He was born on a cold spring day in April. One of eight siblings, he came out of his mother’s womb ready to run. Over 4000 years of breeding to chase anything that moved was personified in Blue. As a puppy, he far outshone his siblings in his desire. If it moved, he chased it, and usually caught it. If by chance he didn’t, he’d hunt and hunt for it, until he had to be forcibly brought in. He never gave up. From sun-up to sundown, while his siblings were tumbling, barking, playing with each other, Blue was scanning the horizon, forever looking for movement. He was born to sight.
The eight were sent to the track together, but Blue was the most driven. His powerful, gleaming chrome body would flash around the track during training, determined to catch the mechanical rabbit racing just ahead of him. He had no stop button. There was no “OK, I’ve done my job”. He was always ready to chase.
That chase took its toll. Blue raced, and raced well, making money for his owner for over three years. He did all that was asked of him. Winning firsts, making
money. His powerfully built torso would strain at the lead line as he was marched to his starting gate. Other dogs might look around, but Blue kept his eyes straight ahead. On that box, from which he’d spring, strong gluteal muscles launching him in front of the pack, pounding the sand to reach his goal. Blue didn’t know what was really on the line, he just knew if it moved he had to chase it. If he could, he had to catch it. His ancestry demanded it.
Those years took their toll on his body. His last year of racing, his heart said the same to him every day. “I’ll chase it, I’ll get it. It’s mine, I deserve it. I want it”. But his body couldn’t keep up with his heart’s commands. He dropped not just one, but two muscles in his hind legs with his desire far out shining his body’s abilities. With both back legs tightened up now, he’d hobble, using his hips to propel himself forward. He’d do anything to keep his body moving, forward, searching. He’d be in his crate, standing, ready, whining about why he wasn’t getting the call. Other dogs were being dressed, were being sent. He was good, he could do it. Just let him show everyone.
That last year, seventeen starts and no firsts. Oh, a few seconds and thirds thrown in, but not like what he used to accomplish. His owner made the decision. He would be donated to the local vet school, along with ten other hounds no longer earning their keep. There he’d be used for terminal surgery practice by third year vet students. He’d be one of the 900 greyhounds donated that year and killed by vet students, who as doctors would graduate with the motto “First do no harm.”
Blue lay in the gray, sterile vet school kennels. Cement walls, from ceiling to floor, on either side. Cement floor. A stainless steel bowl with water. The quiet echoed through the sterile walls. As dog, after dog, after dog lay on that cold cement, watching, waiting for something or someone familiar. A door opens, and Blue is up. Making no sound, but the pat of his pads as he starts pacing in front of the kennel door. Is it time? Time to go chase? His body taut and anxious, I’m ready, his body and mind signaled. Ready to run for you, ready to run for me. Just let me chase. Let me be me. A human girl approaches.
Hi Boy, she’s whispers. I’m so sorry, as she puts a yellow card on his door and keeps walking. He sniffs that innocuous card which signals Blue will be used for terminal surgery the next day and is not to be fed.
Blue continues pacing as he watches her put a card on 10 more kennel doors. He whines. I’m good to go. I can do it, he says.
No one listens, and an hour later Blue settles his muscled body down. But keeps his eyes on alert. Waiting. Watching. Hoping.
Later that evening, another human comes by. She walks back and forth for over an hour between the cages, talking to the dogs, reaching her hand out to touch. Blue is up and watching her every move, pacing with her when she’s next to his cell, telling her, I can do it. I’m your guy. I can catch everything. Just let me try. This vet student stopped to listen. She looked at Blue, and she looked deep. She saw in him everything he’d been and everything he could still be. She marked his cage as hers and removed the yellow card.
For Blue, home has always been where the chase is. He stays true to his nature whether it is the football or the lure he is chasing. He has no time for the 
hobbling and the stiffness in his joints. He only has time for whatever was moving. Even in sleep, stretched long on a six foot sofa, his heart speaks to his feet – “Move, chase, run, catch, chase”. True Blue, always and forever.
Blue was one of twenty dogs rescued from this vet school through the efforts of many.
This vet school discontinued its use of greyhounds for terminal surgeries because greyhound advocates brought media attention to the plight of these hounds. They now use purpose bred beagles.