I have been bravely fighting off some sort of evil viral infection for the past few days. Today, buoyed by a far healthier start to the day than recently, I went for a stroll across parkland with the iPod on (not quite) full blast.

Daydreaming, as I do, I neither heard nor saw the dog until it was almost upon me, racing along at full pelt – a little yappy thing which I initially assumed was just retrieving a tennis ball. Until it shot past the tennis ball, ignoring it in preference to sinking its teeth into my left calf.

Ouch.

Somehow, I recalled advice from somewhere that you need to show a dog who’s “boss” by shouting/barking louder than it can. And so, clutching my leg and feeling faintly ridiculous, I instigated a barking contest with this hellhound, and did myself proud, I thought.

Its owner finally arrived on the scene, breathless, and doing his damnedest to get the thing back on its lead. He was a boy of maybe 10.

One the one hand, I knew I should get his name and address and inform the authorities – next time it could attack someone far less able to stave off a dog bite.

But instead I shrugged and walked away. Who wants to be responsible for killing a little boy’s dog, four days before Christmas. I was wrong, I know, but what can you do?