Greyhounds are Gifts

Just this side of Heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies - one that has been especially close to someone here - that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water, sunshine and cozy beds, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they each miss someone very special, someone who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers. Suddenly, he breaks from the group, flying over the green grass - his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain on your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet - so long gone but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together.




Lost and wandering all alone, At last brought here to find a home A human leaves and says 'so long' I'd no idea something was wrong. No food or water comes my way, Although I wait here day by day. My stomach hurts, my tongue is dry, Still no one comes - I don't know why. A kindly word, a pat or stroke, Just anything would give me hope. My lovely eyes were once so bright, They're clouding now as pain I fight. My legs give way as all strength goes,
The agony just grows and grows.
I lie here now weak and alone,
I guess I'll never find a home.

My eyes are now dimming and finally close,
And no one either cares or knows.
I'm just a poor Greyhound alone and in pain,
This must not be allowed to happen again.

By Jean Bowler, Reading, England.


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I lie on my side. I am dying. A female blue-brindle Greyhound, Living to run. Speed was my gift from the gods. The gift, a headlong dash to death. Once I dreamed of running in an open field. No muzzle, no pain, running freely. I am in a field now. Eighteen acres of death. The bullet was meant for my brain. To be a quick death. Painless. The bullet entered my neck.
The pain rages...when will it end?
Will there be another bullet to speed my death?
No. Bullets are not to be wasted on dogs.
We were dollar signs.
Hurtling down the track.
Together a flash of colors:
Brindle, blue, black, red, white, fawn.
I was too slow to last.
Too slow to make it to age two.
A throw-away life.
When death comes I will not be alone.
There are scores of us. Thousands.
Brindle, blue, black, red, white, fawn.
We, who never knew an open field,
Have found our own field.
It is soaked with our blood.
Once I dreamed of being held in someone's arms.
Caressed, petted, loved.
All dreams are ended now in this field.
The darkness is taking me over.
Lime is thrown on my defeated, discarded body
My heart howls out ...
Let my dying matter,
Let my dying be the last.
The light dims out.
Remember, remember, remember.

by Juliet Law Packer.

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Walking down the corridor, looking through the bars We see dogs all shapes and sizes, all with mental scars. We call ourselves superior, compassionate and kind, I wonder if you've ever thought what goes on in their minds. They look to us for love, support and shelter too, Life really is disgusting from a Greyhound's point of view. Their racing life is very short, they try and do their best
Then all too soon it's time to go and die with all the rest.

They're drowned or shot, gassed and starved - it really is quite bad,
Some are hit on the head with hammers - it's shocking and it's sad.
We're trying hard to home them, and give them one more chance
As people dump them one by one, without a backward glance.

Next time you're looking for a pet and can't make up your mind,
Be sure to choose a Greyhound, who's lazy, cute and kind.
I know you won't regret it, you'll have a friend for life,
Some are sent for vivisection - and committed to the knife.



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It wasn't all that long ago I ran the dusty track for show, Devoted and driven, my face pierced the wind As race after race I fought to contend. Slow at the turn and lacking in grace I did what I could, but I never placed. I loved to run and hear the crowds roar But the cheers turned to boos when I didn't score. Folks lost their money when they bet on me, They called me a loser, said "retire number three". I had no idea what I was likely to find As I walked from the track for the very last time. My person was waiting, eyes hard, face long, I sensed inside the sadness, this time I wouldn't go home. I tried to change my person's mind And wagged my mighty tail But I knew, deep down, without a doubt Just like racing I had failed. We drove along a country road till we came upon a town Where, errected of the main road was a place known as "the pound". A pretty woman came outside and took me from my crate, My person signed the papers and looked me in the face. He said "I'm sorry, I have to leave you here and have you put to sleep,
You're not as fast as all the others, you no longer earn your keep".
I felt my heart break into bits as I walked with head bowed low,
I knew that it was over, I had no place to go.

Inside the dingy building, I was checked and tagged and weighed
A voice said, "We'll put him down tomorrow, if not today".
I heard the pretty woman say, "Don't look him in the eye,
He has that Greyhound gaze that says I do not want to die".
They put me in a kennel, with others on death row
I lay down on the concrete, and moaned so soft and low.

As morning filtered through the glass I stretched my weary bones
The pretty woman came to me and said, "It's time to go".
The hall was long and dark and cold, I did not cry or weep,
I used my eyes and face and soul, to halt eternal sleep.
She tried her best to use defence, and look away from me,
She seemed to know how wrong it was to do this deadly deed.

She bent down close and held my face against her silken cheek,
The needle entered my front leg, and quickly I felt weak.
I heard the pretty woman sob as she laid me on the floor,
I saw a last glimpse of her, and then I saw no more.

I may not have been the fastest dog to ever run the track
I just wish someone had loved me, so I could have loved them back.