The Last Day of a Racing Greyhound
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I wrote this poem because I have a retired racing greyhound. There is a lot of controversy regarding greyhound racing and the abuse the dogs endure. I believe that there are some humane dog handlers and owners but the majority are not. These dogs are exploited, abused, mistreated and mainly a commodity to make money. They are often drugged, starved and shot to death once they are injured. My dog is very sweet but has some quirks and has reacted at times strangely and mildly aggressively due to his past and what he has endured the first 2 years of his life.
It’s three am and I need to pee, feeling thirsty
My water bowl is empty and it’s getting warm in here
My crate is barren, the cement is cold on my legs
I hear my brothers and sisters cry, they are next door
I hear the door open, my masters are yelling, scaring me
My crate is opened, they shove me out, I pee a little
I get hit with a belt and screamed at, I head to the track
I finally drink but my stomach is raw, gurgling with gas
I am given some white substance, then a small treat
I am pulled to the lineup, I hate the sound of the horn
I see the white fluffy bone, or is it a bunny?
I run, run as fast as I can, my brother trips me, I fall behind
My leg and foot are bleeding, I cry out but no one helps
I am then taken to a field, I feel scared, alone, starving
It is quiet, until I hear a loud bang, something hits me
I wake up at peace chasing butterflies and seeing rainbows
Copyright © Tania Kitchin | Year Posted 2020
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