Once upon a time a greyhound was born in Australia . He was worth so very little that he wasn’t even given a name . Neither cared for or loved by his racing industry owner , he was sold to the hell on earth known as The Canidrome in Macau China , to race for what his life was worth . He was given a racing name ” Chill Sing” for identification at The Canidrome , but in reality he was just a cell number “508 “. “508 ” now diced with death each time he was taken out onto the deadliest race track in the world . He was literally running for his life . It was only a matter of time before his days would be numbered like the thousands before him who never came out of that place alive. While ” 508″ languished in there , suffering unimaginable neglect and pain in a damp, cold cell that could only be described as a living hell , his condition and that of most of the other 530 worsened with each passing day . With three concrete walls and a ceiling above him , all he could see or do for 23.5 hours per day was listen to the whimpering, yelping cries of his fellow cell mates . If he was lucky he got taken out of his cell for a few minutes and was tied to a rail with a lead so short his neck was stretched high and he couldn’t lay down while his excrement was hosed out of the cell . He would then be forced back inside his now saturated cell with only a wet floor and no warm bed to lay on until the next day . In winter he froze and in summer it was so hot and humid , he would have to lie on the filthy floor with his head under the bars of the cell door to try and catch a little fresh air or a breeze. The conditions were atrocious and the food no better . Dry kibble and water was all he was given . For “508 ” his days were spent staring at a concrete wall except for a few minutes when he was walked around the Canidrome laneways to stretch his legs in preparation for racing . His feet had never touched grass , he only knew that the humans around him were too busy and unfriendly to give him the time of day. Never had he been spoken to with kind soft words , brushed , patted or even given a scratch under the ear . Like most of the other greyhounds that were barely existing in the Canidrome , 508″ withdrew into himself to survive . Then one day a kind human lady and a man came to visit him and told him that everything was going to be ok and to just hang in there a little longer ….if he could. A few more friendly humans also began visiting him regularly and taking him out for walks .. ….along the same concrete laneways but they would at least allow him stop and relieve himself . They didn’t pull hard on his lead or yell at him to hurry up . He had a bath , and photos taken . The cuddles were nice and he really looked forward to them but the months dragged on and he was still confined to his cell for long long hours each day . His bones ached from never having a soft bed to sleep on , his teeth were sore and rotting in his mouth from not having ever eaten good or nourishing food . He was melting in summer and freezing in winter . His shivering causing callouses to build up on his elbows from the hard concrete he layed on . But the day did come for ” 508″ . He didn’t know it when his cell door was opened that day on 16th March 2019 , or that it was going to be for the last time . He stepped out of his prison cell and into a new life that was just about to begin . Firstly , he was off to a foster home with a kind Portuguese man and his family, to wait until his turn came to head back to Australia and whilst living in an apartment many many floors tall might sound unconventional for an ex racing greyhound , it was actually the perfect way for him to transition from cell life to eventually life on a farm. He now had the comfort of a soft bed and more freedom to move around. He was escorted down in the building’s lift three or four times per day to relief himself outside and most of all he was shown love and compassion . Smelling , seeing , hearing so many new and strange yet wonderful things in a crowded city would have been daunting for most dogs locked away for so long and deprived of everything a pet would normally experience but “508” took it all in his stride . Each day became more wonderful to be alive . His foster family made sure of that . Then on Monday 20th May two months after being freed from the horrors of The Canidrome , this little brindle greyhound , who now had his very own official pet name ” LENG CHILL ” ( Cantonese for beautiful Chill ) – CHILL for short , said goodbye to his temporary foster family and headed home to Australia. Our little ( and he is small for a boy ) greyhound is finally home . Back in the country where he was born and should never have left . He has felt the grass beneath his feet for the first time and smelled the fresh country air . He has the freedom to run and play on over an acre of land when ever he wants . He has people who love him and he is truly alive and able to be ‘ just a dog ‘ at last . Welcome home CHILL โค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธ. One of the 18 who made it home when 18,000 others didn’t ๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข

