Lets face it, we aren’t shrinking violets, but we did think twice (and the rest) before doing what we did. It all began when a string of walking hat racks turned up at the kennels over a few months, all having being trained by the same guy. They were rehomed via Free Ads in excellent condition, only to re-emerge as pitiful wrecks a few months later. Naming and shaming would have got Tia sued and besides the responsibility for the racers had passed to a new owner.

So we had a bit of a think! A simple spreadsheet, no names, no pack drill, just the dogs name, earmarks racetrack, plus a few lines noting its journey to the pound. Absolutely no mud slinging or finger pointing. We just took the decision to let the facts speak for themselves. Tia had no idea how effective the outcome would be.

Days after we posted it onto the website the phone started ringing off the hook. Some of the conversations were couched in the most obscene terms. Our highly successful Stray of the Day articles had also ignited the sympathy and passion of our supporters and the authorities sat up and took notice. It dawned on a few people that if they wanted to save the sport, things had to change. The usual suspects cleaned up their act with the threat of expulsion looming over their heads and what had been a flood of strays, slowed to a trickle. We began to track siblings through their earmarks, noting patterns emerging and we also discovered the power of the internet. When we had enough knowledge, we got the van out and scoured allotments for the neglected and discarded.

Trainers and owners from all over the country were heard to be monitoring the site on a regular basis, afraid of their dogs popping up.

At one point we were invited to one of the local tracks. We were asked, begged and almost threatened into not putting any of their dogs on the Wall. “Please let us know first, we will deal with it in house, there’s no need to put it on the internet.” Well clearly there was.

The meeting actually ended with the part owner of the track getting up shouting and walking out of his own meeting room. Well he does have form for throwing tantrums.

Some trainers threw in the towel, at least on the regulated circuit. Others took the dogs directly to the stray kennels and paid the fee.. At least those dogs were safe and could be fast tracked to Tia and other rescues. We formed new relationships with decent trainers who have become supporters in their own right. Looking back it is difficult to imagine what pressure we were under at the time with the vet bills and overcrowding. The Wall of Shame really was as a turning point for us.

We still get the odd stray, but nothing like the number back then, all because we simply pointed out the facts.

As part of our 25th anniversary we’ll be posting 25 stories, from the very start of Tia to where we are now.

We have sold Mill Race Farm. Although it’s in the early stages i am confident that it will go through, so we are looking for Tia’s next and permanent home. When we bought Moorside Farm we paid the mortgage off in 6 years and i am wanting to do this again so that Tia’s future is secure. Please help us achieve this by buying a brick for Tia, as part of our ‘25 years of Tia brick appeal‘.

A couple of years on from leaving the Police, I had taken over the stables behind the tip, collected garden sheds from all over Yorkshire and Tia Greyhound & Lurcher Rescue had begun. I saw lots of neglected dogs, sad dogs, starved dogs, betrayed dogs. Volunteers, helpers, dog walkers and fundraisers just seemed to find us. We would sit for hours in the field watching the world go by.

On the 11th February 1998 I went to the stray kennel in Huddersfield, which was a notorious hell hole on every level. They fetched out a greyhound and how I kept my hands off them for keeping him for a week, with no veterinary treatment, I will never know.

I took him back to the stables/sheds but I couldn’t leave him there, he could barely stand he was so weak and the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He had almost given up….so home he came. A comfy bed was set up under the radiator and he could see my giant rabbits through the patio doors bouncing about…I swear they kept him going. An early form of recreational therapy no doubt.

Brandon was a massive dog, reduced to skeletal proportions, his skin was rotting. I had to carry him outside, which wasn’t difficult apart from trying not to hurt him. He had to be fed a small handful of food every 2 hours and each time I went into see him, I’d say “Hello Brandon”. In truth I was never sure if he was going to be alive or not.

Weeks went by and every day he got a little bit stronger. I knew early on that if he survived I would never part with him. I never did.

He was a gentleman, my Brandon. Never put a foot wrong even though he was a huge, huge dog. He had been a coursing dog, Tiger Pursuit was his official name, owned by a magistrate. I found out who had owned him, who had starved him and gave the details to the RSPCA, I even complained the to chief inspector because they wouldn’t do anything.

” Oh dear” he said…”we don’t have the time to chase greyhound abusers around the country” (swear words insert here)

This big lad fought for his life and managed another five years, five wonderful years. In 1999 we even got a trophy in London, a grand affair, we got a Wag award Willing and Giving, Personality of the Year Award, yes really. Made much more interesting by the rabbit in a cage at the next table and I had to wear a dress.

The day he slipped through my fingers I’ll never forget. I knew it was coming and had stuffed him on things I wouldn’t dream of giving him normally. Kit Kats and Milk Tray, what did it matter now. I looked through the window and he looked right back. I knew he had waited for me. I opened the door and he ran to me, he collapsed in my arms and left for the bridge, leaving a sobbing mess and priceless memories.

See you on the bridge darling.

Deb