There is a certain spot on the canal near where we live which I cannot pass without physically flinching in shame. Mac and I often walk here, but this spot has now been tainted.

It was on one of those days recentlywhen the weather went from freezing to scorching in a matter of hours.

I'd been doing some gardening. Clad in my garden get-up of naff, ripped tracksuit bottoms and a big "Sarah Lund" jumper, I thought I'd nip to the tip with the garden rubbish.

I brought Mac along for the ride and on the way back decided, on a whim, to stop at the canal and take him for a walk.

Now Mac loves nothing better than going for a dip. He knows the canal is out of bounds - all tangled weeds and rats - but that simply serves to increase its allure.

Fast forward 20 minutes. True to form, as I'm chatting on my phone, Mac disappears. I can usually see his tail if nothing else. Like a furry periscope, it sticks out from the long grass long after the rest of him has gone. But nothing.

It's a moment or two before I see the ripples. MAC!! I holler for him to get the heck out of the water. Now, he's an agile hound and can usually extricate himself from any situation but, as he scrabbled and whined at the side of the canal, I realised he was in trouble. The bank was too deep for him to get out.

I flung my phone aside and grabbed his collar. Weighed down by the water, he was much heavier than usual but he clawed his way up me and back to dry land. We both sat on the bank panting and soaked.

Eventually we got to our feet. I looked around for my phone and my car keys which I'd been carrying. I quickly retrieved the phone, but where were my keys?

It was at this moment that an elderly gentleman walked by with his well behaved little dog. The man was dressed immaculately in cream trousers and a golf jumper. He stopped to chat and I explained what had happened. Before I knew it, he had clambered down the muddy embankment to help me search for the keys.

As he edged closer to the water, his tiny dog, perhaps the most sensible of us all, started to bark nervously.

Mac, sensing excitement in the air, began to bark too. I darted after him to get him back on the lead and to try to restore some order. He, of course, saw the approach as an invitation to play chase.

Suddenly, in the midst of the commotion, the gentleman lost his footing on the wet mud bank and did a massive skid. My heart was in my mouth as he headed for the water. His dog went apoplectic.

The man landed, on his posterior, just short of the edge but at the bottom of a slippy ridge. In a moment that was beyond surreal, I found myself heaving him back up onto the grass verge.

Once safe, I apologised profusely as we both awkwardly brushed off the worst of the mud and abandoned the search, reasoning that the keys were in the canal.

That poor man. He'd met us looking like he was on his way to a country club lunch and left looking like he'd been in a mud fight.

Mac and I hot-footed it back to the car before realising that, as we'd just lost the key, we couldn't get in.

Then I remembered that my house keys and purse were in the glove compartment so we couldn't go home either - or even get a bus. We sat on a nearby bench and mulled over our options.

It came to me. My husband's aunt and uncle, Sheila and Ian, lived about three miles away. Aha! They had a key to our home, so I could walk there, borrow the spare house key, go home, find the spare car key. . .and all would be well.

And so it was that, having nipped out to the tip looking like Wurzel Gummage, I found myself wandering through the suburban streets of Glasgow on a blistering hot afternoon wearing a big woolly jumper and with a very wet dog in tow.

Just a typical Tail of the City.

Mac and Me say: We know from being out and about that dog owners tend to be a sociable bunch who like to stop and talk and are always trading tips and stories. Please treat this blog as a virtual stroll in the park and feel free to chip in with any questions or comments or stories of your own.