Lizzie’s Story

In 2000, by chance, I came across a young Greyhound bitch.  She was in a sorry state, very thin, depressed, and quite defensive.  She was being kept in a dark shed with no bedding or access to water. 

After negotiations, she came home with us to join our other two Greys and luckily seemed to get on with them.  Her background was awful.  She had been a very successful racing dog and had been sold to a man who regularly beat her for no reason other than he just felt like it.  I was told that he would beat her unconscious with a metal food bowl for spilling her food.  I did not blame her for all the behavioural problems she had.  She was a very difficult dog to bond with, due to her previous abuse. 

However, she did bond instantly with my partner, Gordon, and to this day is a real Daddy’s girl through and through and they adore each other. 

Her anxiety manifested itself in two ways.  She would soil in the house constantly, despite regular toilet trips and walks.  She was also incredibly destructive.  In the space of two years, she cost us thousands of pounds to repair the ‘Lizzie damage’.  She successfully ate and dug her way through a door, skirting boards, floorboards, and an enormous hole in a plaster wall.  She also destroyed many pieces of furniture, including a very expensive, heavy pine bed frame.  However, that did not matter; she could not help it. 

Lizzie eventually overcame her problems and was eventually toilet trained by 2003.  She stopped destroying things and slowly mellowed, becoming a very sweet, happy, confident dog who we absolutely adore.  She became the ‘mother’ of the pack and keeps Colin the lurcher, Blue Bob the Grey, and Daniel the Galgo in check.  It still touches me to see her gazing adoringly at Gordon and she likes to keep him clean, lying on top of him and giving him a good ‘lick wash’.  Wherever he goes, she follows and Gordon still calls her his ‘sweet pea’.  They truly have an unbreakable bond.  Unfortunately, last year we nearly lost our darling girl.

In June 2005, Lizzie was playing in the garden with one of our other dogs, our Lurcher, Colin.  There was an ear-splitting scream, a sound that we never want to hear again in our lives.  Lizzie was standing shaking, holding one leg up and could not walk.  After a few minutes, she seemed better but we took her to the Vet’s anyway.  

Lizzie was initially diagnosed with a soft tissue injury and it was thought to be due to an old racing injury in her shoulder.  Painkillers and rest were prescribed but she did not get any better.  Numerous trips to the Vet later, she was still pretty much the same and we all thought we were getting nowhere.  X-rays showed nothing so we were stumped.  Meanwhile, our Vet’s bill was mounting at a very alarming rate. 

Our Vet decided to refer us to an Orthopaedic Specialist, one of the leading Orthopaedic Vets in the country, to see if he could find out what was wrong.  We knew it was going to be very expensive, but she was worth it.  On examination, he found the problem to be coming from her neck.  He thought it could be a tumour on her spine, or a slipped disc.  She was immediately admitted for tests that evening.  She had extensive x-rays, a spinal tap and a myelogram.  Results showed that it was 2 slipped discs in her neck and that she would require surgery to take them out.  We were prepared to pay anything to help her so we went ahead with it.  The Vet expected her to have a 90% improvement following surgery and that she should improve very quickly.  He also warned us that 5% of dogs do not respond well to the operation but he was positive that Lizzie would be great afterwards. 

Within 2 days of her being discharged after the operation, Lizzie started to deteriorate.  She was in agony and was screaming and yelping and she couldn’t get comfortable at all.  She was also exhausted.  We got very strong painkillers from our own Vet but they didn’t seem to make much difference. 

One morning it seemed that Lizzie had given up completely.  The poor wee soul was exhausted and in so much pain.  She would not eat and we were struggling to syringe feed her water.  Our Vet went out of her way to make a home visit as poor Lizzie could barely move.  She was given an injection of very strong painkillers and some more tablets for later on that evening.  We are extremely lucky to have such a wonderful Vet who knows our dogs and us very well indeed.  We shared a look that meant the end was near for our poor wee dog.  If she did not improve over the next few hours, she was to be admitted to the Veterinary Hospital to get her pain under control.  She got worse and was admitted shortly afterwards.  We were all sure she wouldn’t come home again and were devastated.  Our Vet, and a Nurse, stayed up all night at the hospital with Lizzie, as they were so concerned. 

