Black Dog Has anyone lost a large, dopey, friendly labrador ? If so, it's at Fleet Lane Kennels, Queensbury. Steven came into work and said that the aformentioned dog had followed him all the way down from Ilkley, running into traffic and causing general consternation amongst Ilkley's brigade of 4 wheel drivers. When we looked for the dog, it was bounding around on the 2nd tee, getting in the way of the golfers. Oh dear, I thought, that isn't good. So, armed with a length of twine, I set off to capture the dog. When the golfers on the 2nd finally managed to make their tee shots, not easy with a big dog trying to grab your eight iron, the beast followed the balls over the river, via the bridge though, it obviously didn't fancy getting wet. As I arrived at the bridge it had picked up a new group of friends at the 3rd tee, whack! As they drove off it chased their balls up to the 3rd green. Do you see a pattern developing here ? At the 3rd green it found more friends at the 4th tee who were just driving off. As I saw the dog crossing the second bridge in the company of more golfers I waved my arms in a frantic manner and bellowed "Catch that dog". One of the golfers gave me a cheery wave in return. The dof made it to the wide open spaces of the 4th fairway, oh joy. It ran from side to side, alternately licking and picking up golfballs and sitting in front of players who were trying to make their shots. As I arrived panting and sweating there was a chorus of..."Can't you control your bloody dog," from the aggrieved golfers. "It's not my bloody dog," I said, then "Here boy." The dog bounded over to me and four blokes regarded me with an expression that said, liar. I got the rope on the dogs collar, checked it for a name tag, none, gave it a tug, and the bloody dog pulled itself out of its collar and set off up the fairway again. There followed an explosion of language not usually heard on the golf course. Finally, one of the golfers caught hold of the dog up by the 4th green, we had run from the trees to the river, back and forth across the fairway perhaps a dozen times. I had by this time found a large stick, "Good idea," said a golfer, "waggle the stick and see if it comes near you." And then if it does, I thought, I'm going to bray it. Eventually though, the dog was as knackered as we were, it sat down, allowed me to collar it, and then tamely walked with me all the way back to the clubhouse where it proceded to bark solidly for an hour, hardly pausing for breath, until the dog warden arrived. That evening one of the diners called me over and said "Excuse me chef, but there's a hair in my steak pie." "I'm sorry," I replied. "Those labradors are really hard to skin."