A Dog’s Tale

A Scotsman walks intae a pub in Inverness one fine day, approaches the publican, and orders a pint o’ stout. Noo, accompanyin’ our fine Scot is a large, scruffy ruffian o’ a dog. Och, wiry hair, severe overbite – a right worrisome sight, this dog.

The publican sets the pint doon next tae our Scot. He proceeds tae drink it doon in a gulp or twa, then picks the dog up by its legs, swings it in a circle over his haid, then puts the dog back doon. He then orders a second pint.

Once again, the barman delivers the pint, the Scot drinks it doon, picks the dog up by its legs, swings it aroond, and sets it back doon. And orders yet a third pint.

For the third time, our fine publican places the pint in front o’ our Scot. Said Jock does just as he did both times before: drinks the pint doon, picks the dog up by its legs … ye get the picture.

By this time, the publican is beside himself wi’ curiosity.

“Oy,” he says. “I’ve been noticin’ wha’ ye’re doin’ wi’ tha’ dog. Could ye tell me wha’ tha’s all aboot, lad?”

“Och!” Our hero says. “No’ tae worry. ‘Tis a watchdog, y’see, and I’m just givin’ him a wee look aroond.”

And may yer days be filled wi’ laughter, fun, and a wee dram or pint or twa. By the way, this tale was unapologetically lifted from a wee book o’ Scot’s jokes, an’ nae copyright infringement nor pairsonal gain is asked for or expected.

Slainte!
The Auld Scot