So, the last laugh was on me - again

Jarvis the Scavenger has been ravenous since his gastroenteritis diagnosis last week.

The poor boy has been on a strict, half portion diet for a few days following the hideous episode, which has left him doe-eyed and drooling every time someone opens the fridge.

A few days after the incident I met my friend for a walk at Linford Brook.

It was a balmy evening. Balmy evenings equate to family gatherings and picnickers.

Picnickers equate to canine delight.

Having scoured the area for picnic peril and not sensing danger, I unleashed him and my friend and I trotted off into the sunlit wood.

Some way into the Forest, she grabbed my arm and yelled: “Quick Karen, get Jarvis. Before it’s too late.”

Aghast, I watched him running with whippet-like speed towards a family group some distance away and, judging by the smell of sausages, they were barbecuing their supper.”

Despite my short legs, the panic turned me into Usain Bolt as I sprinted after the little pest.

Any attempt to retrieve him using well-known methods like standing still and calling him back, or offering him a treat, would be useless.

Once he gets a scent of sizzling beef, he hears nothing.

Waving my arms in the air like a lunatic, I yelled: “Hide your food, hide your food. Please hide your food.”

The group turned to see the drooling, glazed-eyed dog galloping straight at them, with me, running behind him, ridiculous in wellies and a sundress flapping at my knees.

Too late.

He grabbed a sausage.

The men in the group tried to catch him while I apologised profusely. I thought I heard a toddler scream in horror.

The dog, thinking this was the best game in the world, was wagging his tail and running round in circles, the sausage dangling from his mouth like a juicy cigar.

“I’m so sorry,” I panted, having finally caught the treacherous hound. “We’ve probably scarred your little boy for life.”

“No, you haven't,” said the mother, pointing at the child.

“Look. He’s laughing his head off.”

So he was. As was everyone else.

Apart from me. I was mortified. Again.

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