Unbelievably, against all odds, Lizzie slowly started to respond to the treatment and 2 days later, an extremely happy, ‘waggy’ dog greeted us!  Thanks to our wonderful Vet, Lizzie came home and slowly made progress.  Within a week, Lizzie was leaping around the kitchen like an idiot and is now back to normal.  She has made a wonderful recovery and darts about like 2 year old, despite her being eight this year!  Now the painful bit… 

The investigations at the Orthopaedic Specialist came to almost £800. 

The operation cost over £1000.

Consultations, investigations, treatments, drugs, home visits, and hospitalisation at our own Vet came to over £3000.  Her treatment is ongoing so that will steadily increase.  One year on and the total has almost reached £7000.  Our insurance only contributed £500.  We were lucky to be in a position to pay for this, as the alternative was to have her put to sleep, which was unthinkable, especially as the problem could be fixed.  Gordon still says he would pay it ten times over to see his girl back to normal.  She is worth every single penny.  Needless to say, we changed insurance companies for all of our dogs and made sure that they all have the best cover available.  

Who knows what is around the corner?

The Irish Two

Animal Welfare?  The Irish Saga…

I booked a cottage on the County Galway coast on a remote Island for a week for my children and I.  Initially we were going to take our dogs, but I have not spent much quality time with the children over the last few months because it has been so hectic changing job, the campaign etc. that my parents suggested keeping the dogs and let us go alone.

About two weeks before we went, Bernie from Dog Rescue Ireland in Dublin forwarded an email from a racing greyhound owner in Belfast asking her to take his greyhound because the dog kept injuring himself on the track and that it was not ‘economic sense’ to keep him.  He said that although he really didn’t want to have the dog destroyed, he would have to unless she took him. Bernie, in her usual position, is jam packed full of these ‘disposable dogs’ so wasn’t in a position to take him on. I was going via Belfast so offered to pick the dog up if anyone else could take him and Dave Linford of Poplar Farm Kennels in Peterborough offered the grey a kennel space.  We made the final arrangements and I called Belfast several times to speak with the owner, who was never in, but I confirmed that I would pick the dog, Tullyglen Buoy, up from him with the owners son.  Several other people were involved in communicating with the owner and his family throughout this stage.

A few days before we left for Galway, we arranged a ‘relay’ of individuals to transport the greyhound south to Dave.  It was arranged that we would arrive home on the Saturday night and travel down to Peterborough on the Sunday morning. 

Through the week Dave called me a few times.  Firstly he had come across a greyhound bitch that was due to be destroyed through a woman he knew in the North.  I agreed to bring the bitch back with me too.  He then got a plea from help from Bernie.  A man had called her and told her that he was going to prison on the Thursday and if she didn’t take his greyhound, he would cut its ears off and abandon it.  Bernie was understandably quite upset.  However as we knew we had to get the greyhound away from his owner and its always risky to put two male greyhounds together, we had to turn her down.  Meanwhile we confirmed that I would also pick up the bitch from the North after I picked up the dog from the trainer.  Bernie managed to fit in the other male to her already overcrowded place.  However Bernie finds it quite difficult to rehome greyhounds in Ireland – they simply are not seen as pets.

On return from Galway to the North, I received a phone call from the wife of the owner of the greyhound we were to pick up.  She told us that she had our lunch ready and that she would meet us at the bottom of the Falls Road so she could take us to her house.  I stammered – no way did I want to sit at a table with any one involved in the industry.  However we met as planned and were taken to a house.  Both of the couple were very friendly and talkative.  If I put my beliefs aside I could have even liked them.  I was taken to the back of the house where there was a concrete ‘pen’ with an eight-foot fence.  It was maybe about 6 feet by 12.  At the back were three garden huts – obviously were the greyhounds lived.  Three dogs were stretched up at the fence barking and wagging their tails.  The stench coming from them was pretty awful.  All three dogs were dirty but seemed happy enough.

