Sheets of rain beat down and a wintry chill gave the lie to the notion that seasons are a genuine feature of Irish weather. Whether you intended to run with the hare, or chase with the hounds, it was no night to be out.

Then the sky brightened over Dundalk stadium. The cars trickled in, the lights went up, and all was well in the world of those who had gone to the dogs.

Everybody's at it these days. Upwards of six million people have visited the country's 17 greyhound tracks since 2000. What was once a cloth-cap affair frequented by die-hard dog folk is now an evening out for guys and gals, complete with all the luxuries expected in the entertainment sphere these days.

Dundalk is typical of a rejuvenated industry. Opened in November 2003, the modern complex, complete with cable suspended roof, rises up from the fields outside the town on the Newry Road. Inside, you can go for the full knees-up in the corporate sector or . . . in relative terms . . . slum it, where the fare on offer is confined to a large bar and Mullan's Traditional Takeaway Foods.

It's not necessarily a big spot for dining or imbibing, but all hands do keep a grip on one thing that is vital to the night's entertainment, the programme of races.

On Thursday, Dundalk was about half-full. On the lower deck, the patrons milled around the banks of mounted televisions. Those and the line of red-suited women operating the tote were the focus, rather than the bar that is the centrepiece of the room.

Outside was for the hardy souls only; the old dogs for the hard road. A few souls leaned against the barrier on the small concrete stand, eyeing the line of eight bookies, looking for a bit of value, casting a cold eye across the prices. Up above, a glass wall provided a view of the track to the corporate diners.

According to the stadium's marketing manager Emma Meehan, the place is heaving on a Saturday night, accommodating 1,200 punters, and including dining for 200.

As the dogs are brought out there is a sounding of the bugles, like a royal entrance.

Then they are paraded, although most people are inside watching the whole thing on the box. As the off nears, people drift out from inside.

It's not a great night for it.

In the distance, a bunch of dirty clouds are bedding down for the night on the peaks of the Cooley Mountains. And then they're off. The typical race is 525 yards and lasts around 29 seconds. Just like that. And then the dogs are gone. Or doggone.

Among the hardy souls was Lawrence McGeown, who trains his own dogs. He comes at least once a fortnight, and thinks Dundalk is a great spot. He doesn't subscribe to the theory in some quarters that Paschal Taggart is nothin' but a hound dog, laughin' all the time.

"I think he's doing a great job, " Lawrence says. "He's been behind all the rebuilding and he managed to get the government moving on things."

Typically, there are 11 or 12 races on the card. Betting is largely of the lower order; you won't find the Sundance Kid lurking outside Dundalk of a damp Thursday night. No punters really do the dog on it as far as betting is concerned.

In between races, only a few linger outside with the bookies. Then the man on the tannoy announces that all are ready for the off. Except there's not a dog to be seen on the horizon. Next, he is commentating on the race.

What race? A droning tractor is all that is on view on the track. Finally, the penny drops. The commentary is from a live race in Shelbourne. A night at the dogs these days can involve bilocation, a two-in-one deal where there is no break from the races.

Another owner who mans the concrete steps through the cold is Gary Sullivan.

Whatever Tim Dalton's report says, Gary is one who doesn't feel that Taggart made a dog's dinner of his stewardship of Bord na gCon.

"He's built a lot of the new stadiums since he took over.

You'd have to give the man credit, " he said.

Later, the man on the tannoy invites the "ladies" present to take part in a minimarathon to benefit over-thehill dogs. "Help us find loving homes for retired greyhounds, " he booms.

It's a nice little touch, striking a cute note that illustrates the family lovin' fun available these days at a night at the dogs. Woof woof.