How long is a piece of string?

Following on with tales of Jimmy Simpson. Imagine Toots is a West Highland Terrier rather than an Abu Qatada lookalike.

Jimmy had the dread misfortune to leave his gate open one day, his dear little dog IV (Ivy, his fourth) ran out into the road, was hit and killed. Jimmy was distraught, blamed himself and was inconsolable. However gradually life returned to him and he was persuaded by those who valued his contribution to the dog walking community that it was time he got himself a little friend. So it came to pass that "Willie," another Westy, appeared on the scene.

I've seen some stroppy dogs in my time, held a few by the scruff of their necks and had shouting matches with them but Willie was something else. He had been born to chase rabbits. The golf course on the estuary was riddled with rabbit burrows, whims (gorse) and secret places to hide. Jimmy would often be found sitting on a lump of sandy outcrop waiting for the hound to give up the chase and return to his "master." Sometimes he would be there for 2 - 3 hours. He demonstrated great patience, but then decided to get a grip of young William who was by now about 3 months old. He attached 10 feet of string to his collar, in the optimistic hope that he would be able to at least locate the string then haul the miscreant out of whatever hole he had got into. Fail.

Eventually he added an empty washing up bottle to the end of the string; no luck. The bottle was half filled with small pebbles so that the rattling would give away the dog's location. Nada, niente, nowt, nothing. Finally he painted the bottle orange, it didn't make a jot of difference, once Willie smelled a rabbit he was offski.

I had followed this progression with interest, amusement and a great deal of sympathy for my ancient friend. He wasn't in the greatest health, but remained determined that the little bugger was not going to get away with being a little bugger. One fine Saturday morning Jimmy and I were chatting away. My dog, a yellow Lab called Boots was being chased in circles by a small white missile to which was attached ten feet of string and an orange washing up bottle containg pebbles. We just let the dogs play, however a couple walked our way, the lady was a Veterinary nurse. She saw the white missile, let it pass, then trod heavily on the string. Said white missile was arrested in it's forward momentum and jerked onto his back. Picking up the orange washing up bottle she approached the pair of us, dragging the Westy by his string.

"What's this?" she asked, passing the bottle to Jimmy.

"Why, that's the end of my Willie." he replied with tears streaming down his face. He had waited weeks for somebody to bite and ask THE question. I was so sore from laughing and crying that I fell on my knees. If only we could all have such fun every day.