GTI am an aficionado of greyhounds and their willing servant, as my friend Cynthia would say. You may think that I need a psychological evaluation. You may be right. But no, I will not change my ways. When you’re in love, you’re in love.

In the fall of 2000, Happy Endings, my fourth greyhound, passed over the Rainbow Bridge. Calls from greyhound adoption groups seeking forever homes for their dogs suddenly ceased. I thought my days with this spectacular breed were over. I was wrong.

During the spring of 2005, in the early hours of the morning, I turned over in bed and re-scrunched my pillow, ready to settle in a different spot and go back to sleep. Startled, I found myself eye to eye with a gorgeous female greyhound, white with black patches, standing on the right hand side of my bed. I immediately named her Beauty. I stayed perfectly still and mentally asked, “Why are you here?” She responded, “Will you help us?” I said “Sure,” thinking that soon the phone would ring and this beautiful creature would be my new roommate. “What do you want me to do?” As I stretched out my hand to caress the noble forehead of this magnificent hound with her soulful brown eyes, she disappeared. I felt as though my heart had been unexpectedly struck by a dagger, promising future pain. It was disturbing.

Spring blended into summer and the memory of Beauty’s visit dimmed into the background. In the fall, however, I read somewhere that a local greyhound rescue group had moved its kennels to the Northwest side of town and was seeking volunteers. The timing was perfect. I was in a position that did not require working weekends, and I was ready to volunteer to help the hounds.

Beauty was never intended as my roommate. She was a visitor from the Universe. An ambassador for a breed that man has dominated and ruthlessly used as a commodity to make money through greyhound racing. Beauty knew that I was receptive between 2:30 and 3:30 a.m. and timed her visit perfectly to get my attention. She was successful. Her plea for help led me to love and help hundreds of retired racing greyhounds in their pursuit for a forever home once their racing servitude was over.

For five years, I volunteered with a local rescue group. Every Sunday morning I did turnout with my buddy Griseldis. I fostered numerous retired racing greyhounds straight from the track, wrote grants that brought in close to $50,000, created doggie bios and foster updates for the website, and participated in other fund-raising activities.

One Sunday in the fall of 2007, I arrived for turnout. The rescue group had taken in several new dogs, one of which was Mr. Beamer, who weighed in at 82 lbs. One look at this magnificent brindle boy, warm brown eyes flecked with gold, no prey drive, good with other dogs and kids, and an affectionate personality convinced me that he was my fur kid. We’ve been together ever since and I adore him. However, that doesn’t mean that Mr. Beams is immune to getting into mischief. Read his blog for details!