Only coronavirus is capable of keeping Anthony Bullock grounded after always flying out of the box to the line on track to win.
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The pandemic has been one of the few instances of having a lingering win over the Exeter trainer.
Not only this year, but for the previous decade too.
The first three months of the new decade had been looking particularly more than promising for Bullock.
But all of a sudden racing came to a sudden halt like the lure at the end of a race.
The state government had shut down the industry by the end of March over health concerns and no one has been immune to its effects more than the celebrated 54-year-old champion.
"What a shocking time," an exasperated Bullock says.
"I've got about 10 or 12 of the best 20 dogs in the state and they're now just sitting here doing nothing."
Bullock finished last year with a surreal 213 wins - a record that seemed poised to end within 12 months.
The feat stood out for the iconic figure that started out walking greyhounds around the streets of Youngtown at barely eight years of age.
But a further 77 wins since the landmark haul had set Bullock to better the mark.
The frustration of missing out on a new standard can be heard in his raspy voice.
"I have a good team of young dogs and if I had known we were going down this path," Bullock says, "I should have jumped straight onto the boat with 18 dogs and gone to Melbourne to race them all over there."
It has also left 74 racing greyhounds under his reign to instead resemble more of a common house dog.
No race days, no trials, not even any training to do.
"The poor dogs are getting sick of doing the same thing every day," Bullock remarks.
"I'm getting sick of putting them out doing the same things because we're not preparing for a race."
The toll that no racing has taken after more than a month is not just reserved for bored dogs but missing a crisp night down at the track.
"We obviously need a date soon to start, but every week that goes by is like another month to me," Bullock says.
"I've felt on the property like we've been in isolation for nearly six months, but we have only been in for three to four weeks or whatever it is. It feels a real long time."
How Bullock starts his day has changed dramatically.
The motivation, the push, the drive, the hunger are not quite there in the dawn of a different time of our lives.
That also says a lot for a modern-day great of the sport, who has achieved all but everything there is to achieve in his home state.
"My phone has gone from ringing 40 times a day to just ringing maybe five times a day," Bullock bemoans.
"The owners know that we are not racing, so they have no reason to call to see how their dogs are going, are they injured or racing well.
"While the dogs are just sitting around here like it's a retirement home, virtually.
"They are not doing what they normally do and we're just doing the basics of looking after them, feeding them and taking care of their wellbeing. I think the dogs are feeling confused."
Bullock's own confusion of the current predicament is almost matched to theirs.
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He echoes most involved in the racing industry over restrictions after the closing of tracks, regardless of their stake in greyhounds, harness or thoroughbreds.
Trying to make sense of it is another thing entirely.
"You see more people at Woolworths on a Saturday or even a Sunday that are at one of our race meetings," Bullock deadpans.
"You'd think they'd be putting other people at more risk, while I haven't seen my own parents for six weeks.
"There are bigger things than racing, sure, but not when racing is all you do."
Bullock has earned the right to air his grievances.
Nobody could understand the greyhound scene much better than the distinguished winner of 10 of the past 11 Tasmanian trainer of the year premierships.
It's been little more than a procession for the talisman of his generation. While his dominance of winning runners on the Devonport track is almost legendary in greyhound circles as well.
"I've been in the dog game so long that a lot of things have changed over the years, but the same people are still there," Bullock says.
"The same families are there at the track involved. So I'm lucky to make a good livelihood out of racing too."
Racing is not restricted to the dishlickers, having made a successful tilt in harness.
The brief flirtation was as part-owner of two-year-old pacer Written In Silk, who in the $12,000 Launceston Belmont at Mowbray had a winning debut, ironically in the last meeting before COVID-19 shut it all down.
While Bullock's success is unparalleled, there is no mystical secret behind it.
The simple formula for greyhounds is one others have struggled to duplicate.
"They're all just well-fed, they're warm, and they're fit and sound - and the dog will do the rest," Bullock says.
"I think that 95 per cent of people think we just take them to the track, race them and that's it, but it virtually takes from 14 to 20 months to have a race dog up to go.
"It also takes six months to prepare a dog to race because there is education and there is fitness."
As much as Bullock loves watching dogs reach their racing potential, the passion for the animals extends past taking his cut of the prize.
The rural property off the highway is home to 15 pet greyhounds that are free to laze around the house.
"And I don't own any of them," Bullock says.
"They're not my dogs, but my owners' dogs, who have been a good dog for us or I have liked the dog a lot, so they get to stay here for the rest of their lives. There are some that have never raced."
There are some who have and done it exceedingly well.
Hellyeah Bolt still hangs around after earning nearly $100,000 in stakes.
Classic Joel had "failed" the Greyhound Adoption Program and is back home.
"At the end of the day, dogs are dogs," Bullock says.
"You don't just love dogs to make dogs. You need a passion for the dog."
For passion, Bullock can't go past Stylish Dasher, who gets the royal treatment that others don't in retirement.
"She has a home inside the house," Bullock adds.
Andrew Mathieson
The day I realised I wasn't good enough to play for St Kilda or be the No.1 spinner for Australia was when I realised journalism was the closest I could come to follow my passion for sport. And it's not just about the scores for me. It's the back story behind the game.
The day I realised I wasn't good enough to play for St Kilda or be the No.1 spinner for Australia was when I realised journalism was the closest I could come to follow my passion for sport. And it's not just about the scores for me. It's the back story behind the game.
