Friday, February 12, 2016

Boycotts. Again.

The U.S. greyhound industry (NGA being the mouthpiece) had initiated a boycott of rescues because they oppose racing and are strong proponents of getting dogs homed.

Yeah, stress re-homing then cut the feet right out from under them.

Recently an industry-sponsored group in Florida, a track-sponsored group, had the dogs seized from them for lack of care.

Is your unholy boycott really worth risking the lives of the greyhounds?

Get off your high horses, tune out the tools of the industry, and provide for those you were entrusted with.

I have nothing but utter disgust at an industry who “loves their dogs” yet subjects them to this.

Your ivory towers are crumbling and the sooner you “save your goat” the better off you will be.

End your boycott.  You are acting like bullies on the playground.

Except it’s not a swing.  It’s a dog.


Misinterpretation Of The Point? The Galgueros Got The Point

One week ago, on February 7, 2016, I woke to a Facebook feed filled with pictures.  That, in itself, is not unusual.  What was brilliant was the cause of the photos.

(NW-I am not sharing pictures without permission but once received, they will be included.  To show the magnitude of the presence.  It is huge.)

Rallies in Australia for the disregarded and use of racing greyhounds.

Marches in Spain for the abused galgos and podencos.

Thousands of rally goers and their hounds to support “Shut It Down” around Australia.

Thousands upon thousands marching around Spain in the Million Paw March.

Now of course, the industry doesn’t “get” the brouhaha, but must issue a statement to the numbers making voices heard.

Greyhound Racing New South Wales felt they must respond to this and offered, in my opinion, an industry textbook response 

In response to the rallies against racing, they formulated and came up with the organisation had

"implemented essential reforms over the past 11 months to ensure animal welfare and integrity is at the centre of everything the sport does now and into the future".  

Right in line with company mouthpieces.

Oddly, they went on with

“measures were in place to stamp out the mistreatment of animals, which included live baiting.”

“there was still a lot of work to do in the area of the overproduction and unnecessary euthanasia of greyhounds.”

The what???  They finally admit they are wantonly killing greyhounds because there are too many coming off the tracks and they are not remotely equipped to home them.

But of course they sing the praises of the industry-sponsored rehoming groups – Greyhounds As Pets

"A total of 274 greyhounds were re-homed under the program in 2015… "

274 greyhounds rehomed in all of 2015.  I’m quite proficient at math and given the number whelped, trained, entered, “retiring” and killed on site, this appears nothing more than an embarrassment to them.  274. 

GRNSW addressed the after effects and symptoms.  These are merely outgrowths of the industry’s corruption.  But never, ever do they address the cause.

The cause is racing, in and of itself.  And these self-absorbed, bombastic fools thinking bandaids will fix it and their statement will stop anymore rallies that shine a spotlight.  See?  Duct tape!  It fixes EVERYTHING.

Even the galgueros get the point now. 

While my Spanish is minimal at best, the understanding is the galgueros are now seeing the end of their horrific traditional reign of terror on the dogs.

Listen, you race a dog, the dog risks injury.  That’s it in a nutshell, for the slower GRNSW members.  They box, they ride a rail, they collide, they flip, they break a back, they get euthanized.

1 + 1 + 1 does not equal a bandaid statement….

These marches and rallies are NOT an anomaly.  Not a one off protest.  They are a statement of public disgust.  And they won't stop.

The tides are more and more turning against you.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Sarasota Kennel Club…

Just one track that sums up the state of greyhound racing in the U.S.

The greatest description of this track, symbolizing the face of the industry written in one post:

“But age shows, like an elderly woman who changes lipstick color every few years. She still looks old. Here, age shows in breakdowns of the mechanical rabbit that the greyhounds chase. That rabbit races on a rail that circles the quarter-mile dirt track, and sometimes the rabbit loses its get-up-and-go. Workers in trenches splice and twist and coax the decoy back into action. Races get delayed.

Age also shows in a starting gate that doesn’t always open properly.”
And sums up this dangerous “sport” that only heartless could support.  And I am not the only one who believes it is time to shutter the doors.

“In some affluent circles today, dog racing is about as popular as cigarette smoking.”

As popularity wanes, so should all tolerance.

The tracks are only there to support casinos.  No one cares about the dogs.

Except us.  The ones who pick up the pieces of sad souls.
A quick trip “down under” shows this is an international effort.    

And Spain.  Ah Spain.  Where blind acceptance of “tradition” turns a blind eye to hangings of galgos and podencos.   One of the most heinous of abuse.  Voices rise and won't be silenced.
This is Spain.
This is not a sickness localized to an area.  This is not a Florida problem or an Arizona problem.

This is US, AU, NZ, IE... and the list goes on.

Worldwide, voices speak.  Loudly.  And never stop.

