Rascal: Trapped on the Tracks. Chris Cooper

a dog like Rascal, who had grown up in the city. Train tracks hugged the edge of the forest, separating the trees from a patchwork of neat fields. The fields stretched in front of him and at the far end of them sat a large house.

      Rascal’s ears pricked up with interest. A house meant people, and people meant food . . . maybe. OK, it was too much to expect a steak dinner there, but he might be able to beg some scraps. It was worth a try. The ache in his legs told him that he couldn’t go much further without food.

      He stepped carefully over the train tracks, making sure he didn’t get a paw stuck in the deep grooves between the metal rails. Then he ran down the embankment.

      It was easy getting into the field through the fence. Rascal just flattened himself and crawled on his belly under the lowest bar.

      He began to trot through the first field. It felt good to be in the open air again and just the chance of a decent meal at journey’s end gave him more energy. A herd of cows huddled on the far side of the field. They were too interested in eating grass to notice Rascal. Every so often one of them let out a bored moo. Rascal couldn’t imagine living on a diet of grass – yuck! Grass was for rolling in, not eating, wasn’t it?

      He was halfway across the next field when it happened. At first Rascal thought that a bee had whizzed past his ear. But then there was a sharp CRACK!

      Then another.

      Something hit the ground near him – something small and hard and dangerous. A small cloud puffed up where the thing had struck the dusty earth. The cows were mooing in panic now.

      Rascal looked around in alarm. There, a long way across the field, was a man. He was standing behind the open door of a truck and holding a long stick-thing to his shoulder. He was pointing it right at Rascal.

      The noise was loud even though the man was so far away. Again something small and fast zipped past him.

      With a start, Rascal realised that he had to get away from here fast.

      People were strange. Some of them – the good sort – didn’t want to do anything but pat you on the head and give you bits of food. But others were dangerous. There was no time to wonder why this man was trying to hurt him. He could do only one thing – run!

      But where? These fields offered no cover. Just moments earlier he had loved the feeling of being out in the open, but now he felt terribly exposed under the bright blue sky. The sun held him in its spotlight. Here he is! Right here! it seemed to cry.

      Rascal turned and began to dash back towards the woods. In the distance behind him he heard a door slam and an engine rumble. The man had jumped into his pick-up truck. He was driving across the field. He was coming after Rascal!

      Fear gave the dog extra speed. He put his head down and pelted for the woods. He forced himself not to look back at the truck, but he couldn’t help hearing its rumble getting louder and louder. It was drawing closer.

      But then suddenly Rascal became aware of another noise. This was the sound of an engine too, but it was different. This one sounded somehow bigger and more threatening than the truck.

      A horn roared its warning over the new rumble. As soon as he heard it, a memory came back to Rascal from when he was small. He knew what the noise was. A train! A train was coming!

      What could he do? He had to cross the tracks and get away from the man with the gun.