When my younger sister Lisa was about 10 and I about 11, she decided to write her name in chalk on each of the stumps under our high set Queenslander. She added a little love heart instead of a dot over the "i" for good measure. Later, when it appeared that mum and dad failed to appreciate the beauty of what she had done, my darling sister claimed I had been the artist. Of course no one believed her because hearts were not my style and had I decided to launch a career as a graffiti artist my tag was NEVER going to be Lisa. If you are going to come up with a lie it at least needs to be plausible. You don't want to commit a crime that has your name all over it, literally. Nor do you want your saliva at the crime scene. Try telling that to little Winkle, the career criminal puppy. Today the pocket-sized thief managed to steal a pair of my knickers from the dirty clothes basket. She was caught red pawed with the undies in her mouth. But when I discovered her she gave me this wide-eyed innocent look and if she could talk I'm pretty sure the words that would have come out of her mouth would have been "it wasn't me. It was Rumple". In any event, all the canines in this house know that they can sweet talk their way out of anything with a lick and a wag of the tail. So despite the knicker nicking incident, Winkle was invited on a walk to South Bank this evening to try and catch an evening breeze. When I say "walk" I should clarify that the humans walk and the puppies hitch a lift, Winkle in the puppy pouch and Rumple over the shoulder. It's criminal what that pair is able to get away with.