Once upon a time a greyhound was born in Australia . He was worth so very little that he wasn’t even given a name . Neither cared for or loved by his racing industry owner , he was sold to the hell on earth known as The Canidrome in Macau China , to race for what his life was worth . He was given a racing name ” Chill Sing” for identification at The Canidrome , but in reality he was just a cell number “508 “. “508 ” now diced with death each time he was taken out onto the deadliest race track in the world . He was literally running for his life . It was only a matter of time before his days would be numbered like the thousands before him who never came out of that place alive. While ” 508″ languished in there , suffering unimaginable neglect and pain in a damp, cold cell that could only be described as a living hell , his condition and that of most of the other 530 worsened with each passing day . With three concrete walls and a ceiling above him , all he could see or do for 23.5 hours per day was listen to the whimpering, yelping cries of his fellow cell mates . If he was lucky he got taken out of his cell for a few minutes and was tied to a rail with a lead so short his neck was stretched high and he couldn’t lay down while his excrement was hosed out of the cell . He would then be forced back inside his now saturated cell with only a wet floor and no warm bed to lay on until the next day . In winter he froze and in summer it was so hot and humid , he would have to lie on the filthy floor with his head under the bars of the cell door to try and catch a little fresh air or a breeze. The conditions were atrocious and the food no better . Dry kibble and water was all he was given . For “508 ” his days were spent staring at a concrete wall except for a few minutes when he was walked around the Canidrome laneways to stretch his legs in preparation for racing . His feet had never touched grass , he only knew that the humans around him were too busy and unfriendly to give him the time of day. Never had he been spoken to with kind soft words , brushed , patted or even given a scratch under the ear . Like most of the other greyhounds that were barely existing in the Canidrome , 508″ withdrew into himself to survive . Then one day a kind human lady and a man came to visit him and told him that everything was going to be ok and to just hang in there a little longer ….if he could. A few more friendly humans also began visiting him regularly and taking him out for walks .. ….along the same concrete laneways but they would at least allow him stop and relieve himself . They didn’t pull hard on his lead or yell at him to hurry up . He had a bath , and photos taken . The cuddles were nice and he really looked forward to them but the months dragged on and he was still confined to his cell for long long hours each day . His bones ached from never having a soft bed to sleep on , his teeth were sore and rotting in his mouth from not having ever eaten good or nourishing food . He was melting in summer and freezing in winter . His shivering causing callouses to build up on his elbows from the hard concrete he layed on . But the day did come for ” 508″ . He didn’t know it when his cell door was opened that day on 16th March 2019 , or that it was going to be for the last time . He stepped out of his prison cell and into a new life that was just about to begin . Firstly , he was off to a foster home with a kind Portuguese man and his family, to wait until his turn came to head back to Australia and whilst living in an apartment many many floors tall might sound unconventional for an ex racing greyhound , it was actually the perfect way for him to transition from cell life to eventually life on a farm. He now had the comfort of a soft bed and more freedom to move around. He was escorted down in the building’s lift three or four times per day to relief himself outside and most of all he was shown love and compassion . Smelling , seeing , hearing so many new and strange yet wonderful things in a crowded city would have been daunting for most dogs locked away for so long and deprived of everything a pet would normally experience but “508” took it all in his stride . Each day became more wonderful to be alive . His foster family made sure of that . Then on Monday 20th May two months after being freed from the horrors of The Canidrome , this little brindle greyhound , who now had his very own official pet name ” LENG CHILL ” ( Cantonese for beautiful Chill ) – CHILL for short , said goodbye to his temporary foster family and headed home to Australia. Our little ( and he is small for a boy ) greyhound is finally home . Back in the country where he was born and should never have left . He has felt the grass beneath his feet for the first time and smelled the fresh country air . He has the freedom to run and play on over an acre of land when ever he wants . He has people who love him and he is truly alive and able to be ‘ just a dog ‘ at last . Welcome home CHILL โค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธ. One of the 18 who made it home when 18,000 others didn’t ๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข๐Ÿ˜ข
โ€” Read on m.facebook.com/story.php

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Australia and Ireland ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ช

This was taught us some years back & many believe all Aussies should be aware of it, if not know revere it.

