| I adopted Bob, my retired racer, in May 1999. I love him dearly
and he is a wonderful friend. I just can’t imagine life without him.
Bob was 5 when I adopted him. He was born in Ireland and raced at Romford
in Essex. There were dozens of retired greyhounds at the kennels where I
found him and it was heartrending to choose one and leave all the others.
However, it was love at first sight when Bob and I met. He had been at the
kennels for a long time and no one seemed to want him, despite his gentle,
laidback nature. The kennel owners thought it was because he was a big dog
and because males, for some reason, are less popular than females with
prospective owners. I must admit, as soon as I saw his huge brown eyes and
silly smile, I knew he was the one.
For a few weeks, I just went to visit Bob at weekends and took him
for walks. I was living in London and worked during the week, which made
it impossible for Bob to live in my flat. However, I was planning to move
to Northumberland to marry my fiancé, Tom, and knew Bob would have
a great life there – Tom was doing a degree at the time and could look
after Bob during the day. Eventually, Bob came to stay at my flat for weekends.
We had such fun! We went for walks and even travelled
on the London Underground
train, where Bob attracted lots of attention, especially when he embarrassed
me by peeing on the platform! It was getting harder and harder to take him
back to the kennels and I knew it wasn’t fair on him.
Everything changed one Saturday when I went to pick Bob up. One of
the kennel maids told me that, five days previously, Bob had become very
ill. I was horrified. Apparently, poor Bob had collapsed and been unconscious
for two hours. No one had called the vet, nor had anyone contacted me to
tell me what had happened. On hearing this, I decided I had to remove Bob
permanently from the kennels. We travelled home on the train together and
I told Bob that no one was ever going to neglect him again. I called the
vet, who saw Bob immediately and, to my relief, pronounced a clean bill of
health. She and I both thought that Bob had collapsed because he had become
dehydrated – this makes me very cross, as he should have had access
to water and I don’t remember seeing any near his pen in the
kennels.
Bob stayed with me in London for a few days, even coming to work with
me. At the end of the week, he and I travelled up to Northumberland and my
fiancé and his family looked after him for the few months it took
me to organise my move. Luckily, they adored Bob as well! Bob now lives with
Tom (now my husband) and me in our little cottage in Northumberland. He has
four walks a day and spends the rest of the time lying on the sofa or our
bed, chewing his bone or just snoring. His fur, which was dull and thin when
I first met him, is now glossy and silky. We also have another dog, a little
black mongrel called Elsie who we found abandoned in our local park. Elsie
had a broken leg that had been pinned but which had become twisted, as her
owners did not bother to take her back to the vet when the leg outgrew its
pin. We reported finding her to the police, but she was never claimed. Bob
and Elsie are great friends and love to play together. I never thought a
greyhound could make such a fantastic, loving companion. I always imagined
they were aloof and unfriendly, that they needed vast amounts of exercise
and that they could never become accustomed to living in a house with people.
Bob has taught me that this is a fallacy and anyone who has ever seen him
tuck himself up on our sofa or curl up between me and Tom whilst we watch
TV could not possibly disagree. Moreover, it is Elsie, not Bob, who demands
5 daily walks. Bob would be quite happy going for a couple of strolls and
spending the rest of the time dreaming on his beanbag! |
