<font color="blue">"Grandy looks just like our grey Sam. How old are your guys?"</font>
Grandy's gotta be 9 years old. She was approximately 2 years old when we rescued her, and we've had her 7 years. She was a beautiful black, but she's really starting to show the gray hair, now. She also had a run-in with something that chewed her up -- maybe a recluse spider? -- a couple of years ago, and those 3 patches of hair have never grown back in. She's extremely timid. She was obviously abused in race training. She was a virtual statue when we got her. Her attitude seemed to be, "If I don't do anything at all, then I might not get into any trouble." She loosened up only very little through the years, and not at all around men, until we got Rocky. Rocky has taught her a little about how a dog is supposed to act, but she is still terrified most of the time. It has taken great patience and a lot of love to get her to this point. She went through race training, but never raced.
Rocky is not quite 2-1/2. We got him a year ago in August, and he was between 12 and 14 months old at that time. He is the most active, most enthusiastic and most lovable Greyhound we have ever seen. Contrary to most, his tail is NEVER between his legs; it whips around like a weapon! He runs to greet anyone who enters the house, and always picks up a toy on the way! He looks like a giant goof running around with a stuffed animal in his mouth. He's also a pretty good size for a greyhound. His story is kind of unique. He was bred to race, spent his puppy months with a family (obviously a loving family), and was picked up to go to a race training facility near Ocala, Florida, along with 13 other dogs in the kennel truck. We had stopped at a fast food restaurant on I-75 outside Ocala when the trainer pulled in, in his truck. My wife asked what he was carrying, and he replied, "14 Greyhounds." She said we had a Greyhound in the motor home outside, and expressed dismay that these dogs might be subjected to the same mistreatment that Grandy had received. The trainer sat down and explained his methods, showed pictures of his farm, and generally convinced my wife that he loved the dogs as much as she did. She must have passed some sort of test for the trainer as well, because at the end of the conversation, he said, "I have a couple of dogs in the truck that are obvious to me that they will not make good racers. Would you like one?" We went out to look, and when he got Rocky down from the truck, it was an instant attraction. We drove away on vacation with two dogs instead of one. He checked out to be in perfect health, and he's thriving over a year later. It may not have been an orthodox adoption, but it sure worked for Rocky and us.