Daisy's Greyt Escape

By Jeff Scott

Out of public view lurk anxiety and hopelessness as racetrack Greyhounds fear the worst once they lose their value to the dog track industry. Daisy’s Greyt Escape plunges the reader into the tumultuous life of one Greyhound that is not willing to go without a struggle.

When Daisy learns that slow dogs like her are taken away, she makes a courageous choice that catapults her on a thrilling and adventurous search for a home to find the genuine love that has eluded her all of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Scott
• Release date: Oct 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465725813

Book preview

Daisy’s Greyt Escape

Jeff Scott

A fast-paced, yet touching story depicting the realities of dog racing through a Greyhound's eye.

—Christine A. Dorchak

President and General Counsel

GREY2K USA

Copyright © 2011  Jeff Scott

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

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Chapter One

A hush hung over the Blue Arrow Racing Park, even though the two-tiered grandstands were jam-packed with hundreds of spectators. Many people sat on the edges of their plastic seats, basking under the yellow glow of the stadium’s blazing lights. Others pressed binoculars against their eyes. Everyone waited.

Suddenly, the sound of a buzzer shattered the silence. Eight Greyhounds blasted from their starting boxes like cannonballs and tore after a fake white rabbit fastened to the end of a mechanical arm. Dirt, clay and sand sprayed into the air as fur scraped against fur.

While the elusive rabbit motored along the rail on the inside curve of the track, the dogs chased it at a blistering pace. Many of the spectators shouted and clapped, watching the thundering hounds soar around the oval track at forty miles an hour.

At the final turn, the Greyhounds whisked around the curve and sprinted toward the finish line in an explosive fury. Each dog zipped over the line in quick succession to the roar of the crowd. But Priscilla, a petite white and black dog, crossed far behind the others. After coming to a halt, she glanced into the grandstands and heard some people booing at her. One man even pointed at her and yelled. Priscilla dropped her head and sauntered farther down the track to cool off with the other Greyhounds.

Very early the next morning, a blue van with two sprinting Greyhounds painted on its side, rolled to a stop next to a white industrial-looking building—one of three wooden structures where the racing dogs lived on the track grounds. A man’s shadowy figure stepped out of the van and plodded toward the kennel door. A cold mist softened the clanking of a leash and harness that dangled from his fingers.

The kennel door creaked open and the man slipped inside. The pale light of dawn revealed the name ‘Willie Sharp’ stitched onto a uniformed shirt that matched the color of the van.

Row three, number twenty-two, he whispered to himself. Gotta be down here.

Willie tiptoed past crates of sleeping canines. At the end of the aisle, Priscilla stirred. She raised her half-closed eyes and fixed them on Willie’s silhouette. He drifted closer and closer.

When Willie’s face became clearer, Priscilla’s eyes ballooned. At the same time, a faint strip of daylight from a high, narrow window highlighted the leash and harness as Willie lifted them to his waist.

Willie halted in front of Priscilla’s crate and peered inside. His protruding, scrubby red beard made him look years older than his actual age of thirty. The glare from his piercing eyes forced Priscilla to roll up in a ball in the corner. Her back paw vibrated against the metal bars and her teeth chattered as she released a faint cry.

Then Willie unlatched Priscilla’s crate door. He reached in with the harness and slipped it over the hound’s head.

No! I don’t wanna go anywhere, Priscilla howled as she pressed her body against the back of the crate. I’ll run faster next time.

Willie frowned, obviously irritated by Priscilla’s whimpering as he slid the harness over her ears and down her thick neck.

Get up! Willie waved a finger an inch from the dog’s snout. You better make this easy for me.

Priscilla whimpered again as the man clasped the straps around her deep chest. Then he clipped the leash onto the harness’ metal ring. With a powerful tug, he pulled Priscilla through the crate door and into the aisle. By now, several dogs in the kennel were awake. Some yowled. Others barked.

Help me! Irving, help me!

Quit your yapping. Willie gripped the leash tighter. Can’t stand whining dogs.

On the other side of the room, Irving, a black dog with white blotches on his back and neck heard the racket and woke up in his crate. He shook his head, expelling the remnants of sleep, and looked through the maze of crates. He rocketed to his feet. His eyes bulged in rage as he watched Willie drag Priscilla up the aisle and toward the door.

Oh, how I wish I could understand what this man is saying, Irving moaned. Maybe then I’d know where he’s taking Priscilla.

Give me another chance. Priscilla flopped onto the floor. I’ll race better.

