The Dylan Dog

Like A Rolling Stone was emitting from a crackly radio somewhere in the back of the bookshop when Colin dragged Sally in there. Searching through the shelves of crumbling covers she wondered why Colin, a mongrel with an eyepatch, had wandered this way and barked until they entered the shop. Colin meanwhile was relaxing with his paws stretched out in front of him and his head resting on his front legs, an earnest expression on his face as he imagined that he was drinking a whisky sitting in a small, dark, smoky dive watching Bob Dylan sing in the corner. As the song finished he lead Sally back out onto the dusty streets and along to a nearby record shop. Once inside he strained at his leash to get to the ‘D’ section and attracted the attention of the shop by yapping until Sally bought Blonde on Blonde. And so the obsession started. Now every Saturday Colin leads Sally around record shops to complete his LP collection and when Sally’s Dad plays his Dylan Best of Colin growls disapprovingly at this repackaging of his favourites.

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