When my sister Jan, decided she wanted to get a dog, roughly 9 years ago, we started researching to find the ideal dog for her. She wanted a calm breed that would get along with her two cats, who wouldn’t shed too much, and wouldn’t be too active in the house. Having a bad back, she wanted a dog that she could go on leisurely walks with, who wouldn’t strain at the leash. She loved boxers, but they required more exercise than she felt she could provide. Labs fell into the same category. She didn’t want a toy breed or a breed that required a lot of grooming.
I told her to get a stuffed animal.
After a while, I remembered that I had read somewhere about retired racing greyhounds and how they had a calm nature, were quiet in the house and, once retired, didn’t need loads of exercise. They were short-haired and were leash trained during their training at the track. They seemed perfect except that she’d never even considered them as a potential pet. We started researching again, learning all we could about the breed and browsing Grehyound adoption agencies online. We learned that once adopted, most of them housetrained very easily, and many lived quite comfortably with cats.
My sister had found her breed.
When Jan and her husband went to adopt her boy, Jacob, I of course, had to go along to “help”. We walked into the kennel at Greyhound Adoption Service in Salisbury, MA., and just oooh’d and aahh’d at all the sweet greyhounds clamoring to see us through their crates. As we looked around, I noticed a big, red fawn greyhound over in the corner, in one of the bottom cages. He was curled up tight and staring out at us with a truly hateful glare. He didn’t get up to greet us like the other dogs and really looked like a dog with a bad attitude. He gave me a chill. I nudged Jan and said, “Ooh, look at THAT one! I’d NEVER adopt him, he looks like he hates the world!” Jan agreed.
We were at the kennel for a few hours and Jan saw quite a few greys before she chose Jacob, a big 5 year old red brindle male, whose racing name was “Ima Royal Son.” Now and then I’d glance over at that bottom cage and there was that dog…glaring out at us, his head down and his eyes looking up. Again, I was struck by how cold his eyes were. Finally, Jacob’s adoption was complete and we left. We even talked about that nasty looking dog with the scary eyes, on the way home in the car.
After meeting Jacob, all I could think about was adopting a greyhound and I finally convinced my husband that we needed a dog. I spent hours and hours looking over the GAS website. I saw a couple of dogs that I was interested in and there was one in particular, Blazing Diablo, a 2 year old fawn, who I thought was so pretty, but I didn’t consider because he was recovering from a broken hock. At the time, I didn’t know anything about injuries, and I didn’t know if this dog would require further treatment or have special needs that I wasn’t equipped to deal with, so I eliminated him from my choices.
About a month later, the day of my adoption appointment came and now Jan came with me. We arrived at GAS and I had my little list of the dogs I wanted to meet. We noticed that the dog with “those eyes,” was still in that bottom cage.
One of the dogs I wanted to meet had already been adopted, one was recovering from injuries sustained in a fight and wasn’t available at the time, and the other one just wasn’t the right fit for my family. Marilyn, the director of GAS, had other ideas for me anyway. She showed me several dogs that she thought would suit me and my family, and while they were wonderful, they just didn’t “click”. Finally, Marilyn said, “There’s one more I’d like you to meet.” With that, she walked to that bottom, corner cage, opened it and let out the red fawn dog with the “hateful eyes”. Out bounded the most joyful, goofy, sweetest greyhound of all the greys that I’d met that day. Not only was this the dog that I thought had evil eyes, he was also “Blazing Diablo”, the dog with the broken hock, that I said I wouldn’t adopt! Marilyn explained that his leg was fully healed and shouldn’t need any further treatment or special care. She thought he’d fit in wonderfully with my teenage boys and since he wasn’t cat-safe and I didn’t have a cat…well he did fit. He won my heart with his sweet, joyful nature and I brought him home that day and named him Dash.
After Dash was home, I realized that those eyes weren’t glaring out at us with hatred and mean spiritedness, but with boredom and futility. He was a healthy, good natured 2 year old who had been waiting for someone (ME!) to notice him and bring him home forever. He had been at the kennel for 6 months during his recovery and I believe he was depressed and starting to lose hope. When that kennel door opened and he bounded out to greet me, his new life began.
Now, nearly 9 years later, dear Jacob isn’t with us anymore. Three years ago, he developed Lymphoma and had to be put to sleep. Dash will be 11 in July and had his own bout with cancer last February. He beat it and thankfully, is healthy for the time being. I look at his beautiful eyes now and wonder how I ever saw hatred in them. I see pure devotion, he loves us and he knows we love him. Sometimes I see mischeviousness, there are paper towels to shred and socks to steal. Sometimes I see anticipation, there are walks to take and goodies to beg for. Most times I just see contentment, that comfortable, knowing look, that says he has us wrapped around his great big paws and we won’t ever let him down.
He knows he’s home forever.
