the purse. If I didn't make that money for him, I served no purpose. My life would be short if I wasn't the fastest on the racetrack. Time was short to prove my worth to stay alive.

I lived in a wire cage. The cages were stacked two high, males on the bottom, females on top. I jumped five feet to get up into my cage. I ate "4D meat", also known as dead, dying, diseased, decaying cows at the time of slaughter -- considered unfit for human food. That was my entire diet -- 4D meat and whatever water was available. They didn't feed or water us at all. We spent most of our time in these cages, in trucks traveling from racetrack to racetrack in trucks that weren't heated or air conditioned, sometimes living for days in them, only allowed out for walks.

The people who tended to us regarded us as agriculture. We weren't pets, but property to be maximized for profit. If we couldn't earn our keep, we would be killed. Some people killed us quickly, while others did terrible things. The biggest problem for these humans were our tattoos. You see, every racing greyhound had tattoos in our ears. A serial number and our birthday... to make sure that we were the dogs that were posted for the race. These identified every dog and their owners. If we weren't eliminated legally, they had to cut our ears off and make sure they were missing, just in case someone found us. Some dogs I knew in Florida went out to sea and never came back. Every one knows that greyhounds can't swim...

I wasn't a very fast runner. I ran my first race and came in last. In my second race, I didn't finish. In the my third race, I came in fifth. The odds were good that I wouldn't see my second birthday. Fortunately, there are humans who want to change this. Greyhounds Only, out of Chicago, is a group that adopts greyhounds that would otherwise be killed. They had agreed with the management of Dairyland Racetrack in Wisconsin to adopt any greyhounds they didn't want anymore and find them permanent homes. Luckily, when my owner decided I was no good, I happened to be at Dairlyland. After being put on the list, Greyhounds Only put me into a no-kill shelter to await the selection of a permanent family.