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By Eleni Malandrinos

"WOOF, WOOF!"

"Stop barking Bertie. Keep still!' I demanded. "Mum asked us to buy some milk."

We were returning from a brisk walk. I was desperately trying to complete the knot, to tie Bertie's lead to the steel pole; the swinging shop sign blatantly stated: "No Dogs Allowed." Bertie jerked violently on his lead again. This time the rascal escaped, and to my horror, bounded through the gaping supermarket doors like a cannon ball, firing into the bustling shoppers. Without hesitation, my legs accelerated into top gear, trailing the destruction and following the cries of dismay already erupting.

I glimpsed the tip of Bertie's tail as it vanished round the end of an aisle, and subsequently heard the clink of baked bean tins as they cascaded down the chopped tomatoes, which in turn hurdled over sweetcorn tins. Like an obstacle course, I tiptoed rapidly through the carnage, dodging trollies and stunned customers.

In the next aisle, cereal boxes were falling like dominoes, and around the next, Bertie had triggered a marble run - apples, oranges, and nectarines spinning and rolling in all directions. "Clearly an uneven floor, I must let the manager know," I thought as his bellowing voice crescendoed and decrescendoed as I entered and existed aisles, with him in close pursuit.

Finally, Bertie was in full view - proudly standing amongst the butcher's meat, tail wagging and a pork chop half-protruding from his salivating jaws. My stomach flipped as the stocky, scarlet faced manager hurtled around the corner, followed by nosey parkers who arrived so sharply, they bashed into each other.

"LOOK WHAT THAT MONGREL'S DONE!" the manager exploded - an active volcano, spitting gases and fire raging.
The manager took a step forward, his eyes squinting at Bertie. I took a step back. I sensed the active stage of the volcano had not yet been reached. But, quite bizarrely, the twisted mouth of the manager flicked upward.

"Well, well, well," he declared tunefully. "What a clever and truly useful dog! Don't you worry about the havoc. I am truly grateful to this hero!" The manager had turned into a bubbling brook, gushing with praise for my senseless dog, and tenderly ruffling his silky fur.

"What an insane man," I muttered to myself.

Bertie, responding to affection, opened his jaws, and out plopped, not a pork chop, but a pot-bellied mouse, enveloped in drool. "We've been trying to catch that brazen mouse for years!" the manager continued. Only now I realised, that Bertie had darted into the shop after a mouse!

A bystander started applauding which became infectious as others joined in - cheering and clapping in recognition of Bertie. Bemused, and on automatic pilot, I retrieved Bertie's lead, strode past the manager, past the busybodies, past the tins, fruit and cereal boxes peppering the floor aisles, and led my plucky dog outside.

"Oh, we've forgotten the milk, Bertie!" I announced as the automatic shop doors drew closed behind us. "Well, ....I think I'd better take you home first!