I've been in jail.

Wondering where I've been? In jail. A three week sentence. Crime unknown. I plead not guilty. I didn't even have a trial. She took me to a place a long way from home and left me in a concrete cell. I stood there watching them close the door and lock me in. The man with the key to my cell and my human mum walked away.

What have I done to deserve this?

It was a dog jail. I could hear other dogs barking but I couldn't see them. We were all in our cells. All prisoners. All guilty of god-knows-what.

I waited. And waited. What is to become of me? Doesn't she love me anymore? How long am I here. An hour? A day? What if the man loses the key and I am locked in here forever? What if she forgets that I am here? It was all too awful to contemplate. I wanted to go home so I could sleep under her desk and curl up on our bed and stretch out in the sun and watch TV next to her.

All I had now was a hard concrete floor, a bowl of water in the corner and a big hessian bag on a metal frame. At least she had left my puffy fluffy bed from home - my only connection with the outside world.

I sniffed the floor. Other dogs had been here before me. Other dog prisoners. What happened to them? Were they hanged or sent to the electric chair to be zapped to death? Had they served their time and went back home? A reduced sentence for good behaviour

One end of my cell was mesh and I could see green grass and fences. Maybe, if I behave myself, they'll let me out to run on the grass. So I lay on my tummy with my chin between my front paws and stayed very still. I didn't bark. I didn't howl. I didn't pee inside. I didn't scratch at the door. I didn't jump up and paw the mesh. I was on my best behaviour.

And it worked.

A while later, the man with the key unlocked the door and then opened the mesh and let me out. I was so relieved that I pee-ed right in front of him. I sniffed. I pee-ed in every corner of my grass so everyone knew it was my grass. Then I saw the dog on the other side of the mesh fence. He was running round and around, barking and winking at me. I ran up to the mesh and wagged my tail as fast as I could.

Be my friend, my tail said. Please be my friend. He came up and we sniffed and licked and now I knew I had a friend. He didn't seem to mind being in jail. He took off and ran around his grass. So I did too. Actually, it was fun. It was a much bigger patch of grass that at home. About twice as big. Just for me. I was free. Free at last!

The the man with the key came and put food at the entrance to my cell.

He knew my name. "Lochy, come and get your food." So I did and he scratched between my ears and I decided he was OK.

But he tricked me. After I had eaten, he closed the mesh and I was in the cell again. All alone, all night.

After a couple of days, I had made friends with the other prisoners and we could run around the grass together. I was the only West Highland Terrier. And, fortunately, no Chihuahuas. I do not like Chihuahuas. Snappy little things.

The man with the key fed me every day at three in the afternoon. He cleaned up my poop on the grass and put new water in my bowl. He talked to me and then it didn't feel like prison any more. We played games, like when he came to put me back in my cell, I would run to the far corner of the grass and not move. He would call my name but I didn't move. He walked towards me and, just as he was close enough to touch me, I'd run to the next corner. That was entertaining for a few days and then I remembered that I had to be on my best behaviour if I was to get out of there. And, besides, it was getting boring playing the same game, so then I just ran up to him when I saw him.

And that was my daily routine. Until, after exactly 21 days and three hours of incarceration, the man with the key opened the door and put a lead on me. We walked outside and there she was. My human mum. She had come to take me home. I didn't know whether to be excited to see her or be angry for leaving me. I didn't tell her that I ended up having a good time in jail with the other dogs and the man with the key.