A Greyhound's Last Words.

I lie on my side. I am dying.
A female blue-brindle Greyhound,
Living to run.
Speed was my gift from the gods.
The gift, a headlong dash to death.
Once I dreamed of running in an open field.
No muzzle, no pain, running freely.
I am in a field now.
Eighteen acres of death.
The bullet was meant for my brain.
To be a quick death. Painless.
The bullet entered my neck.
The pain rages...when will it end?
Will there be another bullet to speed my death?
No. Bullets are not to be wasted on dogs.
We were dollar signs.
Hurtling down the track.
Together a flash of colors:
Brindle, blue, black, red, white, fawn.
I was too slow to last.
Too slow to make it to age two.
A throw-away life.
When death comes I will not be alone.
There are scores of us. Thousands.
Brindle, blue, black, red, white, fawn.
We, who never knew an open field,
Have found our own field.
It is soaked with our blood.
Once I dreamed of being held in someone's arms.
Caressed, petted, loved.
All dreams are ended now in this field.
The darkness is taking me over.
Lime is thrown on my defeated, discarded body
My heart cries out ...
Let my dying matter,
Let my dying be the last.
The light dims out.
Remember, remember, remember.

by Juliet Law Packer.


In 2002 the bodies of over 2000 Greyhounds were found in shallow graves on a farm in Alabama.

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