Huxley is short, unpopular and a bit dim. He'd make a great special constable

My dog Huxley is fast becoming public enemy number one in the village. A succession of people have now come up to complain that he harasses their dogs, barks outside their bedrooms, chases them when they are out on walks and has even started digging small man-traps and putting sharpened bamboo sticks on the bottom. The last one is actually me but I'm glad everyone thinks it's the dog. I got a rambler the other day. I let him scream all the way through Takeshi's Castle, my new favourite TV show, and then went out with a club to despatch him. It is getting quite serious. Huxley (or Houdini as we now call him) is somehow able to get over a 7ft Cotswold wall in the back garden and I'm at a loss as to how to stop him marauding through the village.

My dog Huxley is fast becoming public enemy number one in the village. A succession of people have now come up to complain that he harasses their dogs, barks outside their bedrooms, chases them when they are out on walks and has even started digging small man-traps and putting sharpened bamboo sticks on the bottom. The last one is actually me but I'm glad everyone thinks it's the dog. I got a rambler the other day. I let him scream all the way through Takeshi's Castle, my new favourite TV show, and then went out with a club to despatch him. It is getting quite serious. Huxley (or Houdini as we now call him) is somehow able to get over a 7ft Cotswold wall in the back garden and I'm at a loss as to how to stop him marauding through the village.

Unfortunately it only got worse when I went to the shops. I spotted a couple who had been quite vociferous in their complaints about my hound, so I stopped the car and told them that I was on to a fencing specialist who was, I hoped, going to solve the problem. They looked pleased, and I drove on feeling very happy that I was finally behaving in a vaguely civic manner.

In town I parked on the double yellow lines outside the shop, as always, and popped in for a case of Diamond White and 400 Bensons. When I came out, the local plod had sneakily put a ticket on my car. I accepted it with good grace and drove off only to see the police car roar past me in the opposite direction as I made my way out of town. I surmised that there was probably a bit of bloodshed down at Nell Gwynn's Tearooms and drove on. I gave the complaining couple a friendly wave, but they were looking at something behind me. I peered into the mirror and saw that the police car was chasing me with lights flashing. I could see the couple's faces as first I, then the police car, roared past. You could see them thinking, "No wonder the dog's gone crooked - look at the owner."

I stopped round the corner, and one of the policemen got out of his car and wandered over to give me a warning about not wearing a seatbelt. I was beginning to suspect that someone was a tad bored and was trying to liven up his day by hassling the local television personality. I looked suitably chastened and drove on. As I crossed the bridge over the river Coln I was astounded to see the police car still following me, lights still flashing. I ignored it and drove through the arch into the courtyard of my house.

The police parked their car parked outside, walked into the courtyard and asked me whether the car I was driving was actually my car. I started looking around for hidden cameras as this had all the hallmarks of a particularly badly executed prank. I confirmed that yes, indeed, it was my car and they finally left having checked on their radio.

I have no problem with the police doing their job but this was clearly a case of bored coppers having a bit of a laugh. When you look at the sign outside the post office that tells what crimes have happened locally you can see why. The big heist last month was the allotment shed break-in; someone made off with a pair of secateurs.

My run-ins with the law did give me a good idea. Huxley definitely has special powers. He is able to find a chicken carcass anywhere in the dustbin and religiously leaves it on my pillow having taken of it what he needs. He is also amazingly responsive to commands such as "Do what you want" or "Totally ignore me." So I wonder whether I might put him up as a Special Constable or "asthma police" as we called them in London. He's short and a bit dim, so should be perfect. He could then wander where he liked under the pretext that he was patrolling the village. I might suggest this at the next village meeting, but for some reason they refuse to tell me where or when it is. Ah well.