By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Keegan Hamilton and Francisco Alvarado
By Jake Rossen
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Chris Joseph
By Michael E. Miller
It may not have mint juleps and gaudy hats, but this year's $150,000 Greyhound World Classic — billed as "The Kentucky Derby of Dog Racing" — featured two dogs that had owners, trainers, and industry players buzzing like touts at Churchill Downs. At the Mardi Gras Casino in Hallandale Beach, Flying Stanley, the returning World Classic winner that some call the Tiger Woods of dog racing, faced off in a field of eight against Hallo Gold Acre, a seemingly unbeatable hometown champ. It was a classic match-up, yet what seemed to be illuminated beneath Mardi Gras' bright yellow lights were the death throes of an industry that once was all but synonymous with South Florida — a prospect that saddens some and thrills others.
In the 1980s, the World Classic drew nearly 15,000 spectators a year and was broadcast on national television. "It wasn't long ago that this was the biggest spectator sport in South Florida," said Aldo Leone, director of dog racing at Mardi Gras. Leone started work at the track as a dog walker in 1979 and never left. "Rich people, poor people, they'd sit outside on a nice night like this and watch the dogs," he said.
The 34th annual running of the Classic, in late March, drew close to 1,000 people. While trainers, owners, and their families gathered for a gourmet meal, the dogs were housed on the other side of the track. Behind thick glass doors and across a cinder-block room, they peered out from behind the bars of cages stacked two-high on every wall. Waiting.
When a human enters the kennel, ears perk up. Some dogs whimper and yelp. Most are lying down. The standing dogs have dense muscles rippling across their bodies, especially the thick haunches above their narrow hind legs. "They're finely tuned to run, all muscle," said Franklyn Delise, a judge who oversees the paddock at Mardi Gras. "They're like professional athletes, but they're also still dogs. They wag their tails when they're happy. They perk up if they see someone they recognize."
Flying Stanley, a long, gold dog with brown streaks, sniffed at visitors and chomped on the bars of his cage. He was born in Kansas, near the Greyhound Hall of Fame in Abilene. He's won virtually every major stakes race in the country, including the 2007 World Classic and the Derby Lane Million in St. Petersburg. He's already pulled in more money than any other dog in racing history — over $700,000 says Vera Filipelli, an industry expert who works as a publicist for the Derby Lane track. "He's the strongest runner I've seen in 30 years of dog racing," Filipelli said. "Stanley always has to have a strong male lead him out and put him in the box because he tugs so hard on the leash nobody can handle him."
Directly above Stanley in the kennel was Hallo Gold Acre. The bright white dog with the stringy tail was a legend at Mardi Gras before he was two years old. Earlier this year, Gold Acre won 15 straight races, breaking the track record previously held by his sire, Hallo West Acre. In the late '90s, West Acre made the World Classic finals a record three years in a row and won it once. "Gold Acre is a special dog. He's an even more natural runner than his father," said Monica Rigo-Smith, a Swiss-born trainer. Along with her husband, Dennis Smith, she works Gold Acre at her kennel in Miami, which she calls "the Palace." Before a big race, she gives Gold Acre cooked noodles. "He's just an 80-pound baby and he loves to run. If he focuses, he can leave any dog out there behind him." As the big race neared, he was lying still, quiet, his wide eyes gazing at the humans in front of his cage.
These small cells are high on the list of problems cited by anti-greyhound-racing groups who say the dogs are mistreated. "Our main concern is the confinement," said Christine Dorchak, president and general counsel of Grey2K USA, a national nonprofit organization based in Massachusetts that works to end dog racing nationwide. "Dogs spend up to 20 hours each day in cages barely large enough for them to stand up or turn around. And greyhounds suffer serious injuries while racing. In states that report injuries, reported injuries include cardiac arrest, seizures, and paralysis. But states like Florida don't require the tracks to report injuries or dispositions. The public is expected to just take their word for it."
Dorchak believes the decline in dog racing's popularity is a result of the public becoming more aware of the dark side of industry: dogs testing positive for cocaine, reports of greyhounds being shot, the statistics on culling that show that breeders euthanize at least 2,000 puppies a year. Greyhound racing is legal in only 16 states — and of those, Oregon and South Dakota no longer conduct live races. Since 2004, 11 tracks have either closed or ended live racing. Almost half of the remaining tracks in America are in Florida.
"Greyhound racing has existed under the radar for decades now, but thankfully that's finally changing," Dorchak said. "People can be beating or mistreating a greyhound at Mardi Gras or Flagler [Race Track in Miami]" and nothing happens, while "someone can be mistreating an animal a mile down the road and be arrested and put in prison."