Ballinger Seizure

Disclaimer: I have since learned that the way we handled the dogs after seizing them here is NOT the way to go. . .in actuality, this should be titled: How NOT to handle a seizure, as it resulted in the death of a dog. This is NOT the typical greyhound farm, please don't assume it is. This is one of the rare instances where the neglect is so bad SOMETHING has to be done. This was my induction into greyhound Rescue. Despite this, I remain Neutral.

5/2/94

These are a collection of photos taken of our first batch of greyhounds from the Ballinger TX Seizure. These are not the worse abuse/neglect case dogs of any species I've seen, but they are also not pretty. There were a total of 67 dogs on this farm.

I still remember that day. It was a drizzly, rainy Monday. I skipped my last 2 classes of the day and met up with Celinda McCormick. We'd planned all weekend for this seizure. What had precipitated this event was the condition of some of the dogs we'd gotten from Jim McCord over the last year. I believe it was somewhere around 20 dogs, underweight, severely, some abused (cattle prod burns). We never knew where he lived, he always delivered the dogs to Celinda. It was only from a tip from a grooming parlor we had a Meet & Greet at that we found out where his kennels were. Scott Armstrong, a cruelty investigator certified by the TX Department of Human Services, snuck out there with a video camera and what he brought back was appalling enough to make the JP decide to act. BUT, he also decided it could wait 4 days, as they had a local murder they were dealing with.

Three of us came from San Angelo, and although Hill Country Greyhound is the only other group I can remember name wise, there were others who showed up. A caravan of a Bronco, Mini Van and my mustang drove the half hour to Ballinger, where we all met up at the Runnels County Sheriff's Office, and waited. I hadn't realized HOW serious this was, until the Deputy loaded his rifle. My heart hit the floor then.

We trailed the cop cars out to the kennel, out in the middle of nowhere, and parked and waited. We could hear the dogs barking, but couldn't see anything but buildings. The sheriff talked with Jim McCord, and finally waved us in. As we were the group closest to home, we were given what we thought were the worse cases.

It was a nightmare. . .the dogs were in pens, sometimes 5-6 to a pen, dirt floors, covered with feces, nothing to eat, buckets full of filth instead of water. There were mixed sexes in each pen. The only way in the pen, was over the paneling. The wires that held the fences together were so rusty, you could tell no one had opened them in a long time. Then there were the crates at the back. . stacked two high I believe, these crates were so tiny, so filthy, it was ridiculous. We made a human train out of it, grab a dog, lift to a volunteer over the first fence, lift to another volunteer over the second fence, and into a car, all the while hearing how that's the way the were supposed to look, that they weren't starved, that they were just old. We stuffed 4 dogs in the Mustang, 6 in the Bronco, and 5 in the Mini-van, and then headed back to the sheriffs station to wait.

As the rest slowly came back, their vehicles stuffed with dogs, we heard stories of the poor dog who was crated, ankle deep in feces, with its dead and decayed companions skeleton stretched out beside it in a dog trailer (yes, he was storing dogs in a dog trailer), of other skeletons of dogs that had laid out and died, one which was told had the hide still attached, of a dog found chewing on the vertebrae of another. The most grotesque thing taken from that day, was a greyhound skeleton.

As soon as we were given the word, we raced home. I clocked us going 85 on the highway, but we didn't care. We had two old matrons we didn't think could make it, and were terrified we'd pull into the driveway and have them dead. Due to a confrontation between two males in the mustang, I was down to three. . .these three named themselves on the way home, and many of the others were already named by then. Friend, who laid his head on my shoulder, and stared up into my face, told me all he needed was a friend, Baby, a cute little fawn baby doll, and Goldie, a parti-coloured pretty boy. Goldie left me a present in my front seat when he crawled up there, and pooped diarrhea all over. .30 mins is a VERY long way to drive when your car stinks. . trust me.

When we arrived at Celinda's house, we slowly let loose each of the greys. . .you could tell they knew something was up. . this one little tiny black bitch, who'd shaken, and shivered at us, suddenly stood proud and RACED like the wind around the backyard, her companions following in a surge of colours. We ended up leaving the oldest of the two matrons and Jack, a male who'd gotten bit across the face, at the Vets. The bitch went immediately on IV.

These dogs scarfed down 50lbs of food in less than 10 mins, only to throw it back up. . .they were so hungry minour squabbles started over the food. Celinda left to return the Bronco, leaving me, a novice, alone with the 14 new greys, the three fosters she had, and her own Greyhound.

I don't know how long after she left that Hell broke loose. I was new to this, had never had more than 3 dogs under my care, didn't know how to handle THIS many dogs. I was on the phone with a donator, when a SCREAM from hell rang out from the backyard. Throwing the phone down, I raced outside to witness the worse thing I've ever seen: the pack turning on one of its own. I will tell you, a hose DOESN'T do a thing for a dog fight, and it's only because of Doc Hodges coming in, slinging his Vet case around, knocking sense back into dogs, even momentarily, that we were able to get to the downed dog. Blood coated Victory, he'd been neutered in the attack. Doc picked him up and carried him to the back of his truck, laying him out. That poor brave boy stood up on trembling legs, to stare at us. . that's the last I saw of Victory. .he died the next morning due to the wounds.

I took three kids home that nite: A BEAUTIFUL little black tuxedo girl I named Classy after another little black grey I saw in Germany, Friend, and Baby. Those poor dogs cried and howled every time I left their sight, as if after finally feeling love, they were terrified I'd leave them. When they were outside with my two kids(Korckie, an English Cocker and Loki, a mutt) they'd follow the sound of movement around the house, and CRY and Cry. . it was so sad. Within days, I found Baby wandering around outside like a Horse with Founder, trying to stand in anyway to cause  as little pain as she could. .all of the dogs ran their poor paws raw enjoying their newfound freedom. Other than Pokey, Classy & Baby are the ONLY other greys I've ever regretted let go.

I was never happier than the day we were given control over those kids. . .they became ours to place.

The Angels of Ballinger

All three of these photos were taken the day of the seizure, walking skeletons