Glimpse - Your Stories from Abroad

"This is my family," Norah tells me as we stand outside her home. We are in a bucolic neighborhood on the outskirts of London, where open fields and horses span the surrounding properties. "If I had a lot of money, I'd spend it on these dogs.The last proper holiday I took was 11 years ago because I just can't stand being away from them for long periods of time. I’d love to travel back to Egypt someday—but only for two days.”

Like many owners, Ron Millard comes by on Sundays to take his dog, Homer, for a walk. Homer is a retired racing dog. “He's a very laid back dog, and he never was a real racing champion,” Norah tells me as Ron pats Homer on the head.  Then, she leans close to me. “Men become different around animals."

The owners who use Norah's kennels are from all walks of life: some are wealthy, some are working- or middle-class. A successful racing dog can earn prize money for its owner, but there are also a lot of costs—including paying Norah. And at a time when fewer people are betting on dog races, it’s getting tougher for owners to break even.


 

Norah’s morning starts at 7:30 a.m., when she prepares breakfast. The racing dogs get milk-soaked bread and raw meat. It’s pricier than canned dog food, but Norah claims it builds leaner muscles. The non-racing, or “retired,” dogs eat the same mixture or cooked chicken. “They’re the fussy ones,” she says.

I follow Norah outside across the patio to the kennels, where I meet Gemma Byford, 21, one of Norah’s assistants. Gemma has been working with Norah since she was six, and also comes from a family with deep ties to dog racing--her mother actually went into labor with her at Wimbledon Stadium.

The chorus of barking sounds like a parking garage of yelping car alarms. The dogs are excited to see Norah and anxious to get out to the gallop (the thin strip of land used for running or walking) for their morning exercise.

We head toward the entrance and Norah greets several owners who have stopped by to walk their dogs. Norah says that having the owners spend time with the dogs makes them feel more connected, and more responsible once the dogs retire. It's a very different system than what is used in the United States.

“I've never liked how the Americans take care of racing dogs,” Norah tells me. “They keep them in a tiny cage as opposed to in a kennel, and they turn 10 or 20 dogs into a tiny paddock as opposed to a big, open area. It's a different system altogether.”
 

The National Greyhound Racing Club, which governs all racing affairs in England, requires owners to provide a proper “retirement” for their dogs—taking them into their own home, finding a suitable owner, or paying a welfare facility to care for them. If owners do not comply, their racing licenses can be revoked. However, it is unclear how many people violate these rules, and some animal rights groups claim they are not closely followed.

“The industry has taken a lot more interest [in dog welfare] recently,” Norah tells me. “It's getting better every year. People do really care about the dogs and have to look after them like they deserve. But I’m very particular about what families these dogs go to when they’re retired. If someone works a 9 to 5 during the week, I won't let them have a dog. I don’t want it to get lonely.” Perhaps that’s why she has 22 dogs at home and 10 in her offices.

A few days later, I meet Gemma at Wimbledon Stadium to see the dogs in action. The stadium opened in 1928, and is the only remaining track in London. There used to be about 20, but, according to one of Norah’s industry friends, the fragile economy and problems with track management have led to less income and cuts in prize money. He says Wimbledon stadium is now in danger of closing down.

Gemma and I head down to the track, where I find people lining up to place their bets with the bookies. It’s a cool winter night, but there are hundreds of people in the stadium.

The bookkeepers set the odds for each race and, as opposed to many kinds of sports gambling, keep the odds constant no matter how the bets fall. As I stand in line, someone tells me that alliterative names like Sneaky Smeagle or Bevs Bluebelle are lucky. But I ignore this advice, thrusting a five-pound note into the bookie’s hand and betting on Droopy Mondo. I just like the name.

I join the younger crowd of fans gathered on the sidelines. The starting gun sounds, and I watch the dogs lurch out of the gates, the sand flying up behind them. I hear the rapidly beating paws and can feel their speed like a heartbeat.

The dogs flash by at speeds of 40 miles per hour—they are the second-fastest land animals in the world, behind only cheetahs. When they cross the finish line, I get caught up in the shouting. I can’t really tell who finished first, so I look at the bookkeeper and mouth, "Did I win?" He purses his lips and gives me an apologetic single shake of the head. I end up leaving the stadium five quid (about seven dollars) lighter.

A few days later, I return to Norah’s and am immediately surrounded by an army of inquiring canines, eagerly sniffing my feet and legs. I take a seat in a big armchair, when Adam, one of the dogs, stares at me. I immediately realize my mistake—I have stolen his spot. When I stand up, he promptly nuzzles into the worn leather seat, still warm from my presence.

Norah shows me some pictures from her childhood. "I actually like dogs better than people," she says. “My father was a dog trainer, and when I was little, I couldn't wait for school holidays so I could just be with the dogs.” I ask if she ever thought about doing anything else with her life. “Well, my mother wasn’t very pleased, she thought working with the dogs was too lowly. She was a bit snobbish. So I trained as a fashion buyer, but I quit after three months. Being a trainer was the only job I ever really considered. You work all your life so you might as well do something you're happy with!"

As I say goodbye to Norah and Gemma, I find myself wondering if Gemma will someday become a full-time dog trainer like Norah. I wonder if she will treat these dogs with the same respect and love that Norah does, and if she will forge similar friendships with their owners. And I find myself hoping that dog racing, the pastime that is loved by so many in this part of the city, will continue to survive.