The long, agonizing walk through the neighborhood ended at the greyhound tracks. Jennifer fondly recalled watching the greyhounds dash through the tracks here, the exhilaration temporarily distracting her from the anxiety of her predicament. It would have came to her that she would be joining their ranks until her very own mother told her otherwise.
The front gate was narrow, and she had to make a sharp turn immediately after. Her fourth pair of legs got caught in the gate, and since her upper torso and head is so far ahead she had to make a U-turn to allow her upper torso to reach the stuck leg, the free it. Her mother led her to the registration desk.
"Don't worry sweetie, you're born for this, I'm sure you'll adjust well."
"Good afternoon. I see you have led a fine sprinter to join the bunch of racers down on the tracks. Don't worry about his size, we'll accommodate him well."
"But I am a she! And I'm not a racing greyhound! I'm human! It should be obvious; dogs can't talk!" She felt herself elongate again, two pairs of legs and two torsos growing out of her back. The first torso and pair of legs made her hindquarters strike the closed gate; she felt her spine bend 90° to the side to make room for the second torso and pair of legs, giving a total of nine.
"Don't be silly, pup, you're gonna be our star racer, I promise." The gravity of the situation struck her right there, right then: it was not just her mother that would treat her as no different from any other racing hound; everyone else shared the same view.
"Bring me her pedigree."
"Vaccination records."
"Veterinarian checkup documents. Don't want anything sick here, and we need him neutered."
Her mother displayed these documents successively after each of the requests. Only then did it dawn upon Jennifer that the birth certificates and report cards were certainly never there, since she was no different from any greyhound under the eyes of anyone in this world. Though at least she's being addressed as "her".
"I see that she's been trained for some time… we'll see if we could get her to the racetracks as soon as possible."
Jen felt a muzzle being strapped to her snout, the ropes attached to a leash. She also felt a piece of fabric hang over her frontmost torso, and she recognized it as the numbered marker each greyhound needed in each race. "Oh, finally, something to replace that sick piece of crud. It's your first race. Aren't you excited?" Hold on, they don't even do veterinary checks before the races begin? Would people even know that the racer is differ from the one they had bet on? What kind of —
"Come on, girl", as she felt a tug on her leash. She had no choice but to follow the staff member to the starting box. Of course, as a taur, her height meant that she could not fit in the box if she stood with her upper torso straight; she had to bend down with the hands on the grassy floor once again.
Once she saw the cover open, she darted out of the box and followed the "lure" as best as she could. She did feel herself surpassing the other greyhounds in the race, and she felt a rush over her as she did so, but she had to be careful not to let any of her hind torsos touch any of her opponents, or she risks disqualification.
When it came to the bend, however, the long trail of legs behind her became difficult to maneuver around the bend quickly; she found herself slowing down so much her competitors had all surpassed her. At the same time, sustaining such a large body (ten torsos and twenty-two limbs in total — this includes the upper torso and arms) required a lot of energy, and since all of her previous meals were in human portions, she had exhausted her energy supplies and hunger got to her. Could she clutch the victory at this point?