Listen to this episode of Just Add Dogs to hear the story of how Lindsay adopted her second rescue dog, a retired racing greyhound named Wally! Below you will find links to the ASPCA about greyhound racing as well as more information on the featured adoptable dog and the rescue, Colorado Greyhound Adoption.
Please read more about greyhound racing by clicking here
Meet "LK’s Living Large Robert." He’s from Colorado Greyhound Adoption in, surprise, Colorado. Robert might already be adopted, but please visit the rescue’s website for more information on the other dogs waiting for their chance at forever.
Colorado Greyhound Adoption Colorado Greyhound Adoption is a 100% volunteer, 501(c)3 non-profit organization dedicated to finding permanent loving homes for and promoting the adoption and welfare of retired racing greyhounds as excellent family pets.
There isn’t a whole lot of info on Robert, but he is 4 years old and is cat friendly, which is something that you have to make sure of with a greyhound since they are taught to chase little things.
The rescue encourages you to choose a greyhound based on personality and compatibility with your family situation, instead of color or appearance. You know, it’s the inside that counts and They work hard to help match adopters with a dog that suits the adopters preferences and fits in with their lifestyle.
You can apply to adopt Robert and see the other adoptable dogs at www.greyhoundadoption.com
Until next week, Keep on loving!
Read the transcription of the podcast below!!
Wally’s Adoption Story
Welcome to episode 3 of Just Add Dogs, where we get to hear the stories of how rescue dogs were given a second and sometimes a 3rd or 4th chance to have their lives completely changed.
I thought I’d just go in order through all of my adoptions, so today I’m going to share with you the story of my second rescue dog, my sweet and gentle retired racing greyhound, Wally.
It was midwinter, after the magic of Christmas and a brand new year, heading into the temperamental spring. It was around this time, a few weeks before my birthday, when I began looking at rescues again, aching to adopt another dog.
Afterall, there was nothing else I could think of that I wanted.
When my husband would ask me what I wanted for my birthday, christmas, mother’s day wish and every other wish in between, the first and obvious thing that would come to my mind before he even finished his sentence was, well, to adopt another dog.
It still is, even when I know I can’t. Even when I know it’s impractical or whatever.
But anyway, I started doing some research for big dogs that also didn’t mind a ton of snuggles. Now, I loved and adored Cowboy, my first rescue, but he wasn’t all about the kisses, loving, and snuggles. He was about the runs and walks and bike rides and skis.
Greyhounds were at the top of the list. Big. Cuddly. Gentle. Sensitive. And if you want a gentle giant who likes to act like a lap dog--greyhounds fit the bill.
I want to talk a little bit about greyhound racing, something that is, thankfully, becoming a thing of the past, though it is still legal in 4 states: West Virginia, Arkansas, Iowa, and Texas.
According to the ASPCA, there are thousands of dogs killed each year because they either don’t have winning potential, are no longer competitive, or because they get injured on the track. This number used to be even higher, but thanks to Greyhound rescues and organizations making the cruelty of this industry known, more are given a second chance Life on the track is also horrid. Spending up to 20 hours in an outside cage with no shelter, AC, heaters, proper water or nutrition, not to mention the lack of proper human interaction, these poor dogs endure the worst of the worst.
The ASPCA says in their article on greyhound racing,
“While Greyhounds may live 13 or more years, they are usually 18 months to 5 years old when they are retired from racing because they are either deemed unfit to race after an injury or no longer fast enough to be profitable. While some of these dogs are sent to rescue groups, others are simply killed or returned to breeding facilities to serve as breeding stock
This is where my boy came from. A hot racetrack down in Alabama.
But thankfully my Wally had a different ending to his story. One that included being fully and completely loved.
I scoured the Rocky Mountain Greyhound Rescue for dogs and put in a general adoption application. I didn’t know who was meant for me, but I knew I was meant for one of them.
After my application was approved, Cowboy and I loaded up into the car and drove the two hours down to meet a few of the greyhounds they currently had. It was a requirement of the rescue for me to bring Cowboy along so that we could see how they got along. Not all of my dogs have met each other before I adopted them, but that’s been because they were from out of state. Most of my dogs have met each other before we brought them home and it’s always a good idea if it’s possible. End of sidenote.
The sky was grey with clouds, the wind was chilly and the landscape was a wintery brown, with a dusting of snow on the ground.
I remember driving by the entrance once, having to turn around and then eventually finding a long, dirt driveway that led to a home and small outbuilding.vgb
The giant, skinny dogs barked inside and outside, claws on chainlink fences, as I pulled up. Cowboy, hearing the sound, whined and paced as best he could inside the car as I rolled the windows down ( just a bit, since the air outside was biting cold)got out, and met the gal who ran the rescue.