The man spoke all the time to me about how fast the dogs race and how good his dogs were.  He also told me that Tullyglen Buoy was good but he didn’t take the bends at the track very well and often came away injured.  He said he was a ‘dud one’.  He said he wouldn’t ever dream of putting him to sleep, but knew his racing days were over.  I kept my mouth closed thinking that I’d seen the email of what his intent was.  He took me into his house and showed me all the trophies his dogs had won.  He had framed photos of his dogs winning races all over the place.  Particular pride of place went to photos of a dog that had won the Ulster Cup.  He kept telling what a good racer Tullyglen was and how he could win a race tonight if he wanted.  His children and baby granddaughter was there as was the family Jack Russell who was extremely overweight and extremely spoiled. 

I spoke to the wife and she admitted to me that often you hear people at the track saying that there dog is retiring.  You apparently never see the dog again and never ask where its gone because you know its either been killed and buried or taken to the vet.  They spoke about one of their greyhounds that had bone cancer.  This brought me to ask about the bone cancer that is predominant in some breeding lines of greyhounds.  They told me that everyone knows that this was because the dog that was bred from – something ‘Manx’ was injected full of ‘dope’.  I asked them if they were sure of this – they said ‘Oh yes – everyone knows that!’  They told me that the descendants of this dog get bone cancer at very young ages and mostly are put to sleep before it progresses.  They also believe that we don’t know the scale of the problem because the dogs are destroyed and there are no questions asked. 

One of the daughters had been speaking to my children and asked me if it was true that I kept THREE greyhounds as pets and that they slept in my bed.  I said yes.  She looked at me like I had just admitted to eating my goldfish.  The couple went on to admit that they were breeding from an eight-year-old bitch.  Its unclear whether she is Tullyglen’ s mother, but they did proudly tell me that Tullyglen was bred and born on the 4^th May 2000 in that very back yard.   They also admitted that Tullyglen was being replaced almost immediately.  Tullyglen’s sister was nowhere to be seen but they did admit that up until a few weeks ago there were six dogs there. I have no idea where any of the others went.

The man produced four stamped vaccination cards and told me to pick one because they were all the same.  The only part of the card that was completed was the details of vaccinations received – even the breed part was blank.  The owner told me that Tullyglen had been wormed and had ‘Frontline’ flea treatment the week before.  They told me Tullyglen’ s pet name was ‘Whitey’.  But he didn’t respond to that name at all.  We have since settled on Tully as he suits that better.  As we were leaving the woman pushed £20 into my hand.  The man helped me get Tully into the boot (I have a hatchback!).  As he shut the boot, I looked as his expression change as he saw the sticker – A Greyhound Is For Life – Not Just For Racing’. 

Meanwhile the woman from the shelter in the North called me.  I was way behind time and it was agreed that a man would drive down to the ferry terminal and meet me there.  I met the man and he looked relieved to see me.  He opened the back door of the van and I caught sight of probably the prettiest greyhound I have ever seen. She was small, white & fawn and had this ‘air’ about her.  She was gorgeous! We were passed our check-in time by now so I only had a few minutes to get all I could from the man about her.  She didn’t have a collar – just a rope lead.  They had just had her neutered and vaccinated and he gave me her details and paperwork.  She didn’t have a name and she wasn’t good getting into cars.  She had been picked up as a stray and taken to the pound. 

Because there is no hope of getting a home for a greyhound in Ireland, most greyhounds are but to sleep immediately.  A woman at the shelter and another woman, who I will leave nameless, but will never be able to thank her enough, managed to have her registered as a ‘lurcher’ instead therefore her death warrant by revealing her true breed, was never signed.  However she is a true greyhound and more than likely been a racer – her ears have tattoos. I worked out that the tattoo mark made her two years old.  Before the man left, he asked me to please find a way of helping the greyhounds there.  He said if I could find homes for them in Scotland they would even get the ferry over to meet me at Stranraer.  He said they were desperate for help otherwise they would just have to keep killing them.  I promised him I would try to help him.

