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Race without participation
In Hamburg, a greyhound runs because it wants to. In Dublin, it runs because someone has bet on it. What sounds the same is not.
Starting box at Höltigbaum, Hamburg-Rahlstedt. No betting shop, no betting slip — just sport. · Photo: Nicole Behr
There's an image that comes to mind for many when they hear the word greyhound racing: emaciated dogs, betting shops, Irish drizzle, and somewhere in the background, the nagging feeling that something isn't quite right. This image isn't wrong. But it only shows one side of the world—and definitely not the German side.
Germany has banned commercial greyhound racing. This isn't a recent ban, not a reaction to a scandal, but a fundamental principle: betting on greyhound races is illegal in Germany, and no organizer is allowed to profit directly from the race results. Those who don't know this—and most don't—are living with a persistent misconception: that greyhound racing is the same everywhere. It isn't.
One sport, two worlds
At the racetrack of the North German Greyhound Racing Club (NWR) in Hamburg-Rahlstedt, this is immediately apparent. Founded in 1946, with over 80 years of history, it's one of the oldest clubs of its kind in Germany. The NWR organizes races where the result is exactly what it should be: sport. No bookmakers, no betting slips, no six-figure winnings for someone who's never even touched the dog. The people here are dog owners. They train their own dogs. They groom their own. And when their dog is running, they stand at the sidelines and watch—with the nervous excitement of someone who truly cares about their animal.
The bend at Höltigbaum: Three dogs, one goal — no money involved. · Photo: Nicole Behr
This is the crucial difference, which is almost entirely absent from public perception. Greyhound racing is reflexively associated with animal cruelty—an association that is historically justified in countries like Ireland or the United Kingdom, but is out of touch with reality in Germany.
A greyhound that runs is doing what it has been bred to do for millennia. The question is never the race itself. The question is who benefits from it.
Basic principle of German amateur sports
How a race really works
Those who have never witnessed it might imagine it as a frantic chase: loud, chaotic, uncontrolled. The reality is more precise—and more exciting. The dogs start from individual starting boxes, numbered, sorted by breed and class—in Germany by speed, in neighboring countries also by weight. In front of them: a dummy—usually something fluttering. A scrap of fabric, a tuft of fur, a flapping object on a towline, pulled at high speed across the track. No hare, no animal, no scent, no real prey—and yet, the moment the box door opens, the same ancient program kicks in for every greyhound. They hunt because hunting is their deepest instinct. The adrenaline that surges through their bodies in those seconds is physiologically measurable—pulse, muscle tension, focus. Anyone observing the dogs in the minutes before the start can see it even without a measuring device: trembling anticipation, tense attention, an almost unstoppable urge to move forward.
The moment when everything explodes: kennel doors open, four dogs, one instinct. · Photo: Nicole Behr
Distances vary depending on the breed: smaller breeds run shorter distances, larger breeds run longer. In German club racing, distances of 300 to 500 meters are common, while larger races like the German Greyhound Derby include longer distances. Shorter distances demand an explosive start and maximum acceleration—here, the dogs with the most nerve often win, not necessarily the fastest. Over longer distances, endurance and cornering technique are decisive. Greyhounds and Whippets dominate the timesheets, but Afghan Hounds, Borzois, and Italian Greyhounds also compete—each breed in its own class to ensure fair comparison.
A muzzle is mandatory — and not a sign of aggression. All the dogs starting the race wear a muzzle. Not because greyhounds are dangerous, but because they have no control over their own strength in the heat of the race. At the finish line, when they all rush towards the dummy, collisions can occur—the muzzle protects the dogs from each other. It's safety equipment, not a muzzle in the figurative sense.
Not every dog is a racing dog. This is perhaps the most important piece of insider knowledge of all. Some greyhounds explode out of the box and run like there's no tomorrow. Others trot off leisurely, look around, lose sight of the dummy—and, frankly, are more interested in the spectators. This isn't a failure, not a training problem. It's personality. And no reputable club sport will force a dog that doesn't want to participate. You'll notice it quickly. And then the dog simply stays home.
Whippets are the surprise. Smaller than Greyhounds, but almost unbeatable over short distances. Their acceleration in the first 50 meters is breathtaking—they need only 8 strides to reach over 50 km/h. Greyhounds may overtake them on long straights, but by then Whippets can have built up an insurmountable lead.
The curve decides. Experienced racing dogs know the curve well—they lean into it, barely losing speed. Young or inexperienced dogs struggle the most there. Whoever lies on the inside and masters the curve has a huge advantage.
