Knight in Shining Armor

Being a greyhound mom for over a decade, I have a lot of “trigger” moments. On Facebook, people always share stories that trigger memories of my hounds. Some of the memories are hilarious, some are a bit bittersweet. This story is more than a little bittersweet.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful, brindle greyhound named Dakotas Knight. He was a stunning hound, which is why this story exists.

In February 2009, I lost my beloved Jade Elizabeth (Sevier Advantage). She was the epitome of the racing greyhound and my third greyhound. Of all my greys, only two have been “epitomes.” She was the second such grey. She was statuesque, kind, loving, sweet, calm, happy, and she loved to sing. Anyway, Jade is another story. This one is about Dakotas Knight, call name Knight.

It took me some time to be ready to find a beneficiary for dear, sweet Jade. As I you can never, ever replace a hound who has gone on to the Bridge, I call them beneficiaries. They inherit all the things that came before: soft beds, scads of toys, and the occasional leash. Usually they get their own clothes, as I embroider names on coats. The boys don’t like wearing the girls’ clothes. Even if they were okay with the name on the coat, the colors are, well, girly.

Anyway, when May rolled around, I was ready. Mary Lou, greyhound number two, needed a grey-mate. I had taken her to my GPA a couple of times for playdates, but she really needed one of her own kind at home. During one of these playdates, we met DVS Cooksey, call name Cooksey. He was a shy, red fawn that was just sweet as could be. He seemed to like Mary Lou, too. However, Cooksey has his own story.

I took an afternoon and went through the list of available greys and made a list for Joan, our adoption coordinator and president of our chapter. I made a comment on one of them, Dakotas Knight, call name Knight, stating that I thought he was “absolutely stunning.” For someone who originally had no use for brindles—ugly creatures—I had finally had a moment of clarity as Jade, my sweet angel, had been a brindle. Knight was just beautiful, as you can see from his picture.

When Joan received my email, a list of about eight different hounds, including Cooksey, she straight out told me that if I thought Knight was stunning, he was the one I needed to see. When I showed up for the meet-and-greet, he was the only one she let me see.

And here is where the bitter comes in. When we arrived, Knight was hiding behind the desk in the office. We had to crawl behind the desk and sit on the floor as he was positively terrified of people. My first sight of him was dramatically different from that handsome boy in the picture. You could see his fear. Joan proceeded to tell me his story.

Knight was a shy boy. His trainer was not appreciative of his personality and was very rough with him, collaring him, and dragging him around instead of waiting patiently for him to do what he needed to do. He was so rough that, eventually, Knight snapped and attacked him. At that point, Knight was retired and sent to GPA.

While at GPA, anyone who came near his crate was snarled at. Most of the volunteers were afraid of him. He really did not trust humans. After six months of no progress, he was put into foster care with a wonderful woman named Suzi. Mama Suzi, as I call her now, took in this basket case of a hound, and, in another six months, had him “showable,” at least to those poor souls who had the temerity to think he was “stunning.”

It is important to note that Knight’s trainer, and his trainer wife, were “retired” from greyhound training following this episode, and subsequent hounds were spared their methods. It is also important to note that I do not believe, in any way, shape, fashion, etc. etc., that this is the “norm” for greyhound trainers in the United States. There are many out there who would chastise me for even bringing up this instance, but it happened. There are other parts to this story, but I will leave well enough alone with what I have shared here. Knight was a terribly shy and abused greyhound. His abusers paid the price. He moved on.

Meeting Knight and hearing his story had the desired effect, and I agreed to take this poor, wayward soul home to be greyhound number four. We picked a day to finalize everything, and I went home.

When the day came, a couple of weeks later, to go pick up Mr. Knight, I had the opportunity to meet two of his primary caregivers: Mama Wendy and Papa Dick. Dick is a former trainer and Wendy is his beloved wife. They had an enormous soft spot for Knight and were, to say the least, a bit concerned about who might be adopting their sweet boy.

Joan and I completed all the paperwork, and I dressed Knight in a stunning collar and leash. It was not the usual nylon, single-color leash, but a special one. It was a light green plaid that said, “I’m special.” And he was.

When it came time to load him in my truck (a yellow Xterra covered in greyhound stickers), he was walked out by Papa Dick and Mama Wendy. He didn’t want to get in the truck, so Dick picked him. Wendy was sobbing, terrified for “her” boy. I promised her that I would take good care of him and give him lots of love. I gave her a hug, and we trekked home.

About a month later, around the Fourth of July, we went back to GPA for a visit. Padfoot, as I had renamed my sweet Knight, and Mary Lou hopped in the truck like the pros they were, and we headed off to GPA. When we got there, Padfoot and Mary Lou scoped things out and promptly lay down in greyhound fashion upon the beds scattered about the lobby.

Joan and I sat chatting for some time about life in general and Padfoot specifically. It wasn’t too long before Mama Wendy walked in from the kennels. We chatted for a few minutes about nothing specific, when it dawned on Joan and me that Wendy had no idea who that beautiful brindle in the patriotic scarf was. We chuckled.

“You have no idea who that is, do you?” Joan asked her.

Wendy looked at the hound lying there so peacefully, calm visage displayed so regally.

“Is it X?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“X?”

“Nope.” I was chuckling a bit at this point, and Joan had a big grin on her face.

Dick walked in at this point, and we asked him who the greyhound was.

“That’s Knight,” he said immediately.

Wendy was so overcome that she shrieked and began crying, startling this sweet boy just a bit. She rushed over to give him a hug, which he graciously accepted.

In one month, this shy, shy boy turned into a semi-normal hound with a fair bit of self-confidence. His change was so dramatic that one of his primary caregivers had no idea who he was.

I tell you this story not to tout my prowess as a spook-mom or the evils of greyhound racing in the U.S. (there aren’t many anymore), but to tell you about the immutable strength of the greyhound breed. This sweet boy who was shy and fearful, when placed in a loving environment, blossomed of his own accord. He learned to be demanding of pets and hugs. He learned to smile. He did all these things for me, not because of me.

Padfoot and I had an incredible bond. Named after the godfather of Harry Potter from the Harry Potter series, he took it upon himself to become my protector. He saw in me a weakness, a lacking in self-esteem like his own. Between Paddy and Mary Lou, I had two caregivers that were hell bent on loving me despite my being unable to love myself. It was their mission.

We were each other’s project: learn to love thyself. We both succeeded. When I lost him in 2014, it was devastating. He was my second heart dog, Mary Lou being my first. I still completely lose it, like right now, when I talk about him. He was beloved by so many as the worst spook to ever come out of our GPA chapter. He was loving and kind and the perfect companion.

He will be forever missed.