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.

Friday, August 14, 2015

Wow, Do We Love Our Dogs or What (Part ?)

“We love our dogs”.  Standard industry-issued mantra.  Must repeat often to brainwash themselves that they believe do.  Their “wine Margaritas” helps in this…

I’ve always been convinced those die-hard greyhound industry people were a tad unstable. 

I mean, really, to go to such extents to haul them across the country to make a few bucks.  Putting them at risk in the haulers in sweltering heat.

Jacking them up to prevent females going into heat and doing untold damage to the females.

Not to mention the psyche of the rescues.  I’ve had my share of rescues.  They carry a lot of baggage with them that could have been avoided had not greedy fools thought to make a quick buck off them.

Sadly, they don’t see what they do.  Just breed more.  Some might make it but some will be a champion…

While I’m in the US the news from down under demonstrates the mentality of those in the racing industry…

Brother against brother  Wonder why they were fighting over the same racing dog…  I can only surmise.  Bought/invested together?  Whatever precipitated this, stabbed in the chest?  Your own brother??  Damn…

Animal welfare officers, necessitated by the unveiling of live baiting, not only practiced in a remote location but prevalent throughout the racing industry, shot at? 

“If these allegations are proven to be correct then this is another example of the kind of behaviour that is not welcome in the Victorian greyhound racing industry, or anywhere for that matter.”

This bombing thing?  I don’t know the story.  But again a trainer in the greyhound racing industry.  Call me naïve, but anti-racing folks don’t build bombs.  I can barely build a bookshelf…

All I see is violence begets violence and for whatever reason, it seems prevalent in this industry.

The sunshine, lollipops and rainbows the industry presents is a façade.

It’s an industry.

And as such, the bottom line is the almighty dollar for them.  Money first, dogs last.

The fact that this "industry" continues to be a welfare organization, subsisting on government/taxpayer funds to survive is an affront.  Because "welfare" does not seem to be in their makeup. 

WHEN racing industry ends, and there are no more to rescue because they have been restored to their original honored place, I will smile.

There are many others needing rescuing.  And the greyhounds will be safe.

(For the ones claiming I am part of a rescue where I live, I am not.  I am not part of those I chose to support.   I choose to support them.  Fact check...)

Monday, July 6, 2015



Many friends have faced it and fought it.

Some beat it.  Some did not (R.I.P. Michelle).

Many friends are facing it with their greyhounds.  The numbers of those greyhounds suffering from this is unacceptable.

I just learned another dear friend has received the dreaded diagnosis of cancer.

Yes, I will take this post to say, stop your god-damned selective breeding to get the fastest hound.

They may be fast enough to make you a couple of bucks, but you risk their lives.  And not only on the track...

They deserve better than this. 

Friday, June 19, 2015

So, Rescue Is A Bad Thing?


A wealth of meaning in one simple word.

Rescue means to remove and keep someone from an unsafe situation.
  • Something dangerous
  • Something harmful 
Be that someone a human or a dog or a cat or whatever. 
The ones who seek to minimalize or condemn the word “rescue” should look a bit deeper in their soul.  It lacks empathy.
Making that very word a vile thing to post shows a total lack of empathy for the world around. 

I’m giving my post up to the incredible Max.  No one points the idiocy of this leech industry better.

Truth be told, these dogs in my home are RESCUES.  No one wanted them other than to use them for financial reasons.

Once they were of no use, they became a liability.

Yet the industry cuts its own throat by boycotting rescue groups.  Is there that little care given for finding dogs their first homes?
(rehoming?  really....  )
So yes, I consider mine precious children rescues from one cold, uncaring industry.

I will forever say, RESCUE PROUD.

And thanks Max, for making it blatantly obvious how little they care.

Friday, June 5, 2015

But They Say They Love Their Dogs, Right??

Well, at least that’s what the racing manual says they should say.  Ok, I don’t know that there is really a “manual”.  More like a trait manifested by inbreeding.  Repeat mantra and all will believe that...

I’ve not run into a more vindictive group of people in my life.  They practice redirecting probing questions.  They attack and they threatened and attempt to intimidate. Sorry, not naming names, they know and we do.

But true nature always comes out.

In Australia, live baiting is decimating the industry.  Accusations of “dobbing(I think that’s a local term for “bring me down I’ll bring you down”) spew from one Tom Noble, trainer extraordinaire.
Noble, in the very thick of this mess, cries, you should have stopped me. 
The board is to blame for not stopping you, old Tom?  Really...  You sticking to that story?
The entire Queensland racing board has been sacked, as in don’t let the door hit you in the…  Why, oh why, can't we do that here?  Oh.  No board...

Here in the US, the vileness just continues.  They’ve tried boycotting anti-racing groups.  It’s not been all that successful. 

They have threatened friends.  Again, not that successful since my friends have backbones, unlike them.

Last attempt is utter snarky-ness. 

