10/13/2023
“But why do you work with the Spanish rescues and the hunting dogs in Spain?”
Because, this (translated):
The life of a galgos
"I started dying when I was born. I am a Galgo, the fastest dog in the world, a real tragedy for our breed in my home country Spain.
My existence is a slow and reckless death from birth. I just survived 3 years being owned by a hunter. I know there are exceptions, not all Galgueros are equal, but mine was ruthless. Every week he had us tied up behind his quad around the neck for “training”. I assure you, this wasn’t a workout, it was torture. A ruthless torture we all feared, probably more than death itself. I remember my brother getting in the bushes when we were moving. Galguero didn't stop and my brother didn't survive the practice. Galguero didn't even bother to shoot him, he threw him into a well without giving him a glance. I am still breathing I was a little older then two years.
Life hurt me and my other six brothers Yeah, life hurts, probably more than death. Our sad existence hurt us, everyday was hard. Hours, days, eternal months, in which our soul slowly dies, made the sight sad and the body sick. Chained to a chain in a hole Where there was hardly a ray of light, barely food. We were never allowed to be dogs, we were tools. Hunting tools for use and of course without value.
Then came the day I wasn't going so fast. Every bone in my weak, bruised body ached and I was no longer able to get attached to the terrible quad again, not one last time. Neither my neck nor my body could take the atrocities anymore. I had the moisture from the Zulo we lived in for months in my bones and I was already in pain without moving. My time as a treadmill was over, I was useless to the Galguero.
My heartless owner didn’t throw us into a well, instead let us “play the piano”. A rope is placed around a galgos neck and it is hung on a branch so that the tips of his hind legs still touch the ground. When the tiredness strikes, break the legs, it's over. A barbaric, horrible and cruel, but real method.
I have experienced them first hand. It was night my owner put my rope around my neck hanging me so my hind legs still hit the ground then disappeared with his quad.
I don't know how many hours I fought and was about to give up, but fate didn't want me to die like that.
The next morning I realized a dog's barking, a desperate barking when it saw me. Two girls who were with him ran to me when they saw me. They were both very excited, I remember that the girl holding me in my arms was trembling more than I did and the other exclaimed: "He's alive, he's alive, untie him, hurry up, he's living!" "
Yes I was scared, but I'm still breathing. They carried me with a caution unknown to me, they covered me with their jackets, and for the first time in my life, a human hand touched my face. They were both crying "
THE LIFE OF A GALGOS, Esther Cayuela ©
Photo from where hunting dogs rest Martin Usborne
