The Race to Live

January 30, 2009
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The dirt under my paws crunched as the buzzard sounded. I launched myself forward, first one to see the rabbit round the bend. I could hear the others behind me move faster with the drumming of all fours, ready for a high-speed chase.

The announcer spoke faster with every pounding of my heart. I was still in the lead, leaving the others in a cloud of dust behind me. The wire muzzle was barely bothering me as it cut deeper into my fur. The only thing in my sight was my award; my life.

Slower greyhounds are killed because of loss of speed on the track. I was not going to be looked down upon as a failure; I was going to be looked down upon as a winner. The desire for life was strong in me and made me run faster. This is what keeps me motivated even when things come down to the worst.

All my life, I've lived in a cage. Not a big one either. It's small in size and rusty with age. Feeding time is twice a day, with very small amounts of food. If we are still hungry after, we drink till we throw up. I do that when I'm bored.

The only exercise I get is when I race and practice to race. Racing is my life and I respect my master's discipline. I don't fight, I don't walk. I listen and I run.

The announcer's voice was getting higher in tone now as I gave it my best effort to win. I was on the rabbit's tail while I could barely hear the others behind me. The wind whistled past my ears as I struggled to round the last corner. I heard people chanting my name, 'Jordan's Fool' over and over again. And as I crossed the finish line, all I could think was, 'There goes five more lives.'





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