My life as a spanish greyhound 

Shut your eyes and listen to my story:

Once upon a time, there was a Spanish Greyhound puppy: Me. I am locked up in a cellar together with my mother, brothers and sisters somewhere in the south of Spain or maybe Ibiza, who knows. Mother is sick. She has had so many babies that her milk is not as nourishing as it used to be. She is so tired. She knows that the GALGUERO will come soon to kill some of us. She is so terrorised when she hears his foot steps on the hard cement outside.

He has already killed many of my brothers as they looked too weak to be used for his own purposes. Mother has not seen the daylight for so long now, in this nauseous hole where we live in the middle of our excrements, without water nor food most of the time. We can sometimes hear terrible inhuman cries coming from outside… Mother says: “everybody behind me, do not be scared!” But I can see her whole body shaking.

It is a DAY OF MASSACRE AND DEATH.

Time has passed and I am now terrorised, the same way mother was. HE has killed her yesterday. He hung her on a tree and burned her alive. She begged but HE laughed and approached his lighter after having bathed her in gasoline.

He shouted at her: “Burst since you are now worthless”.

He trains us for hare hunting, and when we start devouring the prey because we are starved, he beats us until we become nothing more than bloody lifeless little things lying on the ground. Then, he drags us back into the humid dark cellar and snaps the door. We are hungry; the last piece of bread we ate was three days ago. He says that we need to be starving in order to be more inclined to catch the hare in the woods.

I need my mother, I cry, I am cold but HE could not care less.

I am now 1 year old, I have watched the GALGUEROS torture, massacre, stab, burn my friends. My brother is with me, against me, and has no strength left to moan. HE beat him up a few days ago and he is now letting himself die slowly. A greenish liquid runs out of the wounds on his skinny back. I can see the light of life leaving his eyes, his breathing is becoming silent, I believe it’s over…

I want to stick to life!!!!!!!!

I hear his footsteps. He’s coming. NO, NO, NOT ME.

It’s my turn, I know.

Someone opens the door, I distinguish a hand, not HIS, a sweet voice is talking to me????

It says: “Don’t be scared, come with me”.

Is this an angel’s voice???

SHE takes me in her arms, SHE cries, SHE fondles my dehydrated back caused by all the privations, SHE smells good!

SHE tells me she loves me. I don’t know the meaning of Love, I am a Spanish Greyhound!

SHE takes me outside. My friends try to follow me but HE kicks them on the head and on the ribs, they scream out of pain…

I am out under the rays of the sun, it is warm and this feels so good. SHE is still crying. Another man is waiting in the car parked in front of the village’s filth where I was born.

We are leaving and SHE is holding me on her knees. I am so scared that I wee on myself. SHE smiles and tells me that it does not matter, that it is normal. SHE says I have been mistreated. But again, what does “mistreated” mean?

We enter a house. It smells strange, no rubbish on the ground, no droppings, no papers. It feels like a sort of paradise, right?

SHE carries me and puts me on a soft cover. She says it is called a sofa, something I did not know.

SHE feeds me. It is so good that I devour all of it. And then what happens: I throw it all up! I go and hide myself because SHE might hit me! PLEASE, NOT AGAIN!

SHE cries again and tells me that all this is over now and that I am going to eat again but slower this time.

I am now one and a half years old. I live with CONCEPTION and JAVIER.

NO MORE HUNGER, NO MORE THIRST, EVER.

They take me for walks on a leash, and they tell everybody that they are proud of me and that I am great Spanish Greyhound.

Today, a woman should come and see me, she is called a voluntary worker from PASSION LEVRIERS. My masters told me that she had found a family of adoption for me in a country where they love Greyhounds: FRANCE.

I have to get into the back of her car, where a nice cover and my favourite toy are waiting for me. I am crying and so are MY SAVIOURS, but they whisper to me that they needed to go and look for more of us out there.

We drive for hours. It is nice to look out at the countryside. I cried a little at the beginning but the woman told me: “You will finally be safe, your French family is waiting for you, and they won’t believe their eyes how nice you are!”

France is so far!

Here we are, I have been in my new home for six months now, at Marc’s and Sandrine’s. I have a big garden where I can dig many holes a day (Marc is not very happy with that, but still!); I still have my favourite cover and many others which are washed every Saturday!!! I prefer when they smell of me, but anyway…

BUT AT NIGHT, WHEN I SLEEP IN MY BASKET I CAN SEE AGAIN THAT DARK HOLE, WITH THAT HORRIBLE SMELL, AND I CAN SEE MY MOTHER, BROTHERS AND FRIENDS…         

Sometimes, I still tremble and I know HE keeps on torturing and massacring them, SO PLEASE, HELP US TAKING THEM OUT FROM HELL AND SHOUT OUT “NO” TO ALL THESE ATROCITIES.

Signed: GALGUITO the tiny rescued

By writing this story with a good ending, I meant to explain the reason of our foundation. You should know that nearly all Spanish greyhounds are mistreated in such a way. This story illustrates the life of thousands of animals in this European country (indeed!) where other dogs and cats are not treated any better. This is the reason why you might see cats or horses on our website. They are awaiting adoption or families to host them in France.

HELP US, HELP THEM.

THANK YOU FOR THEM.