DOG TAILS 6: HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE DOG WALKS INTO A PUB?

The nearest pub to where we lived was on the main road to Matlock, directly opposite the drive leading to the golf club. I had my first taste of beer here as a youth, illegally bought for me by someone from our church. What can you say? I frequented this establishment a fair bit during my late teens with friends, principally for the entertainment of watching the landlord serve unsuspecting customers. He was immensely fat and had the biggest and shiniest drinker’s nose I’ve ever seen – bulbous, veined and red. He smiled benignly at every customer, said ‘Good evening, Thomas. Pint of Guinness?’ and placed a glass under the pump. They had to be quick to say, ‘No, bitter’ or ‘No, lager’ before he poured a pint of the black stuff. Mad as a ship’s cat he was. At the time of this story, though, I hadn’t been inside for maybe a decade.
Footpaths led off the drive over the fairways and through fields and woods to the surrounding villages. Mac knew the area like the back of his paw, which was a bit of a pain because every time I let him off the lead he would turn off and run down a long enclosed pathway leading to the driving range. He would then find a stick to chew and wait for me to arrive, which meant we nearly always went the same route.
This particular walk was on a hot summer evening and as we approached the main road I could see the pub veranda was packed with drinkers. I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to end the walk than sitting outside with a pint. Luckily, I had some money in my pocket. Having crossed the road, I unclipped Mac from his lead and we entered the tap room. Like any typical public bar at the time, there were a couple of blokes playing darts, four sat round a table shuffling dominoes, one or two at the bar and a few others either chatting or reading the paper. Remember, I hadn’t been in the pub for years, the landlord had changed and I didn’t know a soul. But the instant we walked in just about every one in there said, ‘Aw rate, Mac, how tha doing lad?’ and a beer mat flew across the room, which Mac caught in mid air and returned to its owner.
I stood there gobsmacked, unable to comprehend the situation. As I walked up to the bar in a daze, the landlord said, to Mac, not me, ‘Where’s Ron?’ Then it clicked. ‘Ron’s my dad,’ I said. ‘Does he bring Mac in here a lot?’
‘Oh aye, two or three dinnertimes a week. He’s a rate character, is Mac. Costs me a bloody fortune in beer mats, mind. Little bugger steals em off the tables.’
I didn’t mention it was me taught him that trick.
Often it was a long and patient process. Mac would enter a pub, scrape a beer mat off a table with his paw and drop it at someone’s feet. If they didn’t pick it up and throw it he would place it on their shoe. If they flicked it off he would very patiently place it with great care on their knee. If they still refused to play he thrust the beer mat at great velocity into their groin, forcing the victim to take drastic avoiding action and grab the beer mat. Now they only had two choices, either throw it or put it back on the table.
Still in a state of bewilderment I went outside with my drink and left Mac inside playing with his mates.
I supported my father financially and was miffed to learn he was boozing in the afternoons as well as the evenings. When we got home I accosted him. ‘I thought you didn’t drink at lunchtimes,’ I accused.
‘I don’t,’ he bluffed.
‘So how come everyone in the tap room of the Blue Stoops is on first names terms with Mac, then?’
He had no answer to that.

We were walking past a pub in the Peak District on a very similar day. The lounge door was open and the delicious smell of home-cooked food wafted out. Beyond was a delightful beer garden. Roses grew on a trellis over the entrance and picnic tables on a flat green lawn. I couldn’t resist and went in, dumped my pack by an empty table and told Mac to wait there. I went through a set of open French windows into the empty tap room. ‘Be with you in a minute,’ the landlord called from the lounge.
A minute turned into about five before he appeared, apologizing for the delay. It was obviously busy in the lounge. He was half way through pulling my pint when there was a scream from the other side. ‘What the hell?’ he said, and rushed back to the other bar.
With a feeling of foreboding, I looked over my shoulder into the garden. No Mac. I could now hear words like “Shoo” coming from the other side of the bar. ‘It isn’t a Border collie, is it?’ I shouted across.
‘Yes,’ the landlord replied.
‘I’m sorry, he’s mine,’ I said. ‘What’s he doing? Cadging chips off people?’
‘No.’ The landlord turned his head on one side. ‘He appears to be trying to insert a beer mat up a woman’s skirt. I think you’d better go get him.’
I hurried out into the garden, round the front and into the lounge. All conversation stopped and the diners paused with forks in front of their mouths, waiting eagerly for what would happen next. What could I say?
Before I tell you, I need to digress briefly. His master taught Mac all the usual commands like sit, fetch and lie down, but because Mac grew up alongside a baby and played a lot with young children, I inherited a dog whose understanding of the English language pertinent to his life included words like pussy cat, bunny rabbit and din-dins. In hindsight, faced with the stress and acute embarrassment of the situation at hand, I should have threatened him with the word “bath” (Dog Tails 2). What I actually blurted out, in an effort to convey to him the gravity of his behaviour, was ‘Mac, stop it, that’s bab-bars’ (naughty). It did at least work.
I made him sit in the garden and went back in to fetch my drink. The landlord asked me to put him on a lead. I pulled out my old school tie with a slip knot that served as a lead on country walks and held it up pathetically. ‘This is all I’ve got. He’s normally really obedient.’
The landlord pulled a packet of pork scratchings down off the wall. ’Will they keep him quiet?’
‘I’m sure they will,’ I said. ‘How much?’
‘On the house,’ he said. ‘Truth is, we haven’t had this much excitement in here all summer.’