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track. Hey, no-one could hijack Lofty while we were surrounded by people. I dredged up a smile. However, as we turned and made our way back along the track in readiness to load the dogs into the metal starting boxes, I couldn’t stop myself from scrutinizing the faces of the people lining the fence. You, know—just in case. And the fact that I checked the color of every pair of slacks, jeans, trousers and track-suits on the way, well, that was just plain common sense.
    “Good luck everyone,” I said after we’d loaded the greyhounds into their respective boxes, closed the doors and stepped up onto the viewing steps.
    All around the air crackled with nervous energy as we held our collective breaths waiting for the lids to rise.
    A cheeky grin creased Ben’s face. “And may the best dog win—even if the best dog is mine.”
    “Pull the other one, Benno!”
    “Ya gotta be joking, mate. That bag of bones of yours couldn’t run out of sight on a dark night.”
    Ignoring the good natured ribbing around him, Ben widened his grin into a cocky taunt. “Hey, at least he doesn’t need spectacles to find the lure like your mutt, Jimmy. My dog, Cool Customer, is a sure thing. Reckon he’ll win by the length of the straight.”
    Ben’s nose squished and his dark eyes twinkled. Ooh, be still my heart. He looked so cute. If we weren’t surrounded by stewards and trainers I’d have stood on tiptoe and kissed him right on the tip of his squishy nose. Especially as that slutty Mary Parker was draping herself all over him and batting her eyelashes at him.
    I sent her a lethal hands-off-my-man glare and elbowed Ben in the ribs. “ Your dog win this race? In your dreams, Benjamin.”
    Before Ben could retaliate, the mechanical lure, situated on the rail, fired up with a high-pitched buzz that sent the dogs over the edge, barking and scratching at the grill to get out. As the lure roared past the starting boxes, the lids shot open. I held my breath. Would Lofty jump? Or would he miss the start and find trouble? I needn’t have worried. The pink rug a fashion statement on his red brindle body, Lofty pinged from the outside box, cut straight across the field, and was two lengths in front before they’d passed the winning post the first time around.
    I grinned up at Ben. Now it was only a matter of by how far the big ugly dog would win.
    Thirty point eight seconds later, Lofty galloped past the post in full stretch and the race caller declared Big Mistake the winner by six lengths. What a star! What a champ! In two weeks’ time, he’d be Gawler’s representative in the final of the Country Championships.
    However, instead of lifting my euphoria to an all-time high, the win sent my heart fluttering like a trapped moth inside my chest.
    What if I couldn’t keep Lofty safe until then?

5
    Ever-increasing traffic snarled bumper to bumper along the main road winding out of Gawler—a once peaceful country town—now no different to any other over-populated suburb.
    The thrum of engines labored in slow gear with the honk of impatient horns as I turned off into a back street where hundred-year-old houses rubbed shoulders with modern square blocks of cold concrete. The local fodder store, still showcasing a hitching rail out front, came into view; its grey stone walls roughened by a century of harsh Australian weather. I drove past, inhaled a deep breath, savoring the rural smell of chaff, bran and sweet smelling hay.
    “Don’t fret,” I told Stanley, the red brindle greyhound balancing precariously in the back of my station wagon—between four newly purchased bags of kibble and several tins of powdered milk. As I drove over the outdated railway bridge leading out of the sprawling township of Gawler, a passenger train roared underneath, its destination, Adelaide. I waited until Stanley could hear me again before continuing. “Just a couple of quick snips and it will be all over,” I assured him. “You won’t feel a thing, and