She led me into the small, warm building where around 5-7 greyhounds barked excitedly at their kennel doors.
They all seemed to be barking “pick me!” Something that was both exciting and heartbreaking because I knew I could only adopt one and that I’d be leaving the others behind.
Two dogs, specifically, stood out to the Adoption Coordinator as being good for my family and for Cowboy: an older girl named Raiders Press and Dakota Flash who had already been adopted once and then returned because the couple had a baby.
Cowboy met both of them and both of them were absolutely perfect.
And though I could have taken one of them home with me that very afternoon, I just couldn’t pick--not on my own. So armed with video of both of the dogs, I thanked the gal and Cowboy and I drove the two hours back home, telling her that I’d be in touch with who we wanted to adopt.
That evening, sitting around the kitchen table at dinner, I showed my husband and kids the videos.
By the time we started clearing the plates, we’d decided to adopt Dakota Flash, a sleek big boy who had raced for three years before injuring his leg and making his way to the rescue in Colorado. He was huge, with long skinny legs, thick thigh muscles like a bodybuilder, a long slender body where each of his ribs showed the perfect amount and a bump on his nose that set him apart from the others. He was gangly and absolutely beautiful.
I called the rescue gal and we arranged an adoption day.
It was just me on that day, driving down to pick up Dakota Flash, who we renamed Wally.
After filling out the paperwork, I walked Wally to my car and opened the front door.
He gracefully hopped up into the car like he knew what was happening, curled up in the seat and we were off.
Our life together began.
I remember pulling over at a PetCo, slipping his leash on and walking him in so he could pick out a toy, a brand new tag, and a food and water bowl that suited him. I was so proud to have this giant elegant dog walking beside me.
Except for when he promptly lifted his leg and peed in one of the aisles.
“Clean up on Aisle 5!”
Wally fit into our family as if he’d already been there for years. He had to learn how to go up stairs and down, he’d never seen snow before so that was a shock for him, but really he slid right into his bed by the fire and knew he was home.
He andCowboy were thick as thieves, and twice as naughty. taking late night jaunts through the neighborhood until I drove around calling their name. Mostly they made their way to what we called Remy’s house because Remy’s dad always gave them treats when they showed up at his back door.
They’d get a scolding and trot proudly into the house, thankful that I’d saved them the trouble of running back to the house.
My Wally was everything that I’d wanted. He loved being snuggled, loved, and pet. He adored everything and everyone and would spin like a whirling dirvish every time someone came to the house, his long tail whipping wildly.
Oh, his tail. Speak of the devil.
There are legendary stories about that tail and the tail’s ultimate and happy demise.
Greyhounds have naturally long, elegant tails that droop nearly to their feet. Wally’s t could take you out at the knees and felt like a wet towel being snapped at your leg. But when he scuttled over to the entryway, that was when things got really interesting. Now our house is very tall and very skinny And that means our entryway is tall and skinny and not a good place for a tail to whip back and forth.
But it did whip back and forth and eventually Wally got what is famously known as “happy tail.”
Sounds pleasant, right? Cute happy dog excited and playful.
And it is cute, if that tail has a lot of room toway and swish and whip around. If not, like in our case, the tail swishes and whaps so hard against the walls that a cut opens up. Wally, not noticing the cut, just keeps wagging his sweet tail. Imagine taking the expression ‘shit hitting the fan,’ adding blood and making it very, very literal. When Wally, bless him, whipped his tail around, he showered blood all over the walls. . All. over. The. walls.
And the cabinets and the couch and anywhere else he was wagging his tail.
It looked like a murder scene, and that was no exaggeration.
We’d bandage it up, it would heal. We’d take off the bandage and Wally, the beautiful, fragile, clumsy boy that he was, would wag his tail and then the cut would reopen and the blood would fly.
Over and over and over again.
Until finally, one day with his bandage on, my blind, diabetic minpin (more on her in the episode) stepped on his tail. He yelped, the end of his tail swelled up like a balloon around the bandage so much that we couldn’t get the bandage off. Which means the one part of his tail started to literally die. It was gross and I felt so horrible.
Off to the vet we went.
And my vet, thank the lord almighty above, said that we needed to dock his tail.
Relieved, oh so relieved, that he’d be ok, and that I’d no longer have to worry about corralling him whenever we came home or anyone came over or anything exciting happened ever again. And I have to say that his short little tail was super cute on him. Instead of wagging, his little tail would quiver and shake when he got excited or happy. It was adorable.
He, like Cowboy, welcomed all the other dogs I brought into our family, loved hikes in the woods and walks down the road. He was the complete opposite of Cowboy in other ways. Where Cowboy was nervous and anxious, Wally was like a California surfer--laid back, take-it-as-it-comes personality.