THE CROSSES OF THE FLAG ST. PATRICK’S CROSS

Diocletian Constantine became the Emperor of Rome, elected by legions of the army while he was still in Britain. When the whole Empire had acknowledged him, he stopped the persecution of the Christians. During his reign of about 30 years, he himself was baptised, & he proclaimed the Christian faith to be the official religion of the Roman Empire. Teachers, protected by the highest authority, travelled to the furthest boundaries, encouraging those who were now relieved from the burden of oppression, receiving all those who would believe. When the Roman Empire was threatened by invasion the armies were withdrawn from the most distant colonies to defend the central provinces. From the year 400, hordes of heathen Angles & Saxons from the continent came swarming into Britain, raiding the towns & cultivation that had prospered under Roman rule, burning the churches.

They drove the Christians before them to the mountains of the west. Patrick was born in a Christian family, on the west coast of Britain, possibly in southern Scotland. One day when he was herding his father’s sheep along the grassy dunes beside the sea he was kidnapped by Irish pirates & carried away to slavery. Taken to Western Ireland, his master set him to work to feed the pigs. In a few years he managed to escape on a boat that was trading Irish Wolfhounds that was sold in France. Landed in France, he made his way to monastery to claim protection after his adventures. During his years of education at Tours & Auxerre, he kept in his mind & his prayers the wild Irish who had captured him, their ignorance, & their rough & heathen life. He was determined that, with God’s help, he would return & teach them the truth.

Ordained to be a Bishop, with a band of volunteers to be his companions, he landed a second time on the coast of Ireland. The heathen belief of the Irish, with Spirits of earth & water, field & forest everywhere among them, was a form of worship of the sun, with fire, as symbol of the presence of the sun on earth. Tara was the central shrine; the home of the High Priest, the fortress of the High King. On one day of the year every fire must be put out; no glimmer of light must be allowed until at night, with awe & incantation, priests kindled a new flame on the altar of the sun, the all-powerful God. From the altar, torches were lit in the hands of swift runners, who sped among the country rekindling the fires on every hearth, while the King at Tara held high festival.

Patrick & his companions came to Tara on this night. On the hill beyond the town they lit a great fire that went leaping into the darkness. The Irish rushed towards them for vengeance on those who had dared risk the anger of their gods; ready to throw the strangers onto the flames. Patrick stood waiting; a great cross held besides him showed clearly against the blaze. He called aloud to the angry throng. They held back – they quietened, they listened. So great was his influence, the King offered the Christians his hospitality. inviting them to tell him more about this different faith. Soon the King, the priests, the people were baptised, the altars were thrown down. Patrick devoted the rest of his life to Ireland, & drew many helpers to him in his task. Under his leadership the Irish became Christians, churches were built, & monasteries with schools throughout the land.

Patrick died about 461, possibly later; he was buried at Down Patrick with greatest reverence. His festival is 17th March commonly known as St. Patrick’s Day. In the years of turmoil when the power of Rome was withdrawn from Western Europe, Ireland isolated, protected by the sea, became a centre of art & learning famous throughout the continent. Among some manuscripts that have been preserved, the Book of Kells is one of the most famous in the world. It is a treasure of beautiful writing, illuminated capitals exquisite miniatures, delicate borders & traceries. The emblem of St. Patrick is not a cross, because he was not murdered for his faith; the symbol known as St.Patreick’s Cross, red slanting on a white background, is the badge of an order of knighthood, created in his name long after his death. Accounts of the life of St. Patrick give various details; one is that he was a modest man who wrote little about himself.

Our flag three crosses showet, the third slants white & red.

It stands for good St. Patrick, in scotland born ’tis said.

He gave his life for Ireland, he lies ‘neath Irish sod,

& now his cross reminds us to win the world of God.