This crowd I was with (back in University days--I would never get sucked into a prank like this now) went to the pub and got through a couple of bottles of single malt whiskey. Presently, as the crowd in the smokey pub began to thin, one of my comrades made the suggestion that we all go fishing. Well, I've always been a funloving sort (raffish, some might say) and I have to say that the thought of a midnight poaching foray excited my blood. I assumed we would sneak down to Farmer MacDougal's place, hop over the cairn in the dark and net fat salmon til the sun came up. Big boffs, country style. I could deal with it. But no, this was not what these shameless celtic louts had in mind. It was something far more nefarious they were seeking. Wicked, even, I was to find out too late.

We all piled into their car, which was an Austin Mini, about the size of a Tonka Toy. We rolled by the room one of the lads was staying in just long enough for him to nip inside and get a half a raw steak. Back in the car again now and careening through the cobbled and granite walled streets of Aberdeen, one of them (Wilfie, if you want to know)reaches into the glove box and pulls out a shark hook on a length of 20 pound test line! They bait the hook with a hunk of the steak and cut the headlights. Cruising like a red metal shark through the ancient city. Silent. Thrill hungry.

Soon the prey was sighted: Alan (The Lookout) whispererd urgently and pointed to a boxer dog a half a block away out for a late night walk with his unsuspecting owner, an elderly fellow with a camelhair blazer. The pair were stopped under a yellow streetlamp and the swirling fog made it look unreal and dreamlike. Nightmarish, I suppose. The tension in the small auto was palpable. To my horror, the realization of what I was about to be an accomplice to dawned on me. I felt queasy. Now the window is down and the car slowly crawls past the quarry, growling.

"NO!! I shouted, but too late. With a practiced flip of the wrist, the 'Feeder' looped the bait out just in front of the animal which immediately jerked to a stop, hind legs asplay, ears up, on point! Now the dog nosed the tasty raw meat, snuffling loudly as a boxer will, as his owner, patting sown his pockets for a match for his pipe failed to notice what was happening beneath his very nose!

There is a moment just before he leaps when the tiger of the jungle, pauses to rub his feet in the resin. This was such a moment. If I was going to act to prevent this barbaric event, it had to be now. Sadly, I declined the invitation and that moment passed. Now, the dog lunged at the beef and quick as an Italian hits the horn at a green light, the driver gunned the motor and the little car fairly leapt down the block dragging Boxer dog, elderly pipe smoker and all down the street while unsuspecting Aberdonians slept.

Never again have I ever gone out to drink whiskey with Scots and I suggest you politely decline as well, given the opportunity. Football hooligans. Dog fishers. Louts.