Friday, October 12, 2007
The Easy Way Out
Ages and ages ago, I mentioned that BabyBro had joined a Greyhound Syndicate during a drunken weekend at Indie 500 on the Gold Coast. One of his friends raced the dogs and his mother was a trainer and the syndicate bought a puppy Go Black Teddy, affectionately christened 'Jason'. It was funny, or so we thought. The dog was trained, grew and made a promising debut in a few country races. He was all set to break the big time but sustained an injury to his thigh. The one and only time I saw him race (I'm not a fan of animal racing), he seemed lovely . . . and achieved a noble third place. A shiny black dog with a gentle nature despite the fact that he'd been blooded on rabbits and chickens. I distinctly remember a conversation I had with BabyBro's friend in January this year:
Me: So if he doesn't hit the big time, what happens to him
Todd: We put him down
Me: What? How can you invest so much time and affection with a dog and then put them down. You let him in the house for crying out loud!
Todd: They don't make good pets, they fight and attack anything that moves, besides we've already got two retired dogs
Me: But what about rehabilitation, there are places that will do that like Greyhounds as Pets
Todd: Yeh I suppose
Me: Todd, whatever you do, don't put him down if he doesn't work out. We've got five acres, we can build an enclosure or arrange for rehabilitation
Todd: OK, if it comes to that, I'll let you know. . .
He didn't. Go Black Teddy was euthanased two months ago.
Bastard. There is some justice in the knowledge that his wife has just left him because he was getting a bit on the side. Jason was only 3 years old!