He welcomed in a multitude of other rescues into our home with excitement and whole lot of love and was there to comfort me when I had to say goodbye to them.
Then a year-and-a-half ago, when he turned ten he had another accident. It was right as all of our snow melted and the weather was warming. Family was in town for my daughters high school graduation and I was just getting back home from picking someone up from school. Wally always loved to run and greet me at the door, but because our floors are wood he couldn’t go very fast.
That afternoon, he fell like Bambi into the splits with his back legs straight out to the side. He cried as I ran and lifted him up, and hobble-hopped over to this bed where he continued to whine. This has happened before and he would shake it off after a bit. But this time, after waiting for probably 15 minutes to see how he was, I knew something was wrong.
Off to the vet we went again, where he had surgery to repair a broken femur. They put screws and pins and plates to hold his leg back together, all held together by an external fixator. Which was really gross, by the way.
It was a long hard summer for my old man.
His exercise was limited and he was more fearful--rightfully so--of our floor. So we shortened his walks and sprawled yoga mats on the floor to help him walk more confidently, though he sadly never felt brave enough to venture through the kitchen again. By the end of that long summer, he still wasn’t using his leg very much and after x-rays were taken, the vet could see that the bone wasn’t healing as it should.
They amputated his leg and sadly found cancer.
He and I pressed on though. He was a gorgeous and elegant tripod, though never enjoyed his walks quite as much and I often carried his 70 pounds up or down hills or over obstacles.
The next few months were hard for him and for me as he stayed on his bed more and more, began losing weight, and had less motivation.
His little stumpy tail still wagged and quivered when I walked over to him and he’d still enjoy a short walk, though his balance was started to leave him and he was slowly losing feeling in his other back leg.
The cancer was spreading.
So December 2019, after saying having to say tearful goodbyes to Cowboy and four of my other senior dogs, my daughter and I drove with him to the vet, where we laid with him and hugged him and pet him and gave him all the sugar he loved so much, as we said goodbye to the gentlest, quietest and most innocent soul I’ve ever known.
My Wally.
Now this amazing breed is called the “40 mile per house couch potato,” and I couldn’t agree with this statement more. My gentle giant could run like the wind, and watching him was seriously breathtaking. He’d run after me like I was a little rabbit on the racetrack. But with one sprint a day or even every few days, he mostly laid in his bed or in the summer sunshine like a lazy lion, sleeping, contemplating, and waiting to be pet. He liked nothing more than getting sugar lovings.
He was a silly, gentle, calm and loving dog that was all angles and muscle and who only barked maybe three times in the years that I had him.
If you’re looking for a gentle soul that likes to lounge, a dog that is perfect for an apartment in the city or a ranch in the country, the greyhound has it all.
The memories I have of Wally are a warm hug, all soft and cuddly, and it makes me so thankful that for my birthday that year, I looked up greyhound rescues and took a chance on a retired racer named Dakota Flash.
Now, let’s see if we can find our feature dog a forever home like Wally had. Meet LK’s Living Large Robert. He’s from Colorado Greyhound Adoption in, surprise, Colorado. As always, remember, that Robert is available, now, at the recording of this podcast. He/she might already be adopted by the time you listen. That said, please visit the rescue’s website for more information on the other dogs waiting for their chance at forever. You’ll find information on show notes at www.justadddogspodcast.com
Colorado Greyhound Adoption Colorado Greyhound Adoption is a 100% volunteer, 501(c)3 non-profit organization dedicated to finding permanent loving homes for and promoting the adoption and welfare of retired racing greyhounds as excellent family pets.
There isn’t a whole lot of info on Robert, but he is 4 years old and is cat friendly, which is something that you have to make sure of with a greyhound since they are taught to chase little things. The rescue encourages you to choose a greyhound based on personality and compatibility with your family situation, instead of color or appearance. You know, it’s the inside that counts and They work hard to help match adopters with a dog that suits the adopters preferences and fits in with their lifestyle.
You can apply to adopt robert at www.greyhoundadoption.com
Come one, let’s find Robert a forever home!
Now, in addition to subscribing to this podcast, follow us on facebook and instagram and go to www.justadddogspodcast.com to download my free resource guide called The Basic Guide to Adopting Your Next Best Friend. And if you have adopted your best friend, or maybe two or three or five, and would like to tell your story, please send me an email at justadddogspodcast@gmail.com or a Direct Message on Instagram at @justadddogspodcast. Also, feel free to submit a rescue or a shelter that you love and adore to be featured on the show.
Thank you so much for tuning in and listening. Until next week, I’m your host, Lindsay.