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Skipalong Davey

I try to remain inconspicuous as I slip my hand into my overcoat to retrieve the whistle, then place it in my mouth with my leather glove covering it. A lady’s eyes linger on me as she scans the crowd. They focus on a man carrying two amber drinks. I remain poised.

The gun goes off and the dogs fly out the gates. I blow the silent whistle hard. Number 8 loses focus, forgets the rabbit. After 100 meters most are distracted. One is barking.

I blow until one dog remains, Skipalong Davey . Deaf as a post and fast as lightning.



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