Eastbourne's Cruella De Vil and the tale of the disgruntled dog owner

Rick and I running with Boykie on Salisbury Plain. Typical dog,

he's putting on a sprint for the camera at the finish of the race!

I LIKE dogs, but often I detest their owners, some of whom don't even have the maturity or intelligence to look after a Barbie doll, let alone an animal. Sometimes you wonder who needs to be kept on a lead or muzzled.

Don't get me wrong, I've known some pretty good dog owners too. My maternal grandmother had an Irish Setter called Shamus. My nan, Edna, cared more for this fine-looking canine than my grumpy grandfather Albert - while he was sitting in the corner, false teeth in,  eating cheap bits of steak from a tin, my gran would be feeding Shamus prime cuts of beef.

She adored Shamus, and before him a tiny poodle called Mitzi. With Shamus she would take him out for a walk religiously at 6.30am every morning and then exactly 12 hours later, and in winter, when the clocks went back, she'd throw on her woollens and head out at 5.30am and again at 5.30pm. "Well, Shamus doesn't know the clocks have gone back, does he?" she would retort.

Twice I've taken part in Cani-X races. Most recently I ran with a lovely lurcher called Suzi who belongs to my friend Lynn who has a lovely life divided between Wiltshire and the Algarve, where Suzi now lives and is doing very well. She is a beautiful dog and knows it, so when we were racing round Lydiard Park in Swindon, Suzi was gently trotting round trying to gain admiring looks from the other dogs and their owners. What a tart!

And then five years ago, during my round Britain challenge of 80 races, I ran in another Cani-X race with a wonderfully fit labrador called Boykie.

Cani-X is incredibly well organised and surprisingly competitive competition pairing man and dog in athletic pursuit, with a series of races around the UK culminating with British and European championships. We're not talking about gentle strolls, the top runners train hard with their dogs for these events. Many are running sub-six minute mile pace, and their choice of dog as a pet will often be guided on their speed potential as a running partner.

And it's not just a case of running round a course with your dog on a lead. The dog wears a harness around its midrift, and a lead is connected to a belt around your waist so you run hands free. With the speed these dogs are running at, you need your arms to balance and pick up a fair bit of pace too.

Boykie, who was then four-years-old, belonged to some friends of mine on the Isle of Wight who I'd met months earlier at a Hash race. We'd had one practice run when I knew my new best friend was fast. Bloomin' fast. The race we had chosen was a five miler from the middle of Salisbury Plain and a remote, desolate location known as Bustard Inn, to Stonehenge. I was attached to Boykie, with his owner Rick running alongside me.

Well, as soon as the race started we lost Rick. Boykie shot off at an incredible pace, over the rutted muddy tracks left by tanks and I was left following in his wake. We soon settled into third place and looking at the other calibre of runners I sensed we could win this race if we paced it properly. We went past the half way water station looking good, and Boykie was running near seven minute miles when, without warning, he stopped to have a dump.

This magnificent mutt put on the brakes, strolled over to the side, and proceeded to have the longest dump imaginable. Once he'd finished, Boykie had a sniff round the grass and had not compunction to move. I tried all sorts of incentives to get him going; water, treats, verbal encouragement. Boykie was ignorant to my plaintive appeals as I saw victory slipping from our grasp.

Rick had caught up with us by this time, and eventually, after about five minutes, we finally got Boykie into a nice trot. But like the Wacky Races, while Boykie was having his constitutional in the Salisbury Plain wilderness, we'd been passed by half a dozen racers and so our chances of a glorious victory were blown. Eventually, we came home in eighth place where Boykie received his own doggie back and a medal!

Which brings me to the doggy present, and this week during a Wednesday night speed session along the promenade in Eastbourne, we came across one stroppy old woman with two Yorkshire terriers who gave us a right verbal volley. She was not happy with a group of runners taking up so much room on this wide prom. "Why can't you find somewhere else to run and stop bothering people?" she moaned. "You're upsetting the dogs. Go somewhere else and stop being a nuisance" And on and on went the tirade. One of our group decided to trade insults and that just made it worse!

She was a total, unbridled nightmare. Our session on Wednesday was a 1km circuit along the prom repeated four times with a 45 second break, and run almost at race speed. Old Cruella De Vil was having none of it. Every time we went passed she'd let rip. At one point, she saw me coming and then just stepped out right in front with her dogs. I almost went sprawling because I wasn't hanging around, and it took a neat rugby-style side-step to avoid stepping on the dogs. Maybe I should have done. The temptation to retaliate was huge. It was pathetic really. There was room enough for everyone.

I don't understand the selfishness and thoughtlessness of dog owners at times. They'll allow their dogs to run loose as your are careering towards them at a fair gallop. There's no attempt to call them back as they run playfully between your legs.

It happened on Sunday when I had to let rip at one dog owner whose dog was jumping up at me on a run along the South Downs, clawing my legs as I was running. "He's just having a bit of fun, mate, give him a break," said his owner. Sure.

A couple of times I've had dogs who have been less than welcoming, teeth bared, looking like they want to take a bite out of my calf - yet their ignorant owners do nothing. They're full of their own puffed up importance.

Their thick as dog doo-doo owners are the type of people who let their pets crap all over pavements do nothing to clear up afterwards. They are the same boorish type of folk like Cruella De Vil who hate people and probably lead very sad lives with their mutts. You know what? They're welcome to them!