Highsided it - little damage.

My friends, I must share with you an incident I witnessed earlier this morning. You see, I am owned by two dogs who like to take me for a walk around midnight so that they don't have to drag me around on a lead. They have their own routes around our estate, following the footpaths so kindly provided by the Council for the voiding of canine bowels and to facilitate the escape of burglars. The dogs have their favourite stopping places, doggy signposts, if you will - a sort of canine newsgroup where they post messages in various scents for the benefit of their sniffing readers.

The dogs are radically different in appearance and personality but quite happily sleep innaheap sharing their armchair. The older, Fatboy (Rascal on Sundays) is a medium sized sort of fox-terrier with a love of the fireside and a gloriously idle lifestyle. The younger, Scamp (he prefers Shorty) is of confused lineage being whiskery, shaggy, gingerandwhitestriped, with a lot of Welsh Corgi and a chunk of Jack Russell. He is a coiled spring with limitless energy and is totally irrepressible. Fatboy stands 22 inches high, Shorty only 9 inches. Their body lengths are, however, the same.

Enough of the intro, I hear - on with the incident already!

It was like this - we hadn't long left the house and both dogs were ready to leave Number 18's gatepost en route to Favourite Tree 3, when Fatboy was seized with an uncharacteristic urge to race, perhaps scenting a bit of Spam in the next post ... With a scrabble of claws, Fatboy shot into the footpath, looking back at Shorty, who responded with a little minger on hard acceleration and hurtled in pursuit.

Fatboy was in full flight on the next corner, taking advantage of the smooth dry tarmac, the illumination of the floodlight from No. 27 and the inside line. Nose pointing the way he wanted to go, he cranked it over hard and gassed it. Shorty was in danger of losing first sniff at Favourite Tree 3 and he knew it. The only option was the dangerous outside line on the tightening curve next to No.27's fence, but he wasn't going to give in. Taking advantage of his lower CofG he chucked it into the corner on his ear and wound the throttle wide open, allowing the tail to slide out and countersteering hard.

Fatboy did a perfect Gower corner - hard on the gas, hanging right off, knee firmly down, he flicked a contemptuous glance at Shorty and with a wide grin, raised the claw in the universal gesture.

Shorty responded as only a (part) Jack Russell can - and threw himself round the outside, tailend sliding really wide on full throttle - he got his ear down ... and at the crucial moment he took his eye off the vanishing point and allowed a little snarl to distract himself. The inevitable result of a lack of concentration on barely-warm pads, the back end dug in, snapped round and he highsided. Into the air, off the fence and down the footpath, he avoided Fatboy's rear by a whisker, bounced end-over-end and slid to a halt in an undignified heap at the base of Lampost 33 (a regular stop, in happier circumstances).

I rendered assistance with all due despatch, ignoring Fatboy who had dissociated himself with the carnage and was (rather guiltily, it must be said) occupying himself with the olfactory vacuuming of the area of Favourite Tree 3. In true biker tradition, Shorty picked himself up, had a good shake, licked his nose, checked his nuts and pissed on the fence. He didn't allow me to inspect the damage, insisting on checking all the usual posts in case of an amusing reply to this morning's efforts.

On returning home, the crashed mutt had a stiff drink and only then let me check for damage - which amounts to: scratched nose fairing, two knee sliders which will need to be refurred, a well-scraped belly pod and a chipped lid. Oh, and a drooping tail fairing. We still haven't fully checked the gearbox, as he didn't get above third cog for the rest of the trip.

The good news - frame intact and baaad attitude restored (partly due to Fatboy who hasn't stopped sniggering yet) and best of all, the can is undamaged - largely due to it being a race item which exits high under the tail. (When he feels up to it I must grind off that stamp and etch a BS Number on it).

That's mine over there - the trenchcoat covered in doghair. Ta.