Adopt a Greyhound

A few months ago my library had a program that was almost enough to turn me into a dog owner. A woman from the Augusta area Greyhound Placement Service came to talk about their Adopt a Greyhound program, and about greyhounds in general. She brought her own two dogs, who were beautiful, and beautifully behaved. They let us pet them to our hearts' content, which Beverly said is typical of them, and which is also very soothing. I can see why one of the people who posted an entry on the organization's web site talked about taking his greyhound with him when he went to work at a summer camp. The dog serves as dog therapy for homesick kids.

Since it was a cold January evening, Beverly's two serene beauties arrived wearing their winter coats. I used to think people were foolish, putting clothes on dogs, but now I understand that for some dogs it is a real kindness, since they have very thin natural coats. And greyhounds really are to a large extent "skin and bone," with very little protective fat.

The dogs to be found at the Placement Service, as at similar organ-izations throughout the country, are racetrack retirees, looking for a good home in which to grow old. They are thus not frisky puppies, but calm senior citizens.

On the other hand, one of the interesting – and daunting – things Beverly mentioned is that when you contract to take one of their dogs, you have to sign an agreement to keep it on a leash whenever you take it out. She used a term I'd never heard before – sighthound – to describe the greyhound's nature, which means if it sees something it identifies as "prey", i.e., something moving fast, it's going to take off after it. At the kind of speeds that make it so impressive on the race course. I'm sitting there thinking, 'And little old me holding onto a leash is going to keep it from taking off like that?' I had a cartoon-like mental image of a fat, balding man flying through the air at the end of a leash behind a fang-baring greyhound, in pursuit of a kitty cat.

My brother and sister-in-law in Texas had a greyhound for years, and I always thought having such a large dog gallumping around the house would be a drag. Well, certainly in my tiny house it would be, but apparently a normal-sized house is quite enough room for most greyhounds who are, after all, accustomed to spending much of their time, when not racing, inside kennels. I had also been rather ap-palled by the large "cage" (my word – I think crate or kennel is what they're usually called) the dog was consigned to when Steven and Loretta left the house, and at night. But, again thanks to Beverly, I have learned that these are not cruel doggy prisons, but places where the animals feel safe, and which they know they must not "dirty."

Actually, the issue of "going" was one of the more amusing that came up. Beverly said you often have to encourage greyhounds to go out to do their thing, because they don't necessarily let you know when they need to. Do not scratch the door, bat your leg or whine, etc., like other dogs.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not really a dog person, at least not in terms of owning one myself. But if I were to change my mind -- and if I had the necessary $175 "donation" -- I think it would be for one of these graceful, gentle, doe-eyed creatures – that almost never bark! (Barking being one of the things I don't like about dogs.)