Wheelistically @ Claire.NU

Why A Grey­hound?
Before we adop­ted Ziggy, every time someone asked what kind of dog we’d like, our response was met with a WTF–face and a “You want a Grey­hound?” in the same voice you might say “You want a 3ft, Plague-carrying rat?”

I’d like to explain.

I began ser­i­ously research­ing get­ting a dog a couple of years ago. Through my research, we came to real­ise that we wanted to adopt a ken­nel dog, as opposed to buy­ing a pedigree-puppy from a Ken­nel Club breeder. But aside from know­ing what “Bat­ter­sea Dogs Home” was, I knew jack about adopt­ing a dog — and so asked Google.

I typed in some­thing like “adopt­ing a dog” and was smacked around the back of the head with site after site offer­ing Grey­hounds. As well as know­ing jack about dog adop­tion, it turns out I also knew jack about Grey­hounds, apart from the fact that they raced at local tracks in my area and looked kind of funny. Less like a dog and more like a giraffe-like deer with a dog’s head pho­toshopped on at one end.

What fol­lowed was a jour­ney that turned almost into an obses­sion as I absorbed more and more inform­a­tion about the breed: the racing and their retire­ment. I joined for­ums and Flickr groups, bought books and read blogs. The more I read about their tem­pera­ment and looked at the pho­tos, the more I fell com­pletely and totally in love. The “45MPH Couch Pota­toes” as they’re known were unique, gentle and beau­ti­ful, if a little quirky. They soun­ded the per­fect dog for our fam­ily; serene and intel­li­gent and (con­trary to pop­u­lar belief) they don’t need a 5 mile run every­day. And I wanted to give one a home. NOW.

K took months of per­suad­ing, she just couldn’t get past their extreme aes­thetic — until I explained to her that (in this coun­try) a racer’s career lasts 4–5 years max­imum and then, the dog is (at best) sold on to live out its years rot­ting in a draughty ken­nel, or (at worst) ter­min­ated Gulp!, unless of course, someone chooses to adopt them as a pet.

Her little heart broke into pieces.

She just thought that all of the dogs that were raced were people’s fam­ily pets and that dogs homes/kennels were like on the Dogs’ Trust TV ads where little geri­at­ric ter­ri­ers perch on sofas and aban­doned pup­pies play in a garden and pose for their monthly news­let­ter photo.

How did you get a Greyhound?

Since then, she’s fol­lowed me on my research jour­ney and has become as smit­ten with the breed as I have; a sen­ti­ment that cemen­ted when we went to visit a branch of The Retired Grey­hound Trust ken­nels. The RGT rehomes Grey­hounds that have retired from their racing career (due to age and/or injury) and hounds that never got to begin their career in the first place (pups and young dogs that fail to make the grade in train­ing and on the test track).

Seven weeks ago today, we met our dog. Ours. The hound per­fect for us. Credit for this goes com­pletely to those that work at the RGT Ken­nels. That par­tic­u­lar branch has almost FIFTY dogs and yet they know each as an indi­vidual; likes, dis­likes, per­son­al­ity, tem­pera­ment, his­tory, who’s related to whom, where they raced, where they’re from, everything. Off of the top of their heads. They’re very hon­est and even tell you the not-so-good news, the things that would poten­tially put you off; the ones that have beha­vi­oural prob­lems, the ones not good with chil­dren or other anim­als, the ones that are known to be bois­ter­ous, dis­obedi­ent and a handful.

I tele­phoned to enquire first and it’s like a match-making ser­vice. They ask you about your life, your fam­ily, your work, your routine and your accom­mod­a­tion and also what you want from a dog: the type you’re after and the sort of things you’d like to do with a dog as part of your fam­ily. Then, when you visit in per­son, they’ve made a list of about three “matches” and intro­duce them to you, with the most “ideal dog for you”, first.

Ziggy was our “first match” and we fell in love there and then. He was just what we’d wanted: a very young, act­ive Dog (we’d decided against get­ting a Bitch) with a gentle tem­pera­ment and a black coat. For some reason, the black ones are always last to find homes as most people prefer the other col­ours. We actu­ally pre­ferred the look of the black dogs and it turns out that (accord­ing to the ken­nel keep­ers exper­i­ence) the black ones tend to be calmer.

We were there for hours. One of the employ­ees had brought her 8 week old pups into work with her (as they were not old enough yet to be left home alone). Chloe the JRT/Chihuahua-Cross (a “Jack­hua­hua”, a “Chi-Russell”?) and Daisy the Jack Rus­sell Ter­rier snuggled their way on to my lap and melted my heart, which had frozen in the miser­able Novem­ber weather.

Daisy was a typ­ical Jacky in every sense: full of beans and eager to be let down on the floor to play and explore. The Chi­hua­hua in Chloe made her much more fluffy and par­tial to snuggles than her mate and so I had a warm little buddy that was con­tent to chew my scarf and be cuddly com­pany for most of the visit.

Aside from being abso­lutely ador­able, the pup­pies con­firmed to me what I’d sus­pec­ted: Claires in Chairs aren’t cut out for iddy-biddy pup­pies. On the floor, the littl’uns barely rivalled the size of my front castors and I was com­pletely pet­ri­fied that I might acci­dent­ally squish a speedy little bundle of pup under my wheels. Also, being so far down, they were totally out of my reach and with them being so fast, I was totally out of my depth. Tiny, nippy little ter­ri­ers were not made for the likes of me. I needed some­thing much big­ger that took life at a slower pace.

I needed a Greyhound.

To Be Continued…