Friday 13 June 2008 – Wonderland Dog Track, Revere MA
Saturday 14 June 2008 – Raynham Dog Track, Raynham. MA

Dragging my drooping dogs through the church parking lot one unseasonable steamy day, I meet a visitor who remarks, “Reverend, your greyhounds look sluggish. Guess that’s why they call these Dog Days.” I smile and let the comment pass. “Dog Days” don’t begin until August. The ancient Romans gave the name “Dog Days”. They did so because of the rising of a star called “Sirius” – “The Dog Star”. They figured the heat of Sirius contributed somehow to summer’s sweltering temperatures. It worked for them.

I could say, though, that my Dog Days do come early. Here I stand at the Greyhound Adoption Expo. Owners of retired greyhounds flock to Greater Boston from around the country. There are lectures, contests, walks, photography sessions, exhibitions, and even a “Back on Track” event in which the retired animal-athletes are led triumphantly around the course as their racing names are announced over the public address system. The organizer, Linda Jensen, invites me to do a blessing of the hounds.

I could also say that every day is a Dog Day for me. My three retired racing greyhounds Cleopatra (“Queen of Denial”), The Emperor Napoleon, and Sic Transit Gloria Mundi keep me on my toes year-round. Greyhounds are a gentle breed. They love children. They are very social and enthusiastically greet all visitors. They’re intelligent. They’re not watch dogs. They’re not hyperactive. They’re couch potatoes, sleeping 80% of their lives. When they’re awake, however, they’re very awake. Look out. Even retired greyhounds can reach speeds of 40 MPH. If they spot an open gate that to them means the race is on. They’re gone.

One night, somebody unthinkingly opened my door. Napoleon seized the moment. We’re off! I grabbed a flashlight and followed in hot pursuit through the backyards of Assonet Village. Of course, the way to catch a greyhound is not to give chase. They naturally think that’s a game so they laugh and run faster. Instead, the idea is to somehow get ahead of them. How? Have you ever tried to out-run a greyhound? You’d need a helicopter.

There I was dashing through the darkened streets of the Village, grasping my flashlight and dressed head-to-toe in black. It’s my uniform.  It never occurred to me that I looked very suspicious. I hadn’t gone a hundred feet when an alert police officer pulled up behind me in his cruiser, blue light flashing. “Just what’s going on here, sir? Wait a minute. You’re the Town Father!” In a sense, he was correct. At least he didn’t have to phone the bishop to verify my identity. “Sorry to wake you, Your Excellency. This is the Freetown Police. Do you have a priest who moonlights as a cat (sic) burglar?”  I explained my situation and the officer called for reinforcements. Now I was being followed by a string of cruisers. I continued my mad dash. But not for long.

One of my neighbors was in his living room watching “America’s Most Wanted”. He happened to glance out his window just as I ran past. He saw the line of police cars flashing behind me. Out the door he flew. “Stop! Stop! Burglar!” he yelled, adding colorful curses for emphasis. The guy finally caught up with me. He realized his mistake. “Hey! You’re my priest! Sorry, Father.” Indeed. “By the way, I haven’t seen you in church lately. No more ‘America’s Most Wanted’ for you.” Napoleon got only as far as the river and, being a sensible dog, didn’t want to get wet so he stopped short and pretended nothing at all was wrong.

Greyhounds must be kept on a lead at all times, except in enclosed spaces. They’re genetically programmed to chase small game – like jumping squirrels and hopping rabbits. Some, but not many, get along with cats. One day I stopped my car to give my dogs a break. As soon as they got out of the vehicle, they instinctively began scanning the horizon for moving game. Greyhounds are sight hounds. They didn’t notice a skunk waddling out of the bushes just a few inches from their legs. My mind filled with thoughts of rushing off to buy gallons of tomato juice. I didn’t have to. The dogs failed to look down. What foolish little animal would dare walk right in front of a regal greyhound?

It’s only the month of June, but what does it matter? Let our Dog Days begin! I’m sure the ancient Romans won’t object if we anticipate a bit.

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