Greyhound Trilogy

GREYHOUND TRILOGY – early reader series.

PART 1: How my greyhound got his name. – By Billy

Mum and Dad have decided we need a dog.

‘At last,’ I say.

But they can’t make up their minds about what sort of dog we should get.

Picture of parents in a dog park surrounded by breeds

‘I want a dog I can look up to,’ says Dad

Picture of Dad with a great dane standing up with its paws on his shoulders.

‘I want a dog that’s quiet and kind,’ says Mum.

Picture of a spaniel curled up on her lap

‘I want a dog that can run really fast,’ I say.

Picture of lots of dogs (of all types) racing.

‘It sounds like you need a greyhound,’ says Uncle Tom.

‘There’s a farmer who finds homes for retired racers.’

Picture of a big sign (on a farm) with a greyhound on it and “greyhounds for sale”

There are lots and lots of dogs on the farm, jumping as high as the fence.

They seem very excited at the thought of going to a new home.

Picture of greyhounds jumping up and looking over a six-foot fence as the family look on.

‘I think we should get a two-year old blue female,’ says Mum.

But the blues aren’t really blue at all, and they are far too excited.

I’m actually a bit scared of them.

Picture of Billy thinking of a bright blue greyhound running really fast (use thought bubble), while looking at the real thing behaving in a very excited way.

In fact, none of the dogs are quiet and kind, like Mum wants.

‘And they’re not tall enough. I can’t really look up to one of these,’ says Dad.

Picture of greyhound on back legs trying to lick Dad’s face but not quite taller than him.

‘What about this one,’ I say, pointing to a dog lying quietly in his cage.

I open the door and he pushes his head against my leg and asks for a cuddle.

Picture of Billy petting a fawn greyhound.

‘But he’s not a girl,’ says Mum.

And he’s four years old already,’ says Dad, looking at the card on his cage.

‘But he IS gentle and kind,’ I insist. ‘Please can I have this one?’

Picture of puzzled dog surrounded by the three of them.

‘His name’s Junior Enforcer,’ Dad reads from the card.

‘That’s just his racing name. We can change it to anything you want,’ says Mum.

‘What’s an Enforcer?’ I ask.

Picture of them all at the cage admiring the dog.

‘Somebody who makes people obey the rules,’ says Mum.

‘Like a policeman?’ I ask.

‘Exactly,’ says Mum

Picture of fawn dog in a police uniform.

‘He’s almost tall enough,’ says Dad.

‘And he seems pretty quiet,’ says Mum.

‘And he looks really fast!’ I wrap my arms around our new dog’s neck.

Picture of Billy wrapping arms around dog

Junior Enforcer is very quiet on the back seat all the way home.

But he puts up with my cuddles and kisses.

Picture in car with Billy all over greyhound.

The next morning Mum and I take our new greyhound down to the dog park.

He doesn’t seem very interested in the other dogs.

Picture of him ignoring other dogs.

‘What’s her name, Billy?’ asks my friend Millie. ‘She’s very pretty!’

‘HIS name is Junior Enforcer and he’s NOT a girl,’ I tell her.

‘Are you sure?’ says Millie.

Picture of Millie peering under greyhound to check for his “bits”.

‘Of course I’m sure!’ Millie is making me very angry. ‘He’s a boy and he’s four years old.’

‘Then why is he called Junior?’ demands Millie.

‘Everyone knows that one of our years is seven dog years, so she’s really twenty-eight.

‘And what’s an Enforcer, anyway’.

Picture of Millie and Billie arguing over a confused Boy.

‘He’s a boy! B…O…Y, Boy!’ I shout. ‘And Junior Enforcer was his racing name. He was much younger then!’

I don’t want to admit I’ve forgotten what an enforcer is.

‘Well, I think it’s a silly name. And he looks like a girl, so why don’t you call him Mary?’ says Millie.

‘He looks like a Mary to me.’

Picture of the dog with a frilly pink tutu and a placard saying Mary.

‘She’s just teasing you Billy,’ says Mum.

‘But he does look a bit like a girl.

‘How about we call him Boy, so that everyone knows.’

Picture of Mum reassuring Billy while Boy looks on, puzzled.

I‘m not too keen on the idea but decide to at least give it a try.

‘Fetch, Boy!’ I throw our dog’s new ball as hard as I can.

All the dogs charge after it but Boy is by far the fastest.

Picture of Boy in the lead, grabbing the ball.

‘Well done, Boy! Now bring it to me. Bring it here,’ I shout.

Boy looks over his shoulder and ignores me completely.

Picture of Boy looking distainfully back at Billy.

Instead he picks up the ball in his teeth, as if it tastes horrible, and carries it to a shady spot. Then he lies down to watch all the other silly dogs running after balls and sticks.

Picture of Boy looking contented in the shade with a ball next to him.

And guess what?

I never do manage to teach Boy to bring the ball back to me.

And he only chases it when he wants to show all the other dogs how fast he is.

Picture. Perhaps picture of Boy standing over the ball with Billy calling frantically in the distance.