The goal is not the goal. Technically, the race ends when the dogs cross the finish line. In practice, it ends when the dummy is stopped—and all the dogs pounce on it. Not a rabbit, not an animal: usually some fluttering piece of cloth that's been dragged along the track on a leash. For the dog, though, it's the most important thing in the world at that moment. This moment, this collective release, is one of the best parts of the whole day for many owners.
What's really happening in Ireland
Ireland subsidizes its greyhound racing industry with taxpayers' money—most recently almost €20 million for 2025 alone. At the same time, the Irish Greyhound Board's own figures show that nearly 3,000 greyhounds born in 2021 are already dead or missing. Not after a long life, but after just a few racing seasons.
Between 2018 and 2022, according to official figures from the British Greyhound Board of Great Britain, more than 2,200 greyhounds died on the racetrack or shortly afterward—and over 22,000 injuries were recorded. And these are only the documented cases. The actual number is considered to be considerably higher. In industrial breeding operations, puppies that don't appear fast enough are culled every year—estimates suggest up to 12.000 per year, often without any chance of a life outside the racetrack.
In 2006, a case that still shocks the British public is still cited today: Over a period of 15 years, a man had shot and buried around 10,000 healthy but no longer competitive greyhounds—for payment from racing stable owners. The revelations led to public outrage, parliamentary debates, and ultimately stricter regulations. What they did not lead to: the end of the system that had created it.
The logic of the prohibition
Germany drew this conclusion earlier than most. The ban on commercial dog racing is neither accidental nor a moral gesture—it follows a clear logic: as soon as an animal becomes a vehicle for betting profits, the relationship between humans and animals changes fundamentally. The animal ceases to be an individual and becomes a factor in a profit calculation.
Austria and Switzerland share this ban. In the US, 40 out of 50 states have now banned commercial greyhound racing—a process that has accelerated since the 1990s. Florida, once home to 11 of the country's 17 active racetracks, voted for a ban in a 2018 referendum. Even New Zealand announced at the end of 2024 that it would shut down the industry by 2026.
The direction is clear. The fact that Germany has been going down this path for a long time is hardly communicated — and that is precisely the problem.
Allowed: Non-commercial racing and coursing in amateur settings, organized by clubs like NWR Hamburg. No betting, no direct financial gain from the race results. The dog belongs to the owner, who also trains and cares for it.
Forbidden: Commercial racetracks with betting operations, breeding exclusively for industrial races, any form of betting on dog racing — even if the race itself takes place abroad and is accessible via an online portal.
Interesting: Despite the German ban, bets on Irish or British races can theoretically be placed via foreign online portals. The ban applies to the organization of betting, not to the consumption of betting – a loophole that fuels the debate about international regulation.
Why the misunderstanding is so persistent
Anyone searching for "greyhound racing" will primarily find reports about Ireland and Great Britain. The images—stadium races, bookmakers, cramped cages—shape the collective perception of the sport worldwide. The fact that a completely different model exists in Hamburg, on a sand track in Rahlstedt, which has operated without a single betting shop since 1946, doesn't fit this image. Consequently, it's rarely seen.
Full concentration — no dog runs because it has to.
After the run: The dog belongs to someone who knows him.
This is a communication problem — and a justice problem.Club members who want to allow their Whippets, Greyhounds, or Italian Greyhounds to express their natural hunting instincts are lumped together with an industry from which they themselves sharply distance themselves. This is frustrating. And it prevents a nuanced public debate, which is urgently needed—not about the racing itself, but about who benefits from it.
A greyhound that isn't allowed to run isn't a happier greyhound. It's an under-stimulated one.
From the club philosophy of German amateur sports
What Greyhounds really need
Greyhounds, Whippets, Italian Greyhounds—these dogs have been bred for millennia for one task: sight hunting. They don't hunt by scent, but by movement. Their bodies are built for speed, their minds for the precise moment. Anyone who has ever seen a greyhound race doesn't see a tormented animal—but rather an animal doing exactly what it was built for, with an intensity that few other breeds can match in sport.
The goal isn't the goal—the dummy is. A fluttering blue rag. For these three dogs, it's the most important thing in the world at this moment. That's precisely why they're all wearing muzzles. Photo: Nicole Behr/Greyhound Photography
The question is not: Should a greyhound run? The question is: Under what conditions, for whom, and with what consequences? The German answer to this question is clear. It should be better known.