Snarky is a term for nasty, biting, with no teeth.  Well, my definition, anyway.

Friends of mine (get over it, trolls) adopted a rescue. 

Snarky abuse ensues.  Love your dogs, eh?  Intro into base mentality.

Heaven forbid a rescued greyhound is adopted into a loving home that cares for them, sees to their needs, feeds them well and never harms them.  Oh.  Right.  That wasn’t the racing manual…  React, accuse, lie.
I knew if I waited, my hero would post about this, in his most brilliantly, sarcastic way...

Yes, I oppose greyhound racing. It should not be an epiphany for you.  I am honest, if nothing else.
My greyhounds are rescues from an industry that had no use for them when they quit winning.  They had limited options. 
Thankfully, one option was a RESCUE group.
And life has been heaven for them!


Sunday, April 26, 2015

My Kids Are Homed, Not Re-homed, Rescued, Not Retired

Semantics.  I think sometimes people use terminology to attempt to justify what they do and their existence.

Rescued greyhounds are not re-homed.  A dog that never had a home can’t be re-homed.  They are homed.

Greyhounds coming off the track were never in a home.  Unless you consider living in a cage and running for your life a home. 

It is homing for a dog who should never have been in that place to start with.

And I find it tragic there are those who broadcast racing greyhounds off the track are “retired” greyhounds.

Those who claim these racing hounds are retired, please explain retired from what.

As a working person, retirement means I chose this profession and work so that I may one day retire.

I was not bred and born for the sole purpose of earning money. 

Nor was I judged at a young age whether or not I could “make the grade”.

There was never a thought of culling and no one ever judged me to not being good enough.

No one put my life in danger of electrocution or a broken back or a broken neck or leg where a track quack would administer pentobarbital.  Or taken off site for a shot in the head.

I wonder how many of these dogs at Shawfield “retired” and were “re-homed”.

More important, how many met the quack vet.

Shared from Grey Exploitations:

“Last night at Shawfield dog track and for the 3rd time in as many months - the traps failed to be removed from the track during a race. The hare was stopped at the third bend - resulting is sheer carnage with only 2 dogs finishing the course.
We will never know the fates of these poor dogs - as the industry is self regulated and accountable to no one.”

Sums the industry up in a nutshell.
My angels are rescued and homed.  NOT “retired” nor “re-homed”.


Sunday, April 19, 2015

Boycotts Keep Showing Up In My Radar

That is not a good thing...

Having seen a recent attack by pro-racing advocates, gloating about their “ability” to deny rescued dogs has me furious.

Yes, they are RESCUED, get over it.

I am completely overwhelmed by this boycott nonsense these idiots brag about.  I thought you people loved your dogs.

It doesn’t appear that you do.  You would deny them a loving home where they will be cared for the rest of their lives.  Cared for in a sense you could never give them, because in their new home, they’re not a money machine.

Speaking personally, my RESCUES thrive in their new world of couches and beds and yards.  They are no longer shoved into boxes to chase some damn lure to make you money.

Prove you love your dogs.  Let them go to rescues and who gives a damn if the rescues don’t support racing.

Get off your useless high horse, stop sucking the life out of them and give a damn about the greyhounds.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Dogs Are Not Wastage

I’ve had dogs almost my entire life.  They have been loving members of my family, from a little brother to my own kids.

I’ve known about the dumped dogs at the pound.  Where do you think some have come from here in my world?

Through the wonder of internet, I’ve learned of far worse crimes against the dogs.

I learned of greyhounds starved to death, with no intervention from anyone, shoved into freezers and trashcans.  (Ronnie Williams, Ebro).

I’ve learned of greyhounds given amphetamines and steroids.  (Always in the news with the positive tests)

I’ve learned of secret, off-sight injections given to females to stop them going into heat.  (Yep, good ol’ TGP…)

I’ve learned that dogs used in fighting and if that fighting did not end in the death of loser, the dogs were electrocuted, beaten and killed.  (saying no more than Mikey Vick)

I learned that in Spain, when the horrid gaglueros are done with their hunting dogs (many having come from Irish Racing), they meet all manner of death.  Dumped in killing stations, drowned in rivers, tossed in wells to starve or hung.  All to pay them back for not doing what the galgueros wanted.

I learned that in Australia, unworthy (please know that means non-winning) greyhounds are considered wastage.  They are dumped in mass graves, taken to clinics to be bled to death or shipped out to countries with zero animal welfare oversight. 

Yes, even less than ours apparently are…

I’ve learned of mass graves all over this world, UK, IE included.

Did any of these idiots involved in the industry, fighting, ever think of getting a real job instead of making a dog work to the death to support them?

Given the one instance of one owner whose dog raced, quit winning and was turned into a brood bitch and at 11 years old given to a racing –sponsored adoption group, pretty damn doubtful.


Stop treating them as such.  Your game of uselessness is up.