I should know better

I was just sitting, recovering quietly from another instalment of the festive season, when there was a doggy commotion at the gate. I trotted out to see the screaming horde lined up. On the other side two scruffy characters were holding in a sorta mastiff-type thing which was showing altogether too many teeth.

Facing up to it. on the same side of the gate was.....Mr Lentil.

Readers may remember Mr Lentil. Small, babyfaced, named for his brain capacity, very low man on the totem pole.

And there he was, snarling and roaring defiance.

The others looked at me and wagged their tails. Mr Lentil had flipped, and they were loving it. What would he do next? Would he kill the mastiff? Would he end up a small hairy snack? Either way it was pure entertainment.

I told the yobs where to go and where to insert their mutt, and they started back up the road....pursued by Mr Lentil. He could see he had won - they were running . Intoxicated by success, he jumped up and down and screamed abuse.

Now this is the point at which you call off your dog. "Heel, Rover!" you shout, or "Come away, Brutus!"

I defy anyone to maintain their street cred while shouting "That`s enough, Mr Lentil!"

After some incredulous stares from the boys, who may have thought I was in some way threatening them with death by soup, I gave up and collected the delinquent by the scruff of the neck.

Mr Lentil favoured me with his usual blank wide-eyed Bambi stare.

Image, after all, is everything..