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 looser, 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.
This poem is all too sad, but unfortunately true. Many Greyhounds are put to sleep simply because they are not the fastest or they can not compete any longer. Many organizations are trying desperately to rescue these wonderful dogs. Thanks to Claudia at spaces.msn.com/members/maggic-maggie.