‘He’s probably feeling disconcerted by all the strange things in the garden and found a quiet place to hide,’ Steph said, her face creased with worry.

‘I’m carrying fifty sausages, Steph. If he was anywhere within sniffing distance he’d be here trying to convince me that he deserves at least one of them.’

I left the cool boxes on the barbecue table and went to look at the gate, which as usual was latched closed but unlocked.

‘He couldn’t have run out and closed the gate behind him.’ I ran over to Ebenezer’s cottage, where he confirmed that he’d been napping, and not seen Nesbit since we left.

‘Someone’s taken my dog.’ I collapsed onto one of the chairs, my voice rising in panic and fury. ‘It’s my thirtieth birthday and someone’s stolen my dog!’

‘Call Sam,’ Steph instructed. ‘He’ll know how to handle this.’

I’m not sure I managed one full breath in the next hour and a half.

Sam arrived on my doorstep less than ten minutes after I’d called him, my blood thundering even as my heart sat like a lump of ice in my chest. While Steph called the police, who were pleasant and helpful but not hopeful, Sam set about using Nesbit’s blanket and his dog-whispering magic to convey to Scout and Willow that we needed to find their spaniel friend.

‘Whoever took him isn’t going to have just walked him through the forest!’ I said, despite being willing to follow those dogs to the ends of the earth if it meant the tiniest chance of finding Nesbit.

‘Maybe not, but they must have entered your garden via the forest, and pretending to be a weekend dog walker is in some ways a brilliant getaway disguise.’

The other rangers would be on the lookout for a chocolate-coloured spaniel, stopping vehicles as they left the main car park and questioning anyone appearing suspicious. In the meantime, Steph was going to stay at the cottage and let the party guests know what was happening, while Sam and I followed the only lead we had.

For a long, frantic hour we followed the collies as they pressed on, keeping to the smaller, more overgrown trails, noses to the ground, only stopping every few minutes to allow Sam and I to catch up with them.

My head was clogged with terrified questions but I was too breathless to express any of them. I was slowing the search party down enough already.

How can we be sure this is a fresh scent?

How will we ever catch up with the thief?

More importantly – what will we do if we catch up with them?

Does Sam think this is going to work, or is he chasing after his dogs through the woods to humour me?

In the end, I shut off the questions and just concentrated on putting one exhausted foot in front of the other.