I was reading this blog post called: I'm not going to chase that dog around the bar (no link because it's in no way related to where I'm going with this...) and was reminded of a rather humourous anecdote from a long time ago.
We once had this dog, Java, who was a mix of a sheltie-terrier. She was a lovely dog. But she was a little high strung. One night, during what I believe was Bathtub Weekend in Nanaimo, she panicked at the noise caused by the fireworks and darted off. My parents weren't aware that she was gone, thinking that she was safely fenced into our back yard. And then, ironies of all ironies, they received a phone call from a local pub saying that our dog had wandered into the pub. Said pub was about 8 blocks away.
Why do I know the distance you ask? Because this pub in question was my favourite college haunt and I'd stumbled home many a night from there.
Yup, it's true, my lovely, high strung family dog, hot on my trail, wandered into none other than the Termie, now known as the Cambie.
Damn I miss that dog!