It was a dreary December morning. I was sat up in my bed, my tired eyes slowly adjusting to the bright ceiling light hanging above me, juxtaposing the darkness of the world outside. It was rather early to be awake on a Saturday, especially considering how I’d gotten into a bad habit of sleeping in until late. My attempt at savouring the quietness and stillness of the morning was disrupted by my racing thoughts, and both the anxiety and excitement which flowed around my body. It was the day I’d be heading back to the greyhound rescue in order to officially sign the adoption papers and finally bring our new family member home.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been doubting myself the entire two weeks prior to that day. In late November, my mum had taken me to the greyhound rescue so I could meet some hounds in need of homes, and hopefully find the right match for me. We met five dogs in total - they were all lovely of course! The first one was a confident girl, who didn’t hesitate to approach us with an enthusiastically wagging tail, nor was she cautious about jumping up at the tables and shelves in the little meet and greet room. The second one was an incredibly frightened girl, who stood in the corner of the room quivering - she was beautiful and my heart ached seeing her so scared. The third was a huge boy; his strength was very evident by how he burst into the room. The fourth was a polite and confident girl; I was almost set on choosing her, and I think she would’ve been a good match for me. But the fifth… he was timid, cautious and hesitant to approach us. Yet, despite being (understandably) very anxious, he eventually dared to greet us. I remember the moment so clearly… how he tentatively walked towards me and let me stroke him under his chin. He gazed into my eyes, almost as if he was choosing me - rather than me choosing him.
But his cautiousness and anxiety had been playing on my mind for the two weeks in between meeting him and officially rescuing him. I was already an incredibly anxious person myself, would I even be able to help him? Would my anxiety hold him back? Would he be able to sense it, therefore reinforcing his own fears? What if I was making a mistake and it was going to end terribly? How would I cope with my entire routine changing? I thought to myself, as I was sat in my bed early that day, how that particular morning was the last time my life would be like this.
The doubts continued to race through my mind as my mum drove me to the greyhound rescue on that December morning. As an attempt to ease my nerves, I told myself this was a positive thing. For starters, rescuing a greyhound was something I was certain I wanted to do, and I’d been eager to do it since I was about eight years old, when I read “Born to Run” by Michael Morpurgo for the first time and fallen in love with the breed. In addition, rescuing a dog wouldn’t just change my life, it would change their life too. To go from an upbringing confined within the racing industry, being treated like a gambling-industry-feeding commodity, to becoming a beloved family member… surely that was a great thing?! Moreover, I desperately needed something to help me - a change of routine, a beacon of light in the darkness of my mind, a purpose and reason for living…
A photo of Fiver taken on 2nd December 2023 (the day he officially joined the family and came to live with us).
Admittedly, my mental health was in a terrible place at the time. Truthfully, it’s not been great for a long time - and it still isn’t perfect now - but 2023 (and the years leading up to it) had felt particularly difficult. I’d essentially watched myself fall into an inescapable pit, one which left me utterly unmotivated, where I felt as though my life had no purpose and I believed there was no point in taking care of myself. Agoraphobia took over my life, making it feel impossible to leave the house on my own, and sometimes reluctant to leave the house even if I did have someone by my side. I was frightened of the outside world, terrified of being perceived by other people, and incredibly insecure about myself. Locking myself away - usually in the safety of my bedroom - meant I could escape all those irrational fears. Yet, isolating myself was clearly worsening my mental health and only reinforcing my desire to hide away. Try as I might, I couldn’t break the cycle; I needed something to charge into my life and change it for me, or rather, force myself to change it.
Fiver was that something.
Naturally, he was terrified of everything when he first arrived. The car journey home. The stairs in the house. Traffic. Other people. Other dogs. Even cats and birds! In order to show him he had nothing to fear, I needed to force myself to be confident. I had to encourage myself to get out of the house and show him how entertaining and exciting walks could be, even if there was anxiety-provoking stimuli nearby. Subsequently, he started to trust me. A month after he joined the family, he wagged his tail for the very first time. Two months in and he was becoming more confident ascending and descending the stairs. Six months in and he was able to stay in the care of his dog sitters, The (wonderful) Sighthound Savoy, for four nights while my mum, her partner, and I went to a camping festival. A year later and he started acting more relaxed on walks, even to the point where he’d feel safe enough to settle and sit down while out and about. This last year he’s started to find his voice, learning to bark for the very first time (although admittedly, he’s more of a yipper than a barker). It’s been wonderful to watch him learn how to be a normal dog!
Consequently, my confidence has developed alongside Fiver’s. I’ve noticed myself thinking more rationally about my anxieties, taking better care of myself, and even treating myself with more kindness, respect and sensitivity. In the last few months, I’ve even started challenging myself to become increasingly independent, pushing myself to leave the house on my own (even without Fiver by my side) and do things that the version of me two years ago would’ve never thought they could do!
Of course, that’s not to say things are perfect now; we both still have “off” days, where Fiver may be more fearful of something I thought he’d overcome, or where I can’t leave the house without an ordeal’s worth of worry. However, things are significantly better, and I’m indescribably grateful for Fiver. Without him, I don’t know where I’d be.
He saved my life.
A photo of Fiver, taken on 2nd December 2025 (his 2nd “Gotcha Day”).
What an incredible two years it’s been! I genuinely can’t believe how fast it’s flown, and I can’t wait to enjoy even more years with this truly amazing companion of mine… I hope he feels the same way about me (although that’s debatable - I think the two main things which cross Fiver’s mind are food and sleep).
My most recent illustration - a portrait of both myself and Fiver, sitting together while watching a sunset. Accompanying us are some lyrics from a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately, one which I haven’t listened to much since I was a teenager (“Talk Tonight” by Oasis). The lyrics felt relevant to both me and Fiver. I think we both saved each other’s lives.
Thank you for reading this blog post! I thoroughly hope you enjoyed it! Did you know that there’s hundreds of greyhounds in need of homes as a result of the racing industry overbreeding them beyond what they can reasonably care for? I believe there’s a greyhound match out there for everyone, regardless of your situation. So, I’ve said it many times before and I refuse to shut up about it - if you’re currently considering bringing a dog into your life, please think about rescuing a greyhound! They are truly wonderful, and I’m honestly not just being biased.
Make sure you tune in next week for Fox & Fiver’s next blog post! Until then… goodbye for now!
Next Blog: “Visiting the Real Watership Down: One Year On!” - 12th December 2025