And it’s best to listen.

No more jacking up dogs to make the run faster for a fatter wallet.

No more dogs should ever be placed in harm’s way, risking electrocution and broken backs or bled dry. 

All for a mere pathetic bet.

For a hare caught.
These are noble hounds.  Loyal hounds.  Hounds who only understand love and a kind touch.

They deserve far more than the depravity of those who use them.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

A Broken Hock = Death Sentence

I see many posts like this.  From across the globe.  And I am royally pissed.

From Coalition For The Protection of Greyhounds:
“On 1 Nov 2015, Dubsy Russell raced at Sundown, VIC where he collided with another greyhound approaching the first turn and faltered on the second turn. He was examined after the race and a vet found that he had sustained a fractured right hock and metatarsal injuries. He was euthanised.”
A broken hockThat can be fixed.  Similar to a human broken ankle.  Last time I checked, we don’t euth humans for something treatable.  Why do they systematically and routinely kill the dogs?
“It is important to determine the cause of instability of the hock joint prior to surgery.” 
Well, let me see...  Does greed count as a cause?
Because that is the source of it all. 
A broken hock takes money to fix.  In their mind, “I’ve got others coming up to race, just put him down.  Can't make money now...”.
This industry is sick.  As in unhealthy (leaving off the mental aspect of it)
In the US, boycotts.  Pro-groups supporting them and then crying for funds on TV because the industry cut funds.
Live baiting.  Drugging.
Jesus, they have not evolved far from the days of Ronnie Williams here, and have made no move forward from a shot to the head elsewhere.
This dying industry is cancerous.  Unfortunately much like they breed in their helpless dogs.
Dubsy was 3 years old.  Euthed.  Because of greed.
Shame on this industry.  Time for governments to grow some and shut it down.
Because I am mightily sick of seeing the dogs suffer anymore.

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Too Slow They Said....

Ah, that would sum up my rescues.

They are not slow, from a layman’s perspective, but too slow to win any more money for greedy sods.

Mine were turned into a rescue.  That’s right.  A RESCUE. 

Yet other industry-sponsored groups used to euth them to make room for more. (Ah, that damn “boycott” declared by soulless fools.)

I hope that is no longer so, but who knows.  I doubt those who show their “love” of the dogs by boycotting rescues have changed their stance. 

(ok, I know they haven’t as I see the braggarts post on Rescue pages)

In Australia, the abuse is decades behind us in terms of evolving.  Or pressure to clean up your act.

For some reason, and perhaps happens here in the US, there was a brilliant idea of blooding a greyhound.  To make them faster.  Four Corners exposed the cruelty of the trainers in their documented live baiting.
you have to wonder how their children are raised...

And recently exposed are the shipments to China of “too slow” dogs.

It’s not a pretty story for us.  For them?  Pure hell. 

Even the AU industry was so adamant they banned this shipment of greyhound to certain death.

Renegades, once again, feel the “rules” don’t apply to them.  We’ve seen that with the quack vet Robinson at TGP.

Names change, but mentality doesn’t.

So they make side contracts to ship those damn slow dogs to China.  And they don't even blink.

Voices rise, the petitions are bulging.

Yet the Ag Minister sits down.  Does nothing to stop further exploitation of the greyhounds.

All by losers.

This jackass never blinked an eye... 

Even the airlines have taken a stand.  Other industries are horrified by this base industry and the destruction. 

Yet barnacle stands his ground.  Their death is on you, Barney.

(personal aside, Barnaby Joyce is a douche, useless and needs to stand down.)

Maybe, if these graceful, regal hounds were no longer judged by a time on a clock, this would no longer happen.

Maybe if this breed was restored to its once glorious state, before man’s greed sought to make money, they could live in peace.

That didn’t happen in my kids’ lifetime, but they live in peace now.

May the soulless met Karma…  Karma is just waiting...

John Lennon:
"Instant karma's gonna get you
Gonna knock you right on the head
You better get yourself together..."

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Happy 64th Birthday, Big Brother

(This blog, created for a purpose.  Today, I honor my brother.  Miss you so much.   ~nw)

“I’ve had a great life.  A happy life.  Being me.

I’ve struggled over time and I’ve struggled with health.  It shouldn’t be with sorrow that I was called home.  I was ready and I was not afraid.  While I was in no hurry to leave my beloved family and friends, this world had taken its toll. 

It used to hurt.  Every time I woke at 2 in the morning, my body protested.  Yet I never stopped and never gave up.

My 2 am mornings are past.  My pain is gone.  I never wanted to leave you, but the final round was played.
Find comfort in that there is no longer the pain I fought daily.  The fight to make ends meet.  Find comfort in that there is now peace.

Please don’t be sad for me.  I am well now.  And I am whole.

