From The Pro Shop
By Robert Bicknell
PGA Professional

Golf going to the dogs?

Of all the things in the world which don’t belong together, such as honey and ketchup, bologna and whipped cream, or pizza in a cup, golf and dogs shouldn’t be on the list, despite some local feelings to the contrary.

According to an old article in a golf magazine, English regard dogs on the golf course as part of a normal round of golf. Some Englishmen wouldn’t dream of playing without their furry, four-legged companion accompanying them, and I tend to agree.

In fact, there are courses in England where the dogs are treated with the same respect as the players. They even have special snacks available at half-way houses, special water bowls outside the players’ lounge.

Of course, in most cases the dogs are probably more well mannered than many of the players. To be fair, the dogs are very well trained. They don’t move around while a player is in the middle of a shot, they don’t bark or make noise and they don’t chase balls. More often than not, the dogs are off their leads, free to roam.

From my side, this seems perfectly normal.

When young, there was a dog that joined me during a round of golf. He wasn’t mine, but one from the neighbourhood who, for some strange reason, took a liking to me.

I saved a lot of money that summer…the dog was a wiz at finding "lost" balls…especially Titleist balatas. He never did "anything" on the course, but did leave a few "presents" in the trees, never walked through a bunker or on to a green. He never barked or chased squirrels.

Best of all, he was always happy – a condition which is contagious. You can’t be miserable when around a happy dog…it’s simply impossible. I once four-putted on a simple green from inside 10 feet and came toward the next tee box with smoke coming out of my ears…until I saw the dog, lying on the ground with his paws over his head, as if he was waiting for a bomb to fall. Who taught him that trick I will never know, but I laughed like hell.

And forgot to be angry.

Dogs and golf course superintendents are another good combination. Every super I know has a canine companion who checks the course with him, especially here in Asia. Dogs can scare away snakes during those early morning walks.

If possible, I’m going to find myself a nice dog and take him for a four hour walk on a golf course…if my wife asks where I’ve been, I can honestly say: "Oh, I was just out walking the dog…"

Nobody has to tell her I’ve got a golf bag on my back…

By the time this column goes to press, I will be continuing with my New Year’s resolution to quit smoking. Yeah, I know, you’ve heard me make this resolution every year, but this time I came fully prepared for battle against the nicotine monster.

First, I’ve got boxes of "stop-smoking" transdermal nicotine patches, plus nicotine chewing gum. If that doesn’t work, I’ve also got a nagging wife who keeps chirping about the price I pay for cigarettes, patches and gum.

So far, I seem to be winning, except for a few bad moments when I tried to smoke one of the patches in desperation.

They say that quitting cigarettes is all in the mind. Lemme tell you that there’s nothing in my mind...er, allow me to rephrase that…I strongly disagree. A cigarette is a highly effective nicotine delivery system, and if anyone tries to tell you that nicotine isn’t addictive, let him chew on a few patches for a couple of hours or so then make him quit cold turkey.

Here’s a piece of advice…if you’re trying to quit smoking, let your caddie do all of the putting. You won’t get the ball close to the hole…hell, you’ll be lucky if you don’t "yip" it into the pond. Three kids on the team quit smoking last year, so I know what I’m talking about. They were all basket-cases for a month.

I quit once for 10 years, but forced myself to start again after a fight with a former girlfriend…guess I showed her a thing or too…idiot. Then the good people at Viet Duc hospital "helped" me to quit by keeping me in there for a week following an appendectomy. Can’t smoke in there, plus they kept flushing my system with I.V.s.

But, I again showed them who’s boss by smoking cigars after getting out. Idiot.

Now, I’m gonna show those dastardly weeds who’s boss. I won’t give in and I won’t light up. I’ve been butt-free for 12 days, haven’t committed a homicide yet, remain semi-calm and resisted the urge to chew on glass.

But I’ll probably have to check myself into the Betty Ford Clinic to kick this