As the PM’s pooch, I thought I had it ruff. Then I met my mate Skinny

October’s been bonkers at Chez Albo. As the nation’s first canine, I’ve resorted to me-time at the local dog park, seeking respite from ministerial meetings and gloomy opinion polls.

As I loitered near the environmentally friendly poo-bag stand, browsing my social media feeds, this big skinny galoot of a greyhound came loping over. Looked like he hadn’t had a decent feed in months. I’ve noticed they’re all a bit that way; not that I would ever comment on another dog’s weight.

It’s no easy task providing round-the-clock emotional support to a prime minister.

Anyhow, I was clear I had a lot on my mind. It’s no easy task providing round-the-clock emotional support to a prime minister, not to mention some of the “needier” staff – and a flow of foreign visitors to boot. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

But this goofy greyhound was oblivious. He proceeded to unload all his troubles. You know the type ... always hard done by, always playing the victim. Boring, boring, boring. But my ears did prick up when he confided he’d been down in the Sydney CBD barking away outside the premises of the Human Rights Commission. Humans have always had issues, of course. Lots and lots of them. The commission really, really likes issues.

But this skinny chap has suddenly decided he has issues, too. Discrimination issues. And he wants to take his case to the commish. (It seems to have completely escaped his notice that he’s not human … but he’s not Robinson Crusoe on that, is he?) His basic whinge is that when it comes to dogs, greyhounds are the victims of “systemic, institutionalised, taxpayer-funded discrimination”.

Generally, it’s observed that the dogs of Australia have been rather successful in recent years. We hauled the nation through the COVID lockdowns. And while the human economy is going to shit, the canine economy is doing very nicely indeed, thank you. Spending on dog food, dog comforts, dog beds, dog toys is through the roof – putting the Buster in gangbusters, in fact. Our tribe is totally and proudly recession-proof.

Not the bloody campaign scarf again. I’m a dog, not a billboard. Credit: Alex Ellinghausen

It’s sad to say, but for self-proclaimed masters of the universe, these humans often present as rather feeble creatures unable to cater to their own basic needs without the unselfish and unceasing support of canine-kind. And that’s just the unpaid civilian work conducted around the nation day after day. Not to be forgotten are the sterling efforts of seeing-eye dogs, cadaver dogs, drug-detection dogs, police dogs, prime ministerial photo-op dogs, etc.

Is there actually any area of human endeavour that would survive for a minute without us? The evidence suggests not.

So my skinny mate’s beef was this: There are about 200 dog breeds in Australia. Their standard of living would be the envy of many a small emerging nation. Why, then, are greyhounds left behind, singled out for industrial-scale cruelty and mistreatment? These once-noble beasts, beloved of the pharaohs, are condemned to lives of suffering and deprivation, at risk of death or injury every time they race. They are placed in harm’s way by people who purport to love them, just for human entertainment and greed. Too slow, or too injured, they are discarded like garbage. The lucky ones escape to take their chances in shelters and adoption schemes already overflowing with unwanted dogs.

The unlucky ones are dead in their prime at three or four. Arguably worse, as we learned last month from the ABC, is that some poor sods are being sneakily exported to China for the illegal race industry where their fates are indeed worse than death.

Old long nose at the dog park became especially indignant when he mentioned that greyhound racing is actually dying out around the world and remains legal only in seven countries. But Australia defies the trend. Incredibly, the global greyhound welfare advocacy organisation, Grey2K USA, asserts Australia is home to more than half the world’s remaining dog racetracks. It’s all taxpayer-funded and brazenly enabled by state premiers addicted to gambling revenue.

Who says we don’t lead the world in anything worthwhile. Just look at all those dog racetracks ... Don’t they make your little heart burst with national pride?

As I prepared to head home for liver treats and yet another valiant shot at boosting the flagging prime ministerial morale, I did admit that old mate Skinny had a point. If I can ever get Albo to focus on something serious for even a moment, I’ll suggest the least he could do is fix up that horrible greyhound export thing.

If I can get Albo to focus on something serious for even a moment, the least he could do is to fix up that horrible greyhound export thing.Credit: Janie Barrett

And next time one of those irritating premiers turns up at the Lodge, I might be tempted to take a leaf out of “Commander” Biden’s book over there in the US of A and just chow down on an errant ankle or two. I may look impossibly adorable but, to coin a phrase, I have been underestimated all my life. I have grown up in progressive politics. I, too, have inhaled the pure air of social justice commitment.

Behind this fluffy facade beats the heart of a warrior. Annastacia, Peter, Chris, Jacinta and co, you have been warned. What do we want? To free the hounds! When do we want it? BOW WOW NOW!

Ghostwritten by Deborah Fleming, a Walkley Award-winning journalist, former executive producer of the 7.30 Report and Australian Story, and a rescue greyhound owner.