Rufus Higholts-Wylanbriar is a *bit of a pickle*. He’s living in the image of his grandad Tom…. He’s tried nearly every possible way to *off himself* known to man over the last few months, involving traffic, horses, eating cement, electric cables and random breakouts and unescorted trips to our local…. …. If he makes his first birthday in march with four legs and a head still attached it will be a god given miracle!

So…. My horror at arriving at my travelodge car park in the pitch black, and finding it as busy as Charing Cross Station in the rush hour, was immense…. A huge Indian restaurant was sharing the car park, with a racetrack A road next to it, and a Esso petrol station just the other side of a knee high barrier!….. .. It screamed an *ASBO* playground!!…..

I ran a couple at a time of the troops…. And last pair was Bandit and Rufus. Leads on, wander about. Firstly, misguidedly, giving him 15 seconds off the lead he bolts for the back of the Indian and Bandit and I puff our way round to find him shoulders deep in a revolting looking slop bin…. ….

I extract him absolutely stinking of Chicken Tikka Masala…. I’ve got Bandit madly trying to lick and suck his chops, and I’m dragging the pair of them through the traffic with evening diners saying ‘ahhhhh aren’t they sweeeeet!!!!’….. Me…. ‘No they’re a pair of bastards actually!!’

We get to the truck, I open the hatch and bend down to pick Bandit up to shove him in. I make the fatal mistake of letting go of ASBO ‘s lead. For 20 seconds… …. He’s ooooofffffffff….. playing chicken with the cars knobbing around trying to find a place to park….. I throw Bandit in the truck, slam the door and charge off after him…. I gallop to the bins area convinced I’ll see him there for certain chomping on mank-ness….

No… No Rufus….

I start to bellow, turning heads left right and centre…. A lady comes up and with concern in her voice, asks if I’ve lost a child??!! I said ‘… No it’s just a total knob of a chocolate Labrador!!!’….

I march about swinging my torch, waiting for the inevitable disaster to strike… Then… A voice shouts from the direction of the Esso forecourt….

‘Excuse me! Excuse me! Have you lost a dog???…..’

I turn and an Asian chap is standing looking pretty stressed….

‘Yes! I say… Yes! Where is he??…’

‘… Well for a while he was skipping round the pumps watching people fill up and trying to get in the waste bin…. Then he followed a lady through the electric doors inside….. he’s in there wandering around …..’

I sigh…..And hurdle the fence and rush inside.

Rufus is in the sandwich aisle, feet up on the side, trying to hook Ginsters pasties towards him, watched with great amusement by a small crowd…. I walk over, He hears me call… Looks at me *clearly* saying ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life….’ and makes a dash for it…. I rugby tackle him by an ear… Wrestle his lead on and shamefully head to the door.