We drove into the ferry terminal.  Tully was very unsettled – panting and really over-excited so we stepped out the car with them.  Tully wouldn’t drink water no matter how we tried.  The bitch didn’t seem to care about him.  She paid no attention to anything really.  The children decided we’d call her ‘Claddagh’.  We had been to the Claddagh part of Galway where the women traditionally wear rings – the Claddagh Ring.  This symbolises love, friendship and trust.  What we hope for Claddagh’ s future. 

Unfortunately we had to leave the dogs downstairs as no dogs are allowed on deck on the fast ferry – we couldn’t get the slow one because I get very sick on it.  I worried the whole journey.  When we did get back to the car, Tully was in an awful state.  He was panting hard, howling and barking.  Claddagh was curled up asleep. The kittens were fine.  We stopped at Stranraer where I gave Tully the last of the water and gave him a little walk.  He was so uptight and excited.  His panting did not get any easier.  We drove up to Girvan where I bought another bottle of water.  We then took both of them a long walk on the beach.  The beach amazed Claddagh – she kept stopping to look out to sea.  It was like she’d never seen the sea before.  I noticed she was also quite jumpy when she saw passing cars.  I think she came from a rural place.

We stopped again but Tully didn’t stop panting nor did he seem to calm down any.  We arrived home and got out the car.  Tully cocked his leg and was urinating blood.

I was so worried and called Dave.  Dave said he didn’t know what was up, but it sounded like something soldiers used to get after marching for too long.  We decided that the best course of action was for me to call my vet.  I phoned the emergency vet and told her what had happened.  She advised me that this was actually not blood but muscle wastage passing through his kidneys.  She said this is common in greyhounds when they get over excited and often happens when they overdo racing.  She advised that I keep Tully as cool and calm as possible and make him drink lots to wash it through. She advised me that if he were still the same the next morning to get him in to the vets, as he would need to go on a drip.  I advised her that he was to travel south in the morning.  She advised me strongly against this saying that he must not travel until at least Tuesday.  It was settled – they were staying here until Tully got better. 

The first night I shut them in my living room when I finally went to bed at 3 a.m.  Tully howled and barked the whole night.  Fortunately I don’t have neighbours so I was able just to leave him – I was very aware that what I did could affect his rehoming.  In the morning he was urinating normally.  However I did notice that he was crawling with fleas and that he had worms. Since then he has been fine at night and ok about being left.  He is rather boisterous and very clumsy, but he is such a nice natured dog.  Claddagh is so affectionate.and stands for long periods of time being petted. 

On the Tuesday we took both to the vet.  The vet was not happy with Tully’s urine sample and advised he should be taken back on Friday before the second attempt at taking him to Peterborough.  The vet agreed that his vaccination card was not only a year out of date but extremely dodgy and we agreed to have him vaccinated again.  The vet believed this as there was no way Tully had been ‘Frontlined’’ or wormed the week before.  She asked me what Tully was being fed on.  I told her the owner said he’d been fed things like chicken.  The vet advised me to continue on the low protein food as him being over excited and boisterous could be down to his diet. 

Claddagh was given a clean bill of health and had her stitches from being neutered removed.  She is underweight but the vet believes that both dogs ill be fine when they receive some TLC.  Tully returned to the vet on Friday and although he has protein in his urine still, he is healthy enough to be booked in to be neutered next week.  This might just stop him from cocking his leg everywhere and calm him down!

Both dogs are finding things like the washing machine, stairs, the hoover, cars a little odd.  However both have now settled in well and have met my three and the cat.  My cat hates dogs and has ‘sorted’ them – they’ve not attempted to chase her after she thumped them.  My Kyle has been quite awkward with Tully and Claddagh barks at all of them if they wake her up by moving around, but both of them seem a lot happier and settled. They are both very attached to us already and so affectionate and trusting.  I worry about Claddagh though – she is very quiet– if only they could talk and tell you what has happened in their short lives.  But then I think it’s just as well we don’t know…

Meanwhile Dave has given the kennel he had waiting to another emergency case after I agreed to keep Claddagh and Tully for a further fortnight.  I hope I will be strong enough to hand them over when the time comes. The same shelter Claddagh came from has contacted me again about another bitch in similar circumstances.  However after finding a foster home for her, she was reclaimed by her owner.  Sadly I have a feeling that she wasn’t wanted back because she was someone’s loving pet.  We are waiting to hear about another greyhound Bernie has.  She’s had four phone calls in the last week asking for homes for dogs in Dublin.  One of these dogs is being released from the laboratory at the University – he was a blood donor.

