The man drew the last dregs of ale from the pump, red-rimmed eyes scanning

the dirty glasses and overflowing ashtrays piled along the bar.
    
      "Your mistress weren`t one for tidying up was she Blackie?" he spat, his gaze

settling on a mangy dog sprawled across the tap-room hearth the remnants of a half-

eaten meal scattered about its feet.
 
     "Not bloody interested, that was her trouble!" The man sniffed loudly,stubby

fingers jabbing the grimy bar. "She never wanted us to have a pub, did you know that
Blackie? Alluz thought it beneath her, serving folk behind a bar."
    
     The dog, wary eyes fixed on its master, tore at a piece of meat, its lips drawn

back tight against its foaming gums.

     "Never stopped friggin` complainin," the man continued, gobs of glistening sweat

running down his unshaven cheeks. "Place is always empty, she used to say. Christ!

It were her that drove the buggers away, slouching about the place like a beached

bloody whale, stupid fat..."

      He turned from the bar, hands clenched, white knuckles protruding through

calloused flesh. "Come on ya ugly bugger," he snapped, throwing open the tap-room

door. "Time fa` ya` evenin` walk."

      The dog, an icy blast ruffling its matted coat, quickly grabbed the last of his food

and  followed his master through the door. They were half-way across the rutted car

park when the dog began to choke, his mistress`s collar-bone firmly wedged in its

throat....