What we’re used to, the incomparable grace and beauty of the greyhound in full gallop. It is a glorious thing to behold in person. The rescue organizations, as they should, speak about the idyllic beauty more than the sordid banes of life on the track.
The truth is that each and every rescue greyhound is more beautiful than the ideal you see in the show ring at Westminster. If they’ve come from the track, veteran racers or not, they are survivors. All of them have tattoos in both ears, identifying date of birth and their registration number, like denizens of the camps.
You can look them all up. There’s a list. Online. Names, dates, ancestry, racing record. Greyhound NSA.
Most of them also have scars. Usually not bad. Think of them as dings on a hard raced SCCA sports car. Many track dogs race in muzzles so they can’t snap at one another during the race.
Sometimes it’s a flat-out footrace.
Sometimes it’s a war. And racers can always crash.
And some still race without muzzles.
Teeth can and do come into play. They’re not grass eaters after all but a pack of predators chasing the same prey.
Off the track they don’t have rooms of their own. They live in tight quarters and aren’t fed individually. Disagreements occur.
In any case there are scars. Our own unsinkable Molly had only half of her right ear.
Our boy Sammy has a picturesque scar on the left side of his muzzle.
It gives him a rakish piratical look. He likes to steal food from everyone else’s bowl. When he does, I say, “Get out of there, Scarface. Now!”
You see what I mean? They’re not alabaster statues. They’re retired warhorses, and their nicks and furrows are badges of honor.
Tats and scars. The sign of prisoners throughout history. No wonder one of the great rescue foster institutions is, well, prisoners.
A way to love your greyhound more. PTSD not so much. Need for love, couches, toys, and a ready smile in response to that worried pop-eyed look, probably endless. They are so beautiful. More than we can know.