PART 2: Fluffy isn’t always friendly.– by Boy

Billy’s big sister Sally has come to stay.

She’s brought a funny little cage with something live inside it.

Picture of Sally arriving and Boy looking very interested to find out what’s in the cage.

It makes a scurrying sound and smells a bit like the barn I used to sleep in when I was racing.

‘No Boy. No!’ Billy’s Mum scolds me when I sniff the cage. ‘You can’t have that!’

Picture of Boy being scolded as he sniffs at the cage.

‘We’re going to have to keep them separate,’ says Billy’s Dad. ‘Greyhounds chase and kill rabbits, you know.’

We do? I look at Billy’s Dad, surprised. I don’t remember killing anything, but perhaps it happened when I was small.

Picture of a baby greyhound standing over an insect, on its back, legs in the air.

‘That’s how they train them, Billy,’ his dad explains. ‘They train them to race by letting them chase a live rabbit or a possum.

‘You can’t trust greyhounds with small, furry animals.’

I don’t think I’ve ever met any small, furry animals. But it makes me sound big and dangerous, and that’s fine by me!

Picture of Boy suddenly standing tall over the rabbit’s cage, feeling very proud of himself.

‘Put Boy in the kitchen,’ Dad tells Billy. ‘We can make sure the rabbit doesn’t go in there.’

Yes, Yes. The kitchen! It’s where they prepare all that yummy smelling food.

I’ve never been allowed in the kitchen before, and I can’t wait!

Picture of Boy sniffing the counters looking for food.

But the food’s been put away and it’s not much fun being locked in the kitchen all on my own.

They didn’t even think to bring in one of my beds!

Picture of desolated Boy lying on the hard floor among the chair legs.

Later that day they take me back to the lounge and put me on my leash while they let the rabbit out of its cage.

There is so much fluff! I’m not sure which bit is the head, and which is the tail.

Picture, Boy looking puzzled trying to figure out which end is which.

I thought the rabbit might run around and we could play. But it just sits there, licking its bottom.

I give it a good sniff and try to say hello, but Billy jerks me away. He must be worried it will bite me.

It doesn’t look dangerous, but you never know.

So I lie down on my bed and go to sleep.

Picture of Boy curled up on his bed, foot over his ear.

When I wake up, they’ve all gone through for dinner.

So it is just the rabbit and me.

It doesn’t look vicious at all, sitting there in the straw, chewing and chewing and chewing.

Picture. Rabbit sitting in a litter box, chewing on the Timothy Hay.

So I give it a good sniff and, yes, it does smell just like a barn. And it doesn’t seem to mind me sniffing it at all.

So I do what I always do.

I go back to sleep.

I think somebody put a hot water bottle in my bed, it is so nice and warm.

Picture of the rabbit snuggled up against Boy’s tummy.

There is a lot of noise when I wake up.

‘He’s eaten it!’ yells Sally.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t. It’s hiding somewhere, that’s all,’ says Billy’s Mum, looking nervous and searching behind the couch.

Picture. Chaos as everybody searches, Boy lying in his bed, his head raised in wonder.

Perhaps they need a hand, I think, and I stand up to help them look.

‘Oh no! He killed it right there on his bed,’ wails Sally as she rushed to pick up my fluffy hot water bottle.

Frightened by all the noise, the rabbit wakes up and runs back to its cage.

Picture. Boy standing up, the rabbit awake below his legs, Sally in the background crying.

They must have realised the rabbit isn’t vicious after all because they leave us together a lot after that.

But it isn’t much fun. Rabbits are rather boring, you know.

And they nibble on all sorts of things that don’t taste nice at all.

Picture of rabbit eating books, shoes etc.

A few days later, after Sally and the rabbit leave, they take me to Cousin Kevin’s house.

‘Don’t worry about the cat,’ Billy’s Dad assures Cousin Kevin.

‘Boy was fine with Sally’s rabbit. He won’t be a problem with the cat.’

Picture. Boy standing erect, looking at the cat hopefully, the cat looking doubtful.

It looks like a rabbit, sort of. But you can easily see which end is the head and there is a long tail on the other end, just like mine.

Picture Cat has tail up, and boy too, a sort of Mexican stand-off.

Perhaps it would like to play. Or cuddle, like the rabbit. It doesn’t have as much fur, but it looks like it could be a lot more fun.

Then it makes a strange hissing sound, and its hair stands on end, making it look much bigger than it was before.

Picture. Cat looks bigger, hair on end, standing tall, tail up, looking scary.

Are you sure it doesn’t bite?

I look at Billy for reassurance, but he looks almost as scared as I am.

Picture, cat/dog standoff in background, Billy looking nervous in foreground.

Then the vicious animal lashes out, evil claws ripping across my nose.

‘Owwwww. Owwwww,’ I yelp, running away to hide behind Billy’s legs.

Picture. Cat licking its paws, Boy cowering behind Billy’s legs).

The cat hid hides under the table, growling and waiting to pounce.

Take me home, take me home, I plead with my eyes.

Picture. Cat lurking under table. Boy pleading with Billy.

Billy’s parents think it is all a big joke and we stay another hour.

