The Dog

"This dog…" she muttered.

The man waited patiently for her to proceed.

"This dog, wouldn't do a thing like that." She finally concluded.

The man looked down at the dog and saw a part of the tattered remains of the red y-fronts dangling from the dogs tiny mouth. He looked back up at the woman, peering over the top of his glasses, now half way down his nose.

"This dog was in hold this whole time." She lied.

The man lifted his left arm at a perfect right angle, and with his right hand pulled his grey tweed suit jacket sleeve right back to his elbow, revealing his pale purple shirt and his watch. He squinted at his watch.

"Well maybe not the whole time." She suggested.

Releasing his tweed-sleeve and placing his arm back down by his side, he took a deep breath in and said.

"Fail."

"Fail?" She repeated as though it would somehow change the meaning of the word.

"Fail."

"Look" She pleads, "I know he's 'ruff' around the edges, but surely something can be done." Her quip quickly whisped away and disappeared on an invisible breeze faster than the time it had taken her to utter it.

"There's nothing that can be done." He said like he was only following the rules to spite her.

"He's a good dog, he's not usually this boisterous. I'm sure with a little more…"

"No-thing-can-be-done." He separated each syllable so the sentence lost all impetuous and meaning.

"Please Mr Samuels…" (so that was his name) "He is a lovely dog".

After a brief pause, Mr Samuels looked down at the dog for one last time. He felt that perhaps it just winked at him, a simple knowing wink. The little bastard.

"Mrs Davis. You're dog has not only managed to remove my trousers, but eat my entire underwear. To be entirely honest with you, it is only because of my strict professionalism that I have continued judging the North Devon Doggy Dress Show wearing nothing but my shoes, shirt, tie, sock-suspenders and jacket. Your dog is Satan. I award you no points."