the house of camera egoists » dog

Rescue me

liza — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 22:19:36 +0000

When people meet my greyhound they often ask, “Did you rescue her?” I say “yes” but always feel awkward about it.

It’s an odd question. Yes, she used to race and then her racing career ended, and twenty years ago that would be a death sentence for a greyhound. Yes, I adopted her. No, I did not break into the dog track, tear open her kennel and fight our way out in a hail of bullets. I would, though.

Greyhound people will instead ask, “Was she an ex-racer?” The answer is rarely no. In the United States virtually all greyhounds are ex-racers.

There are only thirteen states with active dog tracks. Massachusetts has two: Wonderland and Raynham Park. Vision raced at Raynham until they kicked her out, probably with some embarrassment.

In 2008 there will be a statewide referendum to ban greyhound racing. The 2000 referendum was barely defeated by two percentage points and of course that was before the Michael Vick scandal. The racing industry is therefore taking this one seriously and has repeatedly claimed that “more than 90 percent” or even “100 percent” of ex-racers are eventually adopted. This is patently ludicrous as 100 percent of dogs of no breed are suitable for living in a home. It also ignores a most basic fact about selective breeding: not every dog is a candidate for racing at all. These dogs are culled before they ever make it to a track.

Vision had three littermates. Two dogs raced but their careers have ended. One never raced. After that, the records end. It’s impossible to know for sure, but probably no one rescued them.

Celebration

liza — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 00:36:43 +0000

Our greyhound is commemorating the Fourth of July in several ways, some simultaneous:

Hiding in the bathroom
Compulsively drooling
Panting
Running upstairs
Curling up in the corner
Shivering uncontrollably
Running downstairs
Panting

Keep setting off those fireworks, guys!

One problem with greyhounds

liza — Fri, 15 Dec 2006 01:28:24 +0000

Long noses fit into human drinking glasses, when you aren’t looking.

Possibly a flauta?

liza — Sat, 10 Jun 2006 01:40:20 +0000

Here is a typical conversation in our house:

Vision is sitting in the corner, looking at me with big brown eyes. I say, “You know what I’ve concluded?”

Dan says, “What?”

“Vision is a petunia.”

“She is a petunia,” he agrees.

“She’s also a little bit of a McNugget.”

“Oh she’s a McNugget!”

Now I’m getting carried away. “She is also a rhubarb compote.”

“No way,” says Dan. “She is so not a rhubarb compote.”

“She is so!”

“Nuh-uh.”

I scowl. “Well, she’s definitely an enchilada.”

“Hmm.”

“Vision, are you an enchilada?”

Vision says nothing. I bend down to her eye level and ask, “Who’s an enchilada?” She stares at me, wide-eyed. “Is it you? IS IT YOU?”

“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Vision shrieks. She rolls over and covers her face with her paws. Then she flips upside-down and I rub her tummy.

“See? She’s not an enchilada.” Dan considers her. “Maybe a chimichanga.”