A dog, enamoured of my shoe, took it away to have a chew, and while I see her point of view what should I do with just one shoe? One shoe is not enough for me, I’d get one more, but you’ll agree it’s hard to buy them separately, and so I would end up with three. When two is what you have of feet two shoes always seems rather neat, but when a dog wants one to eat it’s awkward waking down the street. I was not pleased, to say the least, to lose the object of her feast, a shoe that’s stolen by a beast is likely soon to be deceased. Dead shoes are always hard to wear especially when half the pair has suffered some too toothy care from somebody with shaggy hair. And so I made myself a drink, with lots of sugar, coloured pink, then took some time to sit and think, and found the answer in a blink. If I was not to be a fake a deal is what I’d have to make. I took a stick that wouldn’t break, and from the fridge a piece of steak, then followed swiftly on her track to where she sniffed her sandal snack. I pointed out to her my lack and nicely asked her for it back. She gave my shoe another sniff, her neck hairs stood up proud and stiff, and told me I could have it if I had the courage for a tiff. As subtle as a piece of brick I showed her both the steak and stick and told her she could take her pick but that she’d better take it quick ‘cause I had had enough of hopping, with just one flip-flop a flopping, so she’d better be shoe dropping ere I with stick began a chopping. Chopping, banging and berating canine thieves and not debating with them whether my donating shoes for chewing was creating, from a sad and soggy moment, a dignified, magnificent and podiatric precedent; this never had been my intent. Now it is probably illusion that the offer of contusion in abundance and profusion brought about this tale’s conclusion; even the greatest sandal thief will be distracted by good beef; my shoe, with its new tooth motif, was soon returned, to my relief.