I was at Hackney dog track once for the trials, and a dog of mine was due to run. Milling about the bar among the owners and watchers was a little Jewish bloke who was watching all the trials with interest. When my dog's trial was due to start, he went to the window to watch. It was a 4 dog trial and as rumour had it that the other 3 were nothing special I expected a good run.
The traps snapped open but my dog missed the break. Five lengths down at the first turn he motored round the bend and began to close on the dog in 3rd, but ran straight up its arse and lost more ground. Like a speeding bullet down the last of the back straight and at the fourth bend he caught the other three up. He went to go round the outside, changed his mind, went for the rail, checked, ran outside again and was beaten a neck on the line.
I was at the bar when the Jewish bloke approached me. 'You want to sell that dog?' he asked.
I laughed and said ' Turn it in mate, did you see what he did out there. In a clean run race it would have won by over a second. That dog is definite Derby material.'
'Derby. Schmarby' the Jew said ' The dog's got no bloody track sense, he could turn out to be useless.'
'I'll take my chances with him' I said.
He passed me a business card and said 'If you ever want to sell him, I'll give you two grand for it. No dealing, no questions. You've got a couple of days to make up your mind as I'm off on holiday soon.'
'Yeh, okay mate.' I said, laughed, and stuck the card in my pocket.
The next day I went to his kennel and the dog was dead. Stiff as a fcuking board. I phoned the Jewish bloke immediately, somehow I had to con him out of two large. He said he would be happy to buy the dog, but asked why I was going to sell it now, when I didn't want to sell it yesterday. I told him that his explanation of the dog having no track sense could be true, and he could turn out to be useless. He agreed that I take the dog to his home in Finchley. My mate got a van and we got another greyhound in it with the dead dog. We pulled up outside the house and he came to the door. I told him that the dog was in the van and if he listened he could hear it barking.
'No worries son.' he said ' Just take it round the back and put it in the kennel for me.'
Fcuk me, I thought, how easy was this?
'Cash or cheque? ' the Jew said.
'Half and half if you want.' I said.
'No problem, son.' said the Jew, ' I'll give you all cash if you want it.'
'That would be better for me mate.'. I said.
My mate took the dead dog under one arm, and led the other dog on a lead, out the back to the kennel, and made sure it kept barking. He dropped the dead dog in the kennel, put his hand over the other dogs mouth and took him back to the van.
As the Jew gave me my cash he said ' See, the dog likes it here, he's gone quiet now.'
'Good for him.' I said, and left with two grand for a dead dog.
Some weeks later, having given Hackney a wide berth, I was at Romford on a racenight. I was in the bar and felt a tug at my sleeve. The Jewish bloke was standing behind me. ' Oy, that dog wad dead in the kennel one hour after you left.' he said.
'Was it?' I asked' What did it die of?'
He said 'Well it's body was cold enough to have died from bloody hypothermia but as it's August that's not likely, is it son?'
'I don't know what you mean.' I said.
'Don't be a schmuck.' he said ' you knew the dog was dead before you sold it to me.'
I lied ' I didn't, but even if I did, a deals a deal. You wouldn't get your money back.'
He shrugged his shoulders and said ' No worries son, business is business.' and he walked away.
I kept my open for any huge goons stalking me on the way out but it looked looked all clear to me. As I went to walk across the road tothe car park a Rolls Royce stopped at the gate. The little jewish bloke was driving. I had to ask him what he did with the dog as it had preyed on my mind for the last hour or so. So, with other cars sounding their horns and shouting. I asked him ' What did you do with it?'
'I raffled it, son.' he said.
'You fcuking raffled it, how much for?' I said as I laughed.
'Twenty quid a ticket, and I sold a hundred and fifty tickets' he smiled.
'So you got three grand for it.' I said.
He smiled again ' Business is business.' he said.
I was puzzled. ' What about the winner?' I asked.
He smiled and said 'He moaned a bit so I gave him his twenty quid back. Be lucky son.'
With thanks to Mike Reid who I nicked this from about thirty five years ago. 
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