Bert: The Greyhound Who Changed Hearts and Minds.2664
It’s with a heart full of sorrow that we say goodbye to our beloved greyhound, Bert. After years of loyalty, love, and devotion, Bert has finally crossed the rainbow bridge, leaving a space in our hearts that no one could ever fill. He wasn’t just a dog; he was family. His gentle presence, his playful energy, and his unwavering companionship have shaped our lives in ways words can barely express. The grief of his loss is profound, and already, there’s a Bert-shaped hole in our lives that will never heal.
Bert came into our lives with a past that wasn’t easy. Like many greyhounds, he was once part of the racing world — a life that left scars, both physical and emotional. The life of a racing greyhound is one marked by training, competition, and sometimes, injury. Many greyhounds, like Bert, are left behind once their racing days are over, their future uncertain. But Bert was one of the lucky ones. His story isn’t just a tale of rescue; it’s a story of recovery, love, and resilience.
Bert's life before us was a blur of cages, tracks, and the harsh realities of greyhound racing. Like so many of his kind, he was bred and trained to race. The fast-paced world of greyhound racing is known for its brutal nature — dogs are pushed to their limits, often subjected to injuries and exhaustion. In many cases, when they’re no longer able to race, they are discarded, forgotten, and left to face uncertain futures. But Bert was different. He was rescued and given the opportunity to find his forever home, where he would be cherished and loved for the rest of his days.
His transition from the racetrack to the family home wasn’t an easy one. Bert had to learn to trust, to adjust to a life without the constant pressure of racing, and to adapt to the love and care that came from being part of a family. He had never known the warmth of a cozy bed, the joy of running freely without the constraints of a race, or the comfort of being loved unconditionally. But it didn’t take long for Bert to settle in. He quickly became part of our family, offering loyalty and affection in ways we never expected.
One of the most remarkable things about Bert was his resilience. Despite the trauma he had endured, he never let it define him. He quickly became the heart of our home, a calming presence in our lives. He had a quiet dignity about him, an air of wisdom that spoke volumes. It was as if he understood his past and had made peace with it. He was gentle and kind, always there when we needed him, and his ability to forgive was something that continuously amazed us.
Bert’s story wasn’t just ours to tell; it became a beacon of hope for other greyhounds who had suffered through the same fate. His story, as a former racer, highlighted the need to end greyhound racing altogether. Bert’s journey, from a racing track to a loving home, was a reminder of the cruelty inherent in the sport and why it should be abolished. Over the years, Bert’s story became widely known. He captured hearts, both through the media and in the hearts of those who met him.
In 2017, Bert won the ‘Pawblic Vote’ at ‘Holyrood Dog of the Year,’ a moment that brought immense pride to all of us. His win wasn’t just a personal victory for him; it was a victory for all rescue animals and, in particular, for greyhounds like him who had suffered in silence. Bert’s presence at the event was powerful. He wasn’t just a dog who had won an award; he was a symbol of survival, hope, and the power of second chances.
His victory at the ‘Holyrood Dog of the Year’ wasn’t the end of his story, though. Bert made another appearance this year, reminding the public of the ongoing struggle for greyhounds who were still suffering. His story continued to feature in the press, alongside others who had been injured in racing but had found their forever homes. Bert’s name became synonymous with the campaign to end greyhound racing in Scotland, and it’s a campaign that continues today.
Throughout it all, Bert never lost his gentle spirit. He was always content with the simplest of things — a walk in the park, a moment of quiet companionship, or a good meal. But his greatest gift was the way he brought people together. Bert’s story sparked conversations, inspired others to take action, and helped to raise awareness about the cruelty of greyhound racing. He became a symbol of what could be achieved when we come together to fight for change.
Now that Bert has passed, we are left with a bittersweet sense of pride. His legacy lives on in the countless lives he touched, both human and animal. He taught us what it truly means to love without condition, to forgive without question, and to offer our best selves to those who need it most. Bert’s passing is a loss that cannot be measured, but it is also a reminder of the incredible impact one dog can have on the world.
We are determined to honor Bert’s memory by continuing the fight to end greyhound racing in Scotland. His story, and the stories of so many other greyhounds like him, must not be forgotten. We urge everyone who believes in compassion to join us in this fight. If you agree that greyhound racing should end in Scotland, please email your MSPs and let your voice be heard.
