Walkies crisps: a dog’s ideal snack

MAny years ago, I had a dog called sand. In those days, I’d occasionally play squash at lunchtime at a sports complex. On these occasions, I’d leave sand in the car until after I’d showered and changed, then I’d let him have a roam while I went into the bar to quench my thirst. sand would amble around the cricket area, on the outside of the boundary, having a smell here and a leak there. he would then make an entrance, go up to the counter and stand on his hind legs at the bar. The steward would ask: ‘Packet of crisps, sand?’ ‘Woof,’ was the response. ‘Plain?’ ‘Woof.’ sand would then take the crisps to the outside door, lie on the mat and endeavour to open the packet. ‘not there — outside,’ was the order. sand would give the steward a look, pick up the crisps and go outside. There, he would tear off the corner of the packet and devour the contents. Occasionally, there would be a blue counter inside with which you could claim another packet. sand would collect the counter and lay it on the bar. The steward would ask again: ‘Another packet, sand?’ ‘Woof.’ sand would take the packet to the door. ‘not there, sand — out!’ With another filthy look at the steward, he would head out. When all the crisps were eaten, sand would re-enter the bar. ‘That’s a clever dog you have there,’ other imbibers would say. ‘Well, he is and he isn’t,’ I would reply. ‘If he was that clever, he would put the empty packets in the bin. ‘But he is clever enough to know there is another idiot who will do it for him.’

J. B. Ward, Coventry.