Naughty Rotty
A few years ago I met up with a friend of mine for a few beers one Sunday lunchtime at a reasonably posh sort of a pub in South London. He turned up with his wife, and their dog, a friendly rottweiller. We were informed that we could only sit in the Public Bar if he wanted to bring the dog in, as there was a restaurant / Beefeater type eatery in the other half of the pub.

So, into the Public Bar we head and proceed to steadily work our way through eight or nine pints, with the canine asleep under the table. Anyway, a couple of hours into the session, a distraught restaurant manager (who was distinctly light on the loafers) came rushing round in a state of alarm, as allegedly my mate's dog had "eaten half of the sweet trolley".

My mate immediately leaps to the dog's defence, "No fucking way has my dog touched any food in that shit restaurant".....

Perfectly on cue, the rottweiller appears round the corner. Where its head used to be is a massive ball of cream, meringue, strawberries, kiwifruit etc with a happy tongue and a couple of eyes sticking out. To the annoyance of the restaurant gimp, the whole bar cracks up for about five minutes.

As a funny conclusion to the story, my mate was forced to pay 120 quid for the day's supply of puddings on the trolley. However, as the manager walked off with my mate's cash, my mate demanded that the trolley, along with left overs, be put in the car park for the dog to finish, as he had "fucking paid for it".

Amazingly, they did put it out there, and the dog spent the next few hours mullering its way through the remainder of trifles, steamed puddings, and chocolate gateaus. It must have had an almighty shit at some later stage.

Very funny day.
(Mandrill, Mon 11 Jun 2007, 23:27, Reply)