But Billy and I know we aren’t safe with that vicious beast hissing at us whenever we come near.

Picture. Parents laughing and pointing, Billy and Boy cowering away from dangerous cat.

It is lovely when we get home. Billy plays with me for a while, until I get bored and go to sleep on one of my beds.

But I have terrible dreams in which a pack of cats are after me, hissing and growling and sharpening their claws.

Picture. Boy sleeping on the couch with thought bubble featuring him fleeing in terror from a hoard of angry cats.

‘Should we get a cat to keep Boy company when we’re not at home,’ Billy’s Mum suggests at breakfast the next morning.

I almost choke on the bit of bacon that Billy has given me under the table.

Picture. Boy looking horrified, with family laughing in the background.

PART 3: My cousin Roo – by Boy

He must be my cousin, I think when I see his big, powerful legs.

He is moving fast, almost as fast as I run but with giant leaps, his little front legs dangling on his chest.

Picture of Roo bounding along, little front legs dangling.

I take off like a bullet from a rifle. I just have to meet this strange new cousin of mine.

‘Boy, Boy, Come here!’ I hear Billy shouting behind me.

Picture of Roo running towards reader, Boy close behind, Billy way back in the distance.

I usually come when Billy calls.

Well, sometimes anyway.

Picture of Boy looking over his shoulder at the distant Billy.

I look around.

I’m not on a road and there are no cars bearing down.

Nothing to explain why Billy’s so excited.

And he hasn’t got a treat in his hand.

Picture Boy and Roo running in a wide open paddock, not a road in sight, Roo looking around.

So I turn my back and run for the trees.

I’m off to meet my fast-moving cousin.

And I’ve left poor Billy behind.

Picture of Roo disappearing into the trees with Boy in pursuit.

‘What are you and what’s your name,’ I ask as I run alongside my strange cousin,

wondering at the strength in his big back legs.

He leaps with his tail flying out behind him.

A great big, thick tail, much longer than mine.

Picture of Roo and Boy in full flight, Roo’s tail trailing behind him.

‘I’m Roo, the Kangaroo, who are you,’ he says, barely out of breath.

‘I’m Boy and I’m a greyhound, the fastest animal in Australia,’ I puff as we run through the bush, side by side.

Picture of them running side by side, Boy, slightly ahead, starting to pant and look tired.

‘I can see. You’re faster than me,’ says Roo in a sing-song voice.

‘But I can run all day. It’s how I play. Can you run all day too?’

Picture of Boy gradually falling behind, panting.

‘I used to race. At a terrific pace.’ I manage to puff out, trying to speak like him.

‘But now I’m done. I think you’ve won.’

‘So please slow down. I’m so tired I can’t run another stride.’

Picture of Boy begging Roo to slow down.

We’ve come to a big road leading right into town.

At last Roo slows down.

Picture of Roo and Boy running down a big road, cars driving past.

My feet are sore and there’s blood on my paw.

No, it’s worse! There’s blood on all four.

I’m puffing and panting and don’t want to run anymore.

Picture of Boy licking his bloody paws as Roo looks on.

‘See you later, cousin Boy,’ says Roo as he bounces off down the road.

‘Come here you,’ says a council worker standing near.

‘Watch out for that roo, he’ll tear a chunk off you.’

Picture of Roo bouncing off down the road and a council worker calling out to Boy as he tries to run after him.

It’s not like that, I’d like to say.

Can’t you see, we’re friends Roo and me.

Picture Boy with the council worker and a Boy thought bubble with him and Roo standing on hind legs, arms around each other’s shoulders).

He looks at the tag on my collar and pulls out his phone.

‘Billy,’ he says, ‘I have your dog and he needs to go home.

‘He was chasing a roo down the road to the zoo.’

Picture of council worker calling Billy as Roo disappears down the road.

My legs are wobbly and I need to lie down. The man gives me water but I’m too tired to drink.

‘He’s bleeding, his paws are worn and torn,’ says Billy as he gives me a cuddle.

Picture of Billy cuddling Boy as he lies on the grass.

I’m boiling hot, as if in a pot.

My world turns grey and I drift away.

Picture of Roo looking very, very hot, perhaps greying out as he drifts away.

‘Heat exhaustion,’ is the next thing I hear.

It’s the voice of the vet, the one person I fear.

Picture of evil vet examining Roo on his stainless steel table.

She smears smelly stuff on my paws and wraps them in gauze.

‘He’ll be fine, just keep him indoors’.

Picture of Billy leaving the vet practice, Boy with his feet bandaged and on a lead, the vet giving care instructions.

When we get home Billy’s Dad sounds mad.

‘Keep him on a lead to control his speed,’ he says to Billy.

‘And as for you! Don’t go chasing that Roo, he’s not good for you.’

Picture of Dad scolding Billy and Boy, with Boy looking guilty.

Now my paws are so sore, I can’t run anymore.

But I know cousin Roo will come back from the zoo.

And one day we’ll once again race at a very fast pace.

Picture of Boy lying in his bed, feet bandaged, with a thought bubble of him and Roo bounding across a field together.