Johnny is a rescue greyhound. He’s gorgeous. Five years old, looks 100, black fur with a grizzled snout and a chocolate smear for a smile. While walking him the other day, he did some rock hard poos — and didn’t stop to drop ’em. Ping. Ping. Ping they fell the vast distance from his arse to the footpath where they bounced like marbles. A man walking by laughed at the sight. “I had a rottie who did that.” He mimed walking his Rottweiler, and having to dance around the newly laid turds on the pavement. “I must have over-reprimanded him, because he started backing into a bush and hiding them.”