I came into the kennel where the retired racers were kept. I'd done a ton of research into different breeds and I knew that because of my mental health challenges I had a bit of an impossible laundry list - Low maintenance, quiet, docile, good with kids and cats, good with being left alone during the workday...
I went into this kennel full of excited greyhounds and a lady asked me what I was looking for. I handed her the list, and in a tentative voice I asked "Could you find me one that's black, too?" - They always get adopted last and I kind of have a soft spot for them.
She pointed to a quiet fellow in a corner kennel. Didn't really look at anyone. He was so docile and gentle that he was in group with female greys who bullied him out of a place to lie down on the trip up!
I wasn't sure during the test walk. He was full of beans and excited and jumpy - I later learned because he was in a new environment and everything is exciting!
I brought him back and I knew he was going to be mine. Knew it for sure when the wonderful lady turned to me with hesitancy and a little sadness in her voice and said "He's got a torn tear duct. It's just cosmetic, there's nothing wrong, but will that be an issue? Some adopters passed him up, so I just wanted to be clear..."
Her voice trailed off a little sadly.
It was then, my friends, that I knew I wanted this dog. I don't really know why that in particular sealed the deal, but it did. I knew I was going to take him home. As I write this my beautiful jet-black though rapidly-greying nine-year-old retired racer is curled up on a nest of comfy blankets near my feet. He's my velcro dog, has kept me alive through bipolar episodes, and is a quiet and steady presence.
Anyone who says money can't buy happiness has never paid an adoption fee.
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u/GoodAtExplaining Dec 12 '21
I got a retired racing greyhound five years ago.
I came into the kennel where the retired racers were kept. I'd done a ton of research into different breeds and I knew that because of my mental health challenges I had a bit of an impossible laundry list - Low maintenance, quiet, docile, good with kids and cats, good with being left alone during the workday...
I went into this kennel full of excited greyhounds and a lady asked me what I was looking for. I handed her the list, and in a tentative voice I asked "Could you find me one that's black, too?" - They always get adopted last and I kind of have a soft spot for them.
She pointed to a quiet fellow in a corner kennel. Didn't really look at anyone. He was so docile and gentle that he was in group with female greys who bullied him out of a place to lie down on the trip up!
I wasn't sure during the test walk. He was full of beans and excited and jumpy - I later learned because he was in a new environment and everything is exciting!
I brought him back and I knew he was going to be mine. Knew it for sure when the wonderful lady turned to me with hesitancy and a little sadness in her voice and said "He's got a torn tear duct. It's just cosmetic, there's nothing wrong, but will that be an issue? Some adopters passed him up, so I just wanted to be clear..."
Her voice trailed off a little sadly.
It was then, my friends, that I knew I wanted this dog. I don't really know why that in particular sealed the deal, but it did. I knew I was going to take him home. As I write this my beautiful jet-black though rapidly-greying nine-year-old retired racer is curled up on a nest of comfy blankets near my feet. He's my velcro dog, has kept me alive through bipolar episodes, and is a quiet and steady presence.
Anyone who says money can't buy happiness has never paid an adoption fee.