44 Scotland Street: Cyril draws attention to himself The eleventh instalment of Alexander McCall Smith's new series of his daily novel Volume 9, Episode 11 Cyril draws attention to himself Angus understood, of course. "You didn't mean to," he said. And it's my fault, really. I told you that you could give him more beer. It's my fault. Matthew was watching Cyril. The dog, who had been sitting, was now back on his feet and appeared to be dancing some sort of Irish jig. He did this for a moment, then, after a brief pause, began to chase his tail. That did not last long, and the jig was resumed. By now one or two of the other customers in the bar were looking on with interest. There were smiles, not to say similes. "See that dog," said one of the regulars. Angus gives him a dish of beer. He's had too much. He's fu"!" "Drunk as a dog," said his friend. Isn't that what they say? No, sick as a dog. Drunk as a lord," corrected the other. Sober as a judge, but drunk as a lord. Great metaphors. You mean analogies. Perhaps. But this was followed by a pause. A metaphor is a sort of analogy. Yes it is. But a metaphor says that something is something else. An analogy says that something is like something else. Angus decided that it was time to remove Cyril. The Cumberland Bar was a respectable bar, and the spontaneous dancing of an Irish jig was not conduct that would be viewed with favour. Irish jigs were all very well in their place, which was in Ireland, but not in an Edinburgh bar. Indeed Angus was of the view that Irish dancing, in general, was to be discouraged, along with faux Irish bars called Donohue's or McGinty's and decorated outside with shamrocks and copious quantities of green paint. And now here was Cyril, on which faux Irishdom might have been expected to have no real cultural impact, descending to the performance of an Irish jig. He would have to remove him before matters became even more embarrassing. "We're going to have to get Cyril out of here," he said, gesturing to the dog. A couple of brisk circuits of Drummond Place might sober him up. He turned to Matthew. Fancy a walk? Matthew glanced at his watch. It was turning into a guilty evening: guilt over his avoiding the triplets" bath-time and guilt over getting his friend's dog drunk. "I should get back," he began, but then faltered. Cyril's intoxicated state was his fault and he should keep Angus company while he tried to sober the dog up. He would give his explanations to Elspeth when he returned to India Street and of course she would understand. Elspeth always understood. "I'll come with you," he said. Who knows what a drunk dog might do. Two people may be needed. Angus did not think there was any real likelihood of Cyril proving difficult. Intoxication, in his experience, disclosed a person's true nature. Nice people were nice when they had taken too much to drink; nasty people were nasty. What had Domenica said about Auden? Hadn't she said something about his views on the weather that could be applied here? He racked his brains and yes, that was it: nice weather is what nice people were nice about and nasty weather was what nasty people were nasty about. It was such a peculiar thing to say - at least at first blush - and yet it was, Angus decided, so true. People giving to moaning about things in general moaned about the weather; people not giving to moaning, took an optimistic view of a darkening sky. Darkening skies could - and did - lighten. Rain fell, but then stopped falling; wind gusted, but also petered out. "Cyril will not be difficult," Angus said confidently. His true nature will reveal itself. In vino veritas. He's a good dog, you see. Matthew picked up his coat, which he had deposited on the back of his chair. Although it was a fine summer evening, there had been a chill in the air that morning when he had left the flat, and he had taken a lightweight coat to work. "I still feel rather bad about this," he muttered to Angus. Angus assured him that an apology was not necessary. "Who amongst us has never made a dog drunk?" he asked. "Virtually everyone," said Matthew, smiling. Angus reattached Cyril's lead to the dog's collar, and the three of them began to make their way out of the bar, Cyril walking somewhat unsteadily, his tail wagging preternaturally fast. As they approached the door, a man who had been watching Cyril's antics with interest slipped off his stool and approached them. Excuse me. Angus stopped and looked at the stranger. Yes? May I have a word with you? Outside? Angus looked down at Cyril. I can't linger, I'm afraid. My dog's a bit under the weather. But yes, if you wish... They left the bar. Outside the cloudless evening sky was still filled with midsummer light. A jet trail intersected the blue - a line of white, wispy at the edges, stretched back towards Norway. The stranger introduced himself, showing Angus a small identity card that he extracted from his wallet. "I'm an animal welfare inspector," he said. And I'm sorry to say I take a very dim view of how your dog is being treated. Angus stared at the man. "What do you mean?" he stuttered. I love my dog. He's very well looked after. Matthew, frowning, chose to intervene. I can vouch for that. This dog is one of the most..." He searched for the right words. " ...most appreciated dogs in Edinburgh. Everybody knows that. The inspector appeared not to hear what Matthew said. He continued to address Angus. Giving alcoholic drinks to a dog constitutes ill-treatment, I'm afraid. "But it's only beer," protested Angus. It's not as if I'm giving him whisky, for heaven's sake! The inspector shook his head. Anything with alcohol in it is bad for a dog. "But all sorts of things are bad for us," said Angus, looking briefly to Matthew for support. Too much red meat. Too much chocolate. You name it; it's bad for us. "I'm sorry," said the inspector. I'm not prepared to argue with you. Your name and address, please - I'm going to have file a report with a view to taking this dog into care. Up to Episode 11 Depressed at the thought that he might require the attentions of a psychiatrist, Angus heads off to the Cumberland Bar for a ruminative pint. Once there, his dog Cyril is served his customary dish of Guinness. Soon they are joined by Matthew, also out for a ruminative pint after finishing work for the day before returning to face the noise and nappies of his toddler triplets. He clearly isn't thinking straight, and pours half a pint of lager into Cyril's dish. Canine drunkenness beckons.