I watch over you and I feel your tears and your pain.  I try my best to send you comfort from afar.  And send little signs that just you and I would know.  And as you rest, I will always watch over you.

Please smile because I was there, don’t cry because I am not.  I am right there, inside your heart.

Laugh often over memories.  I can feel your happiness and laughter.  Laughter eases the hurt.  I know that.

And please know, and find comfort in, the knowledge I love you and always will.”

Happy birthday, Tommy.  I love you.


Friday, November 20, 2015

Racing. The Definition Of Risking Life For Money

(While I have taken a sabbatical to grieve a loss, I have not left.  And nothing would make my brother angrier than me giving up.  So, Tom…  For you)

I’ve posted in the past about the oblivious nature of the racing industry.  From the quack vet Robinson, to the utter horror of Ronnie Williams (Ebro), to Tommy the Tool Taylor.  And many more.

Those losers are gone.  And yet they are always replaced by a new group of easily bought, bribable imbeciles.

Those of low morals and no ethics.

As much as I have posted in the past ~ blasted in the past ~ the greyhound racing industry, I feel the same disgust for horse racing.

Just change the species but keep the original mentality.  Money, money, money.
They are horses.  They love to run.  Or what I think they think.

Right.  Apply a whip and I’ll run…

Horse racing is just as rampant as dog racing with injuries and death.  Perhaps not to the magnitude of greyhounds since there are, what, 6 to 10 races a day, every freaking day. 
I was good at math.  Pretty sure that increases the likelihood...
The difference with horses and dogs is those horse people report it.  And only because of national televised events of hats and fashions.  Oh, and horses...
If not for that, nothing would be said. 

And yet another magnificent innocent, killed

My blog.  My opinion.
If you willingly train and risk the life of a dog or a horse (or any sentient being) to run for money, you are culpable in their possible injury and possible death.

Enhancing performance by unnatural means and inbreeding does more harm, long term, than any paltry sum made. 

Made.  Not earned.  And their death is on you.

You can interchange dog and horse in the utter base mentality of racing discourse.

The underlying theme was, and always has been, man’s greed.

Logging off here with a personal pain.  A fellow blogger posted his last Friday Hound Blogging post

Peace be with Ironicus Maximus and thank you!  No one can tweak them better.
But know I will give it my best.

For them all...

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Words Are Never Enough

My heart is with France and all countries who suffered a loss in Paris.  Most especially the family and loved ones, the innocents, gone.

Out of horror, our voices will rise.

Out of devastating tragedy, a strength is born.

Out of the unspeakably vile actions of cowards, a unity among us awakens.

Brother with brother, sister with sister.

The actions of the hate-filled lunatic fringe unites us, arms entwined, as we grieve. 

Rest in peace, dear souls.

Saturday, October 31, 2015

My Brother. My Best Friend.


I can’t lie to you.  It hurts like hell.  My chest aches.  My tears appear out of no where.   

I know this will ease with time.  We learned that when mom died.

But it never makes it less real. 

And it puts a pall on the world as I see it.  Colors are duller, the moon less bright.  The glorious fall with the colors and football aren't interesting me like they used to.

A bright, vibrant life left.  A friend to many.  A marvelous father, son, brother, uncle and grandfather. 
You never met a stranger, did you.  So unlike me, you always brought smiles to everyone's face. 
That is a special gift.

There is no more pain now, T.  No more alarms going off at 2am to get up for a job.  No more struggles.

No more suffering.

I know you are at peace.

I know you are with our mom now.

Allow me time to grieve and cry and scream.  I know, you are laughing at me.  You always did.

I’ll work through this as best I can.  But you know that.

I will be back to fight for my greyhounds again.  I vowed to be a voice for them and I will.

Despite all my failings, you loved this best about me.

Always our dogs and cats.

Sure, I’m going to cry some more.  I’m going to hurt some more.

But above all else, I will always feel the love of my brother.

And Tom, this is the last ever acknowledgement I give to the Bucks. 

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Born December 5, 1951. 

9 months after his (our) parents were married.

Tommy is the eldest of us kids. 

I’m the youngest and the only girl.

Did I have a fierce protector growing up?

Eh, not so much.  I think I was the gnat in his life back then.

Ah, Tom, you have been my best friend over the years.

Hours on the phone talking food and football and baseball.

Every Sunday, an hour chat.  Hanging up, I’d say I love him and he’d answer I love you more.

You were just here at the house.  We talked about how good the UM-OSU game was going to be.

We watched football, you loved on my hounds.

Incredible brother, most loving dad and grandpa.  You are a rock star.

Departed October 18, 2015.

You did not leave me, damn it! 

Today is Sunday, the day I talk to my dad and my big brother.  My heart breaks.

My best friend, I love you more.  Forever.
I am still trying to process this and may never will. 

