YOU can tell Hector is from Glasgow's West End.

He has a jaunty red neckerchief around his neck, and his flowing lugubrious moustache reminds you of either Wyatt Earp, or for the more literary-minded, Greenock playwright Peter McDougall. Hector, though, is channelling lawman Earp today as he also has a five-point star sheriff's badge on his collar. Oh, and Hector is a dog - a schnauzer, which explains the luxuriant moustache.

He and I meet in Waterstone's bookshop on Argyle Street. There are about 20 dogs inside. Now if Disney was filming 20 dogs in a bookshop, they would produce a cat at the window, the dogs would go wild, with vertiginous piles of books cascading everywhere, screaming ladies falling over tangled dog leads, and desperate staff trying to shoo the yelping dogs out the doors with old-fashioned brooms.

These dogs, however, are all sitting quietly. Bored, even. A poodle gives a half-hearted "woof" but gets little response. An anxious member of staff is hovering at the back, carrying wipes and small plastic bags. "Watch out for the poo police" mutters one dog owner as the bag-carrier shadows her dog closely.

The dogs and owners are here for the launch of photographer Reubin Paris's book Pub Dogs of Glasgow which, as the name implies, is a richly colourful book of dogs looking quite magnificent in the bars of Glasgow that allow you to take your four-legged companion in. And there are more of such licensed premises than you might think in these days of ever-encroaching hygiene regulations.

It was Waterstone manager Caron Macpherson who took the bold decision to welcome dogs for the launch. To quote Shakespeare, who is also well featured at Waterstone's: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." Caron reasoned: "I thought that if the dogs were used to being in a busy public place like a pub then they would be used to being in a bookshop." She added though: "I do have emergency cleaners on stand-by. And the sound system is powerful enough to drown out any barking."

Neither precaution was needed. Most children, and indeed many adults, could not have behaved as impeccably as these dogs. In fact the only dog causing trouble in a pub that I can remember was a long time ago in my career when I had to cover a case at Govan Police Court where a chap from Pollok was on trial for assaulting a barman in, if memory is correct, the Quo Vadis, a cavernous pub out in Cardonald where Latin is rarely used by the locals.

The reason for the newspaper's interest was that the dog-owner averred he had bought a couple of whiskies, one for himself and one for his Alsatian Mick, which he was going to transfer from the glass into an ash-tray for Mick to lap up. But before he could do so, Mick backed away from the whisky and barked, alerting the owner to the fact that he had allegedly been given a short measure, an angry owner threw a water jug at the barman, and thus the whole thing kicked off.

The reason I remember the case is that our photographer arrived, and we were keen to get a picture of Mick. The Daily Record's photographer had the same idea, but gave the owner twenty quid for an exclusive pic. How to keep it exclusive, though? Either the owner or the photographer - I'm not sure who was the Brain of Britain here - put a brown paper carrier bag over the dog's head with two eye-holes cut out, and thus a bewildered Mick walked unsteadily down the road looking like Australian robber Ned Kelly. The picture of the hooded Alsatian in the Evening Times was far more interesting than the more mundane one that appeared in the Record.

Talking of Glasgow dogs, I also liked the story of the chap in another Glasgow bar who was telling his pals that the most newsworthy thing that happened to him that week was a chip-pan fire in his house that led to the fire brigade being called. He got to the bit in his story where he announced: "My dog went for the fireman" when an incredulous pal, perhaps brought up on too many Lassie films, asked: "You mean your dog ran to the fire station for help?"

"Naw," said the chip-pan owner, shaking his head. "He sank his teeth into the first fireman through the door."

The dogs in Reuben Paris's book would never put a fang wrong, though. As Hector's owner Charlie Macdonald explained: "I suppose if your dog doesn't settle in a pub, or your dog is not used to people, then you wouldn't take them to a pub. These dogs are used to people coming up and saying hello to them. There is a website, dugswelcome.com which tells you what pubs are happy to let you bring your dog in."

In fact rifling through Pub Dogs of Glasgow, you notice that most of them look quite at ease in their surroundings. Many look as though they enjoy the limelight, looking out of the pages with an imperious stare or a knowing friendly look. I hesitate to anthropomorphise animals, to use the proper term, but these photographed dogs look as though they know they are stars. Even photographer Reuben admits: "They seemed to pose for me more than I thought they would - almost human-like."

Personally I think dogs lying quietly at their owners' feet is a warm welcoming sign of a good pub. The Ben Nevis in Glasgow even has a calendar of its regular dogs. But no, the pubs don't serve the dogs alcohol. Well they wouldn't want to end up with another Ned Kelly in the papers.