Dear Gambler,
When you look at me on the track, you see a blur of speed. You see the excitement of the chase. You see a chance to win some money. But please, look closer. Look into my eyes. I am not a machine. I am a dog.
My life is not the glory you see on TV. For 23 hours a day, I am locked in a cold, small kennel. I have no soft bed, no family to love me, and no toys to play with. I exist only for one purpose: to run for your entertainment.
I am running for my life. To make me run faster, trainers have been caught pumping dogs like me full of Class A drugs like cocaine and amphetamines. My heart pounds until I feel it will explode. If I slow down, I am useless to them. If I fall and break my leg on the sharp turns of the track, no one will pay for expensive surgery. I will simply be "put to sleep" behind the scenes.
I am disposable. The industry calls it "wastage." Thousands of my brothers and sisters are killed every year simply because they are not fast enough to win you money. And when my career ends—often at just three years old—my nightmare continues. Many of us are exported to countries like China or Pakistan, where there are no laws to protect us. There, we are raced until we drop, or worse, sold for meat.
Your bet funds my pain. Every pound, euro, or dollar you place on a race keeps this cruel system alive. You have the power to stop this. Please, do not turn away. Walk away from the track. Don't let my suffering be your sport.
I just want to be a dog. Please, let me live.
Vous êtes sûr ? Votre mobilisation est importante pour que les pétitions atteignent la victoire !
Sachez que vous pouvez vous désinscrire dès que vous le souhaitez.
