The pub landlord was delighted with the little puppy that he’d acquired, and the little puppy was very pleased with his new home.
He’d run around the place, just a bundle of energy – very inquisitive, examining this, looking into that, non-stop all day, until the inevitable happened and he caught his tail in a fast-closing door and lost it!
Time passed, and as one human year equals seven dog years, eventually he went to dog-heaven, for an endless supply of dog biscuits, walks in paradise – well, you couldn’t call it a dog’s life!
However, he felt incomplete, and one night around midnight, he went back in his ghostly form to ask to be made whole again.
“Sorry,” said the landlord, “you know very well I can’t retail spirits after hours.”