I have barely slept since I came home.  I can’t stop wishing that I’d taken a van and collected the dogs at the cottage in Galway and there has been several times where I have talked myself out of going back to get them.  And if we did?  The owners would just get themselves others.  I have been thinking hard about what we can do for the Irish greyhounds.  What can we do?  Save a few? Help ease the burden from the likes of Bernie and others who do all they can?  There is something seriously wrong.  My sensible head – and my friends and family tell me that I can’t save them all.  However my heart says I must try and help the dogs.  People tell me the campaign is more important because we need to stop the cause rather than just try and block the leaking tap of greyhounds.  I know this and feel stronger about things than I ever have before. 

The saddest thing is that there will be 15000 Tully’s and Claddagh’s this year.  This will be in Ireland alone.  The bottom line is that we’ll never even get to the tip of the iceberg. I look at my three and the Irish two and I think they are the lucky ones…

My Trip To The Greyhound Race Track, by F.J. aged 11.

My Mum, sister and I went to Northern Ireland for the weekend. My Mum finds out things about greyhound racing and what happens so she can try and stop it. Mum hates greyhound racing because of all the dogs that suffer and die.

We live with lots of greyhounds at home and I like them although they take up the couch and don’t behave sometimes. Mum says this is because of how they are treated when they race. I know that there are too many greyhounds and not enough homes like ours for them which means that some of them die. That makes me sad.

Mum said we were going to one of the greyhound tracks in Northern Ireland called Ballyskeagh near Belfast. We went and pretended that we liked it and bet on it but we didn't. I felt a bit scared because I didn’t know what would happen.

We got to the parking lot and Mum stopped the car. Mum gave the man 20p so we could park. The man taking the money was tall and thin and he had a yellow jacket on. He looked a bit strange let us go through and there were lots of cars. The building was tall with graffiti on the outside wall and we got out the car and walked to the entrance.

There were two men who were waiting and we paid them £5 for Mum and they let me and my sister go in free. We walked through the entry bit and walked out into the stadium. I looked around and there was lots of people. I started to become really sad as I hated being there. There were lots of men shouting and swearing. Especially at the men taking bets. Who would be silly enough to bet on a living dog?

I sat down on a dirty blue chair. The stadium was big and dirty and quite scary. There was a football pitch in the middle. Mum said that it was a greyhound racing track as well as a football pitch.

Mum asked me to go to the barrier and look at the sand. I did and I could see the concrete underneath it. Mum said that the man who owned the track had fallen out with some people and couldn’t get anyone to sell him sand. She also told me that one of our dogs at home had broken her leg at this track and that made me very sad.

I heard a horn of some kind being called and the shouting with the men and the bets stopped. The dogs looked terrible. They were thin and you could see their bones. Not like my own dogs. I stood over beside the cages that they put them in at the start and some of the men were quite rough pushing them in and closing the door. The dogs looked sad. I started to worry about them.

When they were in the hatches the rabbit came zooming round and the hatch opened and out came the dogs. I knew what went on after this. The dogs ran round the track and people started shouting. It was minging. The people were shouting and swearing at the dogs. It was terrible. We stayed for seven races.

I was scared about one of the dogs who came last but quite a bit behind the other dogs. I also heard one of them scream after being knocked over by another dog while they were running.

My sister who is 6 nearly gave us away by getting quite upset and saying loudly that she thought it was cruel. We went to the toilets and stuck some stickers on the doors. Mum said that it was wrong but this time she wouldn’t ground me!

We went out to the car and drove off. I hated it. I am scared that some of these dogs will die now. Mum said that in Northern Ireland greyhounds die every day. I know they die here too but more of them die over there when they can no longer run. When I got home I cuddled my greyhounds hard.