Willie kicked her in the rear and yanked her back onto her feet. Priscilla gave up the struggle and shuffled behind as Willie opened the door. Just before she stepped out, Priscilla swiveled her head and located Irving’s crate. Their terrified eyes met for a second. Willie jerked on the leash and pulled Priscilla onto the pavement. The door slammed and the rumble rattled several crates.

Out in the parking lot, Willie swung open the van’s back doors and pointed inside the cargo area.

Get in, loser!

Priscilla trembled as she craned her neck and peered inside. The smell of gasoline wafted into her nostrils. Just before Willie could kick her again, she hopped in. Willie unclipped the leash and shoved her further inside.

Irving! Irving! Priscilla cried just before Willie slammed the doors.

Inside the kennel, Irving cocked his ears and listened to the muffled whines. He heard the engine start up. Then he furled his brow and backed up a step. With a snort, he rushed forward and rammed his head against the crate door. He backed up a step and rammed it again. Then again. Finally, he crouched down. A few tears trickled down his long muzzle just as he buried his head underneath his blanket.

Chapter Two

A year after Priscilla was shipped away, thirty Greyhounds were running, rolling, and playing inside the track ground’s sand-covered exercise yard. Several sniffed the clover along the four-foot aluminum fence while a few smelled each other. A chubby track worker tossed foam soccer balls to a couple energetic dogs. At the same time, a blue racetrack van stopped at the entrance gate. The track worker jogged over to the gate and opened it. The van backed in.

All the Greyhounds looked up. Some galloped to the gate and formed a semi-circle. The cab door opened. A boot crunched onto the sand.

Daisy, a pretty, light-brown and white Greyhound, stood next to Irving in the corner of the yard. Her gaze was glued to the van. Irving stared at her, indifferent to the commotion at the gate.

Last place, Daisy, he said. Two races in a row.

Hey! Here come some new arrivals. Daisy’s eyes flickered with excitement.

And you can still sleep at night?

Give me a break, Irving. It’s not every time.

Irving also looked over to the van. His pupils narrowed as he saw Willie shut the cab door.

"It doesn’t have to be every time," he said.

Willie raised his chin. He tightened his jaw and scanned the dogs as he thumped a stick on his palm. The nearest Greyhounds knocked into each other and scattered. Willie walked around the van and opened the back doors. From inside the van, he pulled out a six-foot long catchpole with a rope noose at one end and leaned it upright against the open door.

Out! Out! I ain’t got time for you to lounge around.

Willie lifted his stick in a threatening pose. Four Greyhounds darted from the cargo area and scurried into the yard. A fifth dog hesitated. Willie swatted him on the rear. The dog clambered down and ran off.

Meanwhile, the chubby track worker had closed the gate. He then checked the latch, making sure it was secure, to prevent any curious Greyhounds from wandering off.

Hey, boss, he called out. I see we got the newbies in to replace the dogs from the past week.

Those slow losers. Willie held his stick out at arm’s length and sliced it through the air several times like a sword. Don’t they realize we’re trying to run a business here?

But Mr. McKenzie isn’t gonna like you hitting the new dogs. You know how he feels about—

Then how else does he expect me to get them in line, Rick? He wants me to be head dog handler, well, this is how—

Suddenly, Rick pointed inside the van. Hey, you got a straggler still in there.

Willie whipped his head around and glared inside the cargo area at a white, muscular Greyhound.

Okay, big shot, get down.

The Greyhound stepped to the edge. He lifted his head high and glanced around the yard, just like Willie did seconds before.

You want me to drag you out with this, Tommy? Willie nodded at the catchpole.

Tommy looked at Willie and smirked. Well, well. Does this man think he’s in charge?

Stop barking and get yourself out of there. Willie pretended to reach for the catchpole.

Tommy leaped down, knocking over the catchpole. The pole smacked Willie on the head. Willie rubbed his forehead, picked up the pole and tossed it in the van. When he turned around, he noticed a couple Greyhounds staring, as if mocking him.

Whaddya lookin’ at? he said through clenched  teeth.

Rick stepped closer to Willie. I heard your Uncle Marty offered you a job at the animal control in Cedartown. Gonna take it?

What? Willie rubbed his forehead again. And work some place where I ain’t top dog? Not happening.

I don’t know about you, Rick said. But I’d think animal control would be a bit more exciting job than here.

Rick reopened the gate while Willie returned to the cab and started the engine. He leaned his face out of the open window.

I’ve done my share of scooping up after dogs. If you think that’s fun, why don’t you take the job?

Meanwhile, in the middle of the exercise