"You'll have to put him to sleep. He bit my child!" 

The grieving, shaking, tearful mother shook before me, attached to a very large dog on a chain lead, the likes of which could have safely shackled a belligerent, charging elephant, and left room for an additional hippopotamus.

I followed the massive links from her hand down to the wide, studded, leather collar and on to the seemingly benign, flat, wrinkled face that looked up at me. Without warning, the dog sprang forward alarmingly, placed two great paws on my chest and, tail wagging furiously, gave me the classic, beseeching doggy look that says: "Please pat me."

I pushed him off but he merely returned for more. I pushed him off again and he bounced on the floor once before jumping back up. I backed off but he flung himself enthusiastically at me again.

There was absolutely no malice involved but by now he was pulling his 'owner' off her feet, the massive chain was taut, and her arm outstretched. Considering his size, along with the mass of metal attached to him, I pondered that she must have the arms of a weightlifter in order to still be holding on.

Tele Vet Neil McIntoshTele Vet Neil McIntosh (Image: Archive) But then, despite the gravity of her opening comments, she seemed utterly oblivious to my discomfort and concern; he had, after all, apparently bitten a child.

"I hope you don't think badly of me that I have him on a lead and collar," she continued.

"It's just that he pulls me off my feet when I use his harness!" 

Shuddering at the thought of her having even less control of this ginormous, affable mutt, I smiled my sweetest ever, totally tolerant, truly professional, veterinary smile and, through mildly gritted teeth, asked: "Would you mind getting him off me?"

She blinked as if she didn't understand English. I tried again, the smile wilting into somewhat of a grimace. "Get. Him. Off. Me. Please. Now."

She hauled him away heroically and we returned to the matter in hand. "You have to put him to sleep. He bit my daughter." 

It was clear that some serious discussion was required. Not for the first time, however, things were not entirely what they seemed. It turned out that the 'child' involved was 24 years old and had returned home slightly inebriated from a night out with 'the girls'.

Apparently momentarily somehow forgetting that the big, genial, giant dog habitually slept soundly in her bed (yes, ‘in’ it, not ‘on’ it), she had flounced down drunkenly on him, whereupon he had woken with a start and mildly grazed her arm with his teeth before recognising her and trying to lick her to death.

Further chat revealed further faux pas in the poor dog's existence. Despite it being a coveted resource, his food bowl was permanently full, allowing him free range to eat whenever he (or should we say his lordship?) wished.

His days were spent on the couch. His nights in the bed. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. It's little wonder dogs sometimes get the wrong idea.