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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>In stiff-upper-lip England, what could possibly be
considered more inappropriate than taking off all your clothes in Church and
declaring a passion for the devil?</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Taking your dog into a shop. Particularly a food
shop.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>So, early this morning, I decide rather than taking Rolph and
Clara to the seafront, or the cemetary, I'd take them round some residential
streets. Just for a change.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>At the end of one of them is a shopping street, which is a
fairly main road, with several other roads crossing it and a big main road at
the top. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>It is at this point that Rolph suddenly sprints off as though
he's seen a cat. I tense my arm waiting for the lead to jerk - and SNAP! His
leash breaks. Suddenly Rolph is running up the busy road, heading towards
the main road, off lead.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Within a split second, Clara and I are running up same street,
with me screaming "Rolph! Rolph!", which, let's face it, sounds pretty much like
a human trying to bark.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Rolph has the wind under his tail. He's not stopping. People
making their way to work and families on their way to school are sort-of
scattering as this woolly mamoth and screaming woman come charging up the
street.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Then he stops. He looks at me. I think "he's waiting". And he
dives straight through the door of the supermarket.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>I get there just in time to see the naughty tail charging up
the bread aisle.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>What do I do? I can't take a second dog into the shop (he's at
the dairy produce now). There are several very surprised-looking Tesco employees
standing looking at this annomoly (vegatables and heading to the soap
powder).</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Do they help? Do they offer to hold Clara so I can grab him?
No, this is Britain. Everyone just pretends it isn't happening - except Rolph,
who, by this time, is having a high old time among the magazines and
confectionary.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>I am standing in the doorway yelling his name, but what dog is
going to come back when faced with a shelf of doggie treats?</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>I throw caution to the wind. Clara and I enter the shop and
chgarge up and down the aisles, still yelling, following a boyant explorer
as he discovers previously unknown territories (canned fruit
anyone?).</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Eventually, he decides the game's up. He comes to me
reluctantly, but obediantly. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>We leave the shop.</FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>And all the people we leave inside are still all standing
stock still, with that very British "gosh, did I really see that?" look on their
faces. </FONT></DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2></FONT> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT size=2>Sally, slave to the great adventurer Rolph and good girl
Clara</FONT></DIV></DIV><pre>
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