Greyhound Gang: Greyhound Gang Stories

Greyhound Gang
Stories

Travels with Slim
Have dog, will travel.
by Claudia J. Presto

DOGS USA Annual, 1995

I had a perfectly nice job in the New York corporate world. I had a house in Connecticut, a Volkswagen convertible, an antique brass bed, 25 pairs of high heels and a life-size carousel horse. And I chucked it all. To buy a 16-foot camper trailer, a 1/2-ton Chevy pick-up and to hit the road, heading west with my faithful dog, Slim. I was looking for a better way of life. For me, that meant someplace where I could have land and freedom. Land to rescue race dogs, and freedom to care for them as needed.

My traveling companion, Slim, was a 5-year-old dark brindle ex-racer. I'd been working with the Connecticut Greyhound Rescue for seven years, and Slim had been with me less than a year. Before arriving in my home, his only experiences had been in crates and in dog runs and, of course, on the track. But Slim had no problem adapting to household living, deciding immediately this was the life was supposed to be. He busied himself, deciding which couch and bed he wanted for his own. Slim became so accustomed to creature comforts that it was hard to tell who was more upset when I announced we were hitting the road, my parents or my dog.

Soon the adventure began--the adventure of driving, handling and living in a camper trailer and truck with a very long-limbed dog. We started out with Slim in the front cab, but being the macho kind of guy he is, he would insist on driving, so I had to relegate him to the back of the truck. Not that that was a hardship, mind you. The truck had a deluxe shell with lots of windows and an over-sized dog bed, and lots of food, water and treats. He may have been a little concerned about the trailer that kept swaying to and fro behind him, but as with all good driving partners, he kept his comments to himself about my handling of the rig.

The first few months on the road, Slim and I visited my friends at various stops across the country. Slim would jump out of the truck and greet them with a big smile. If showing all his long teeth as he curled his lips back didn't get them, then usually his jumping on them did. Most of my friends accepted these greetings in good spirit, though a few made us sleep outside in the trailer.

After Slim and I had exhausted all my friends' hospitality, it was time to really use the trailer I'd been hauling for 3,758 miles. Our first night in the RV campground, I got a pullthrough site so I didn't have to practice backing up. Then I hammered Slim's metal stake with leash attachment into the ground, so he could watch me try and set up the trailer. What you have to understand about Slim is that he's a off-leash kind of guy. Having been contained for four years, he wants nothing to do with leashes. Not that he's not a perfectly behaved gentleman when he's on one. But he gets this look of sorrow in his eyes, like "how could you do this to me, when you know what an awful life I had before?" He is just too curious, however, and when off leash, he insists on scoping out everything and sticking his nose into anything. So he's tied up and patiently watching me try to unhook the trailer and attach all the things that go from one orifice to another,

Finally, it's nighttime and lights-out. This is the only time Slim and I have our differences. I have to walk him on leash for his evening constitutional. And Slim has this thing about doing number two when on leash or where others can see him. And the mosquitoes won't stop biting me, and he can't seem to find just the right spot, and I'm getting more agitated, and he's getting more agitated, and neither of us end up accomplishing what we set out to do that night!

Okay. We're back in the trailer. Did I tell you it's only 16 feet long? Slim's a good 2 feet long himself, and if you add the nose length...well everything's within easy reach for him. He's particularly fond of helping me make and eat french fries.

There's a small walkway in the trailer, and though I put his dog bed down there, he's having nothing of it. When I pull out the sofa into my bed, he's on it before I've even opened the sleeping bag. And once the sleeping bag is open, well, he's positive I bought that just for him and he curls himself around in it, usually strategically positioned right on the pillows.

And that's our road routine. A new place every night, new sights every day and freedom from sunup to sundown.

And one day we're traveling through this little southern Utah town of 3,500 people. It's nestled in vermilion cliffs, with skies that lift you up and clouds that carry you away. And we didn't leave. And it's been a year now. And we've established the Greyhound Gang, a nonprofit organization dedicated to rescuing, rehabilitating and adopting out greyhounds in our new corner of the sky.

But we haven't sold our trailer yet, because you never know when Slim and I will be on the road again.

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