Bert may no longer be with us, but his spirit will always remain. He will forever be the dog who not only changed our lives but also inspired a movement that continues to grow. His story has made a difference, and through our continued efforts, his legacy will live on in the hearts of all those who believe that every greyhound deserves a chance at a life filled with love and happiness.
From the Cold to the Fire: The Stray Who Found His Forever Home.1220
The day was bitterly cold, the kind that stings your cheeks and makes you pull your coat tighter. The wind carried the kind of chill that seeps into bones, and the sky hung gray and heavy. It was on that day, when the world felt especially harsh, that a small figure appeared outside my door.
Curled up on the mat, trembling, was a little boy—not a child, but a scruffy, shivering puppy with pleading eyes. His fur was thin and patchy, his ribs faintly visible. He pressed himself into the corner of my porch as if trying to disappear into the wood.
At first, I thought he might be resting, but then I noticed the way he shook, his small body trembling against the cold. He looked up at me with eyes that seemed to ask a single question:
The Fireplace Glow
Inside, the fireplace crackled, filling my house with warmth. I wondered if he had somehow sensed it—the faint smell of smoke, the soft glow from the window—and decided that this was his sign, a beacon in the cold.
I knelt down slowly so I wouldn’t startle him. “Hey there, little one,” I whispered. His ears twitched, but he didn’t run. Instead, he blinked at me, too tired to move, too cold to protest.
When I reached out a hand, he flinched at first, then, as though deciding he had no strength left to resist, he let me touch him. His fur was icy, his tiny body stiff. I knew right then: he couldn’t spend another minute outside.
First Steps Inside
I scooped him up and carried him inside. He was so light, his weight barely noticeable in my arms. As we crossed the threshold, the warmth hit us both, and I felt him sigh—half relief, half exhaustion.
I set him down on a soft blanket by the fire. At first, he simply curled into a ball, cautious, as though unsure if he was truly allowed to stay. But when the warmth reached him, he stretched his little paws toward the flames, his body relaxing bit by bit.
I brought him a bowl of water and a small plate of food. He sniffed cautiously before devouring it, his hunger obvious. Watching him eat, I felt both sadness for the hardship he’d endured and joy that he had found his way here.
A Silent Bond
That first night, he didn’t make a sound. No barking, no whining—just soft breathing as he slept curled by the fire. I sat nearby, listening to the rhythm of his tiny chest rising and falling, realizing how fragile he was.
And yet, even in his fragility, there was strength. He had survived the cold, the loneliness, and the hunger. Somehow, he had found his way to my door. And now, I felt a quiet bond forming between us, something unspoken but deeply real.
Days of Healing
In the days that followed, I did everything I could to make him comfortable. Warm baths to clean his fur, small meals spread throughout the day to build his strength, soft words to let him know he was safe.
At first, he followed me timidly, keeping a little distance. But soon, he began to trust. His tail, once tucked tightly under him, began to wag. His eyes, once filled with uncertainty, started to sparkle.
Every morning, I’d find him waiting by the fireplace, his chosen spot, as if to say: “This is my place now.”
A New Life
It wasn’t long before the little boy became part of the rhythm of my home. He followed me from room to room, his tiny paws padding against the floor. He learned the sounds of comfort—dishes clinking, pages turning, the kettle boiling.
And I learned the joy of companionship again. His presence filled the house with life, with laughter, with love. The emptiness I hadn’t even realized was there suddenly felt whole.
On walks, he trotted proudly by my side, his head high, as if he had always belonged. Neighbors stopped to admire him, and I told them the story of the day he showed up on my porch. Everyone agreed: he had chosen well.
Reflections by the Fire
Sometimes, I still sit by the fire and watch him sleep, his body stretched out in peace, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. I think of that cold day, of the trembling little figure curled on my doorstep, and I marvel at the transformation.
He had been left with nothing but hope. And that hope had carried him here, to warmth, to safety, to love.
The Lesson
This little boy’s story isn’t just about a stray finding a home. It’s about resilience, about the power of small signs, about how sometimes the ones who need us most come quietly into our lives and change them forever.
He could have given up in the cold. Instead, he held on. And because of that, both of us found something we didn’t know we were missing.
Closing Reflections
Now, he is no longer alone. He has a home, a family, and a forever spot by the fire. His story reminds me every day that love often comes when we least expect it—sometimes in the form of a trembling little boy on a cold doorstep.
And as the fire crackles, and he sighs contentedly in his sleep, I know: this was meant to be.