A smile.  A hug.  A laugh.  Larger than life and the happiest person ever.
I honor you, Tom.  And love you forever.


Friday, September 18, 2015


They leave us far too soon.  Suki, beloved child of Heather.  And Wilma.

Today, a warrior earned her wings. 

Right now I have nothing but tears.

Wilma was a racing greyhound.  She did not have a great early life.

So many traumas, physical and psychological, that only the love of her mom and dad could soothe and heal.

In her short time, Wilma became a voice for the greys.  And gained so much support around the world.

Amazing the message a gentle face and valiant soul can convey.

The vileness from the AU industry attacked her and her parents verbally for speaking out against that industry.  Yet you shined like a bright star.

You left us too soon, love, but know we will continue in your name and all of theirs.


Cookie Face, I know you found your sister, sweetie.  She’s in good hands now, mama.

Tracey and Andrew, my deepest sympathy.

Friday, August 28, 2015

Yay, Texas!

Yes, another one bit the dust.
Sadly, a couple hundred part time workers lose jobs.  There are a multitude of jobs out there for the taking.  I see signs posted everywhere.  While it will require people skills and some require some talent, they are out there.  Dust off the resumes.

The kennel operators?
Perfect chance to refocus your energies on dogs to home.  Doing something for good for once.

Imagine.  Greyhounds in a home.  Wow.
No risk of harm beyond a twisted ankle in the yard.

No broken backs running around that damn first turn.
No broken hocks “requiring” euthanasia.  For the record, just for those to uncaring.  That IS treatable.

No electrocution.  No dumped at a clinic as a subject to be used and disposed of.
I took a poll tonight in the home and asked would you rather be racing in Florida, shoved in a gate?  Or would you rather have your Orvis beds or a cage? 

Bed won.

Your large back yard or a track?

Yard won.

Well, what about the menu?

You get my drift.
It was unanimous.  Ebro did NOT win...
It's a perfect time to reengineer your livelihood.  Because in a dying industry, there won't be much left.
Or you can be the orchestra, playing the last song, while the Titanic sunk.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Happy 4th Gotcha Day ~ To My Crazy Craigie!!

2011 – What an emotional year in the Home of Rescues.  In January, I lost my sweet little bounceback Berry. 

So it was just me, Schemie (the macho GSD mix) and Smokey (the crotchety old kitty).  Schemie was such a great protector of his sisters Britty and Berry, I decided to adopt a new rescue friend.  So I contacted my friend Sally to meet some cat friendly houndies.  Female please…

I made a trip in May of 2011 to Indiana to meet a potential new kid.  First up was little DeeDee.  Mind you, "little" is relative as she was taller than the Macho Man…

Then I met two large brindle males – one of whom was CraigieD.  With the first one, I already knew Schemie would have problems, just due to the size and the sex.
Schem did have his machismo to protect.

Then I met CraigieD.  Equally large.  Yeah, not looking good here… 
Then one of the volunteers walked through the office while we were all in there, walked out the door and Craigie launched himself at the window after her.

Oh hell NO!  That dog is crackers.

So in May 2011, I brought home the princess DeeDee.  And there was peace in the House of Rescue. 


A month and a half later, Schemie left us at the age of 15.  Dee was so confused her friend didn’t come home and I was desolate.

So I contacted my friend, Sally, again.  I was working from home, so why not.  Old Smokey was still the pisser he always has been.  Who is left from 1 ½ months ago of those non-cat-eating hounds? (ok, they don't eat them, but Smoke was deaf at that point, so preferably one that wouldn't freak him out and send him in a tailspin...)

Craigie.  Given the turmoil of that year, I had forgotten that launching-through-the-window episode by a lunatic and met Sally in Terre Haute.

Out climbs a giant from her van.

Oh, mother of God, I forgot how large.

But was he ever lovey!

So, I bench press dead weight into my jeep and off we go for the return trip 

4 years ago today, I adopted another rescued greyhound.  His name is Craigie.  He was a pretty lousy racer, I guess, but a bigger character you will never meet.
Yes, every time I walked to the mailbox those first few months I’d see him bouncing at the window.  Sweet Jesus, Craig, I’m going for MAIL. 
Living with him, he couldn’t find his way out of a box (never sure how he was actually raced...), but man, can he excavate a yard!
Fast forward 4 years, he knows I come back.  He still digs, though I pray he loses his master digger title and stops teaching the girls the joys of destroying the yard.
The kitty he liked to goose with his cold nose has now joined my others after 20 years.
He has a new "mini me" brindle from Spain with whom he is perfecting the excavation business.  Lovely...
Happy 4th Gotcha Day, Craigie “Dillweed” McDillon!!! 
I could never imagine my life without you, you beautiful boy.  And I could not love you more.

My world is right.  Because their world is right and safe now.