Photographers Blog

Racing greyhounds fall between the cracks

West Yorkshire, England

By Chris Helgren

I met Alice at a rescue center in West Yorkshire. She was skin and bones, flea-ridden, and half the weight of the dog she should have been. Alice was a greyhound bred for racing, who was picked up wandering the busy Doncaster Road, the victim of an uncaring owner who had dumped her rather than continue feeding her. She was brought to Tia Greyhound & Lurcher Rescue center, a sanctuary sited on the edge of a moor near Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire.

Tia was borne of the need to house dogs which were either abandoned or whose owners or trainers could not find space at regular welfare kennels. The Retired Greyhound Trust is doing an admirable job in housing and arranging for homes for about 4,000 dogs per year through their 72 branches, but their space is limited to about 800 kennels. Also, kennels charge up to 300 pounds for a new dog to be admitted. What happens in the cases seen by Rothery in Yorkshire is that if a greyhound owner cannot place their dog in one of these kennels, the pressure is on to move it out of their care in other ways, such as by advertising via websites Gumtree or Preloved. These new onward owners are not vetted, and there is no return policy if it doesn’t work out.

Debra Rothery, who runs the Tia center, said that at any given time they house 80 dogs which would “otherwise be dead”. The animals coming into her care are from a region surrounding the center, where there are six regulated and non-regulated racetracks. She said that about 50% of her greyhounds were abandoned, the remainder brought in by owners and trainers. Rothery said that the operating costs of Tia, which run at £1000 per day, are met by donations.

I’m not a dog person, I’ve always had cats, so my motives behind pursuing this story were not sentimental. I merely sensed a story of injustice, one of the classic themes for reportage. When I saw the state of dogs that had been freshly retrieved from the streets of Yorkshire, and heard what had happened to some of them, to me it was an obvious story. Former working dogs that should be enjoying their retirement are being cast aside or killed because elements of the declining racing industry turn a blind eye to the problem. The Greyhound Board of Great Britain does not believe the dogs registered with them are being set loose on the streets in large numbers, and have a set of standards that they maintain are vigorously enforced by their welfare officers who report breaches to prosecuting authorities. The GBGB say that the greyhound is now the most protected of all canine breeds after the introduction of the 2010 Racing Greyhounds Regulations. However, despite the tough talk, Tia’s kennels continue to fill with unwanted animals.

The project started originally from a simple exercise in environmental portraits at Wimbledon Stadium for my MA course in photojournalism and documentary photography at London College of Communication. When I lived in London in the 1990s, I visited the now-derelict Walthamstow racetrack on several occasions. A friend of mine introduced me to the place, a grand palace of the sport, and I felt an affinity with the atmosphere. Later, I brought friends of mine to experience racing nights there and witnessed what appeared to be real Londoners enjoying themselves. Central London seemed to me at the time to be filled with transients, both foreigners like myself and office staff who had migrated from the rest of the United Kingdom. Real Londoners seemed to have kept themselves segregated and went off to live their lives apart from us. But here at the track in east London, this was where to find them, their stock was undiluted.

A visual journey

On the bus

With the hopes of seeing a slice of Americana and a desire to get back to the Big Easy, I thought what better way to get to see the country than take a Greyhound bus. My trip, which originated at Port Authority in New York City and was to end in New Orleans, covered 1,400 miles, 15 scheduled stops and 4 bus changes.
As hoped I met some really interesting characters along the way : A man who claims to have staged a pre-meditated suicide in hopes of claiming a new identity, a pastor who has fathered 13 children, a kid who hiked the whole Appalachian trail by himself, a marine who claimed to have not been home for 6 years and was returning to New Orleans via Boston to see his six-year-old daughter for the first time and his wife, amongst many other people who if I dared to approach I’m sure had their own stories to tell.

Waiting at the terminal
I left Port Authority at 11:00 a.m. on Tuesday (8/12) and arrived some 31 hours later on time in New Orleans at 6:30 p.m. on Wednesday (8/13). Along the way we made a few meal stops as they were called and I have to admit I see why America has an obesity problem. The only food options at these stops were McDonald’s or random other stops that had the options of Fried Chicken with or without fries. Unless you were packing your own meals, healthy options were few and far between.

McDonalds
Sleep was tough. The first bus I was on was pretty comfy, however, when we switched to a Carolina Tramways bus chartered by Greyhound it was far from comfortable. A school chair had more cushion that these seats and unfortunately it was the longest non-stop leg of the trip. Once in Atlanta, we changed buses to what felt like a Rolls Royce compared to tha old bus and I was able to get my only 3 hours of sleep along the way.
Seeing the night come and go was great and I really knew I was in the south when we stopped in Opelica, Alabama for a meal and ordered some good ‘ole salt cured bacon, grits and sweet tea. Getting close to New Orleans I chatted with a bus driver and reminisced about Katrina. She was telling me how she drove Greyhound buses to evacuate the people days after the storm and I remembered being on one of those flooded overpasses myself watching these people